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“You want a little of the Nutella crepe to hold you over?” Slash asked, already cutting the crepe into pieces.

“No, I’m okay. I don’t really like Nutella.”

He stopped what he was doing to look at me. “Seriously?”

I nodded.

“But you’re a baker.”

“Can I admit something to you?” I asked as I bit my lip.

“Yeah, you can admit something to me.”

“I hate sweets.”

“You don’t.”

“No, really, I do.”

“How is that possible?”

“I dunno. My dad thought it was weird, too.” I smiled. “I prefer savory foods.”

“I’ll wait to eat until yours comes out.”

“No. Don’t. Eat now. Before it gets cold.”

“You sure?”

I nodded.

He paused for a moment, and then he dove in. I watched him enjoy his food, finding it oddly adorable that a biker with a scar, who was heavily tattooed and sixteen years older than me, was trying not to lick the last bit of Nutella off his plate.

“Slash?” I asked quietly.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for not freaking out when I started bawling like a lunatic over ordering the wrong thing.”

He set his fork down and it clanked against the plate. He reached for a paper napkin and wiped his mouth before replying. “What’s there to freak out about?”

* * *

“How are you feeling?” Slash asked as we walked into the parking lot.

“Full,” I said with a laugh. “Really full.”

He looped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his side. It was natural and easy, and I didn’t fight it.

“I have to make a quick stop before I drop you off. That okay?”

“Sure.”

His thumbs thumped against the steering wheel as he drove. I settled down in the comfortable seat and discreetly studied him.

Slash looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

“Are you a night owl?”


Tags: Emma Slate Blue Angels Motorcycle Club Romance