“You can pick one or do both. Order is up to you. Does this mean you’ll help?”
There’s a soft question in his tone that causes me to look up. In the brief time I’ve known Razor he’s been as sharp and tough as his nickname, but that one plea made him sound vulnerable.
“What’s this about?” I ask.
Razor shoves his hands into his front pockets and rolls his neck. He’s uncomfortable and I like how we had so quickly moved past unease.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” I say. “If you can keep my secret, I can keep yours.”
His expression darkens. “I think it’s related to my mom’s death.”
I sway as if I’ve been punched in the stomach. Everyone gossips about how Razor’s mom drove off a bridge. For some people, it’s the go-to story when other conversation fails. Hey, do you remember when that kid’s mom drove herself off the bridge because she was so miserable...
“I know what everyone thinks,” he says. “But when it comes to my mom, my family and the Reign of Terror, this town doesn’t know shit. Can you look me in the eye and say every rumor involving you is absolutely true?”
“No,” I answer slowly. “I’m not sure anyone in this town really knows me.”
“Then are you going to help?”
I incline my head as I assess Razor. All of him. Not just his body and beauty or the threatening cut and the patches sewn onto the leather, but his collapsed posture and the desperation in his eyes. “What do you think happened to your mom?”
“I don’t know, but if you help me, maybe I can find out. I need this. I need some peace.”
Agreeing will tie me to a boy I’ve been taught to avoid, but how can I say no? “I’ll help you.”
“Breanna!” Both Razor and I turn at the sound of Addison’s voice. She’s by the front of the club, her head swiveling as she cups her hands to her mouth. “Breanna, are you out here?”
“You should go.” He holds his hand out to me.
I offer the phone back to Razor, and I’m shocked that after he deposits it into his pocket, he extends his hand to me again. I accept the invitation, and his strong fingers wrap around mine. As I hop off the tailgate, his other arm slides around my waist and my body presses into his as he settles my feet on the ground. My breathing hitches and I close my eyes. His body is warm and solid and he smells so deliciously divine.
The world swings violently and Razor rubs his hand up and down my spine. “You okay?”
Am I? Yes, maybe, no. Because of the way his hands caress me, I’m a melted puddle.
“You ask me that a lot,” I whisper and then discover the courage to raise my head.
“Stop getting yourself into trouble and I’ll stop asking.” Razor’s eyes are practically twinkling like the stars in the sky. Butterflies race around in my stomach and it’s not the nervous type. It’s the beautiful type of butterflies that I love to watch flutter about in the spring.
No one has ever used trouble to describe me, but in the short time I’ve known Razor, I can’t seem to avoid walking a tightrope. I should be ashamed I’m smiling, but I’m so not.
“Breanna!” Addison calls again.
“She’s worried,” I say.
Razor tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, then lets his finger gently trace the curve of my neck down to my bare shoulder. I shiver in the sensual moment. He lowers his head and his breath is hot on my ear. My heart beats faster. Is he going to kiss me? I want him to kiss me. I shouldn’t want him to kiss me. I’ll explode if he kisses me. My toes curl in silent expectation.
“She should be worried,” he breathes into my ear.
“Why?”
“Because you’re alone with me.”
Yes, I very much am.
“Remember—someday soon, I’ll help you with that wild kiss.”
Razor steps back and it’s only then I realize how much I had been leaning against his sturdy chest. Dear God, please let this bizarre gift you’ve given me still work despite the alcohol. I need to remember Razor saying he’ll kiss me. I need him to want to kiss me later.