Walk the Line (Kings of Chaos 5)

“I won’t lie. I’m attracted to you, Blanche. If this goes there with us, I’ll welcome it, but we can keep it where you’d be comfortable.”

She frowns. “I don’t sleep around.”

“I never said you did.”

“No, but me, you and your groupies make for an awfully crowded bed, don’t it?” She arches a brow and I smile in appreciation of her sassiness.

I laugh. “If we go there, I’ll keep it exclusive.”

“If,” she repeats firmly.

“If,” I agree.

Our order number is called, and the intensity fades. “I’ll get it.” I grab our bags, and we leave the crowded space.

“I’m sad to say it’s been awhile since I was last at the beach.”

“It almost becomes a novelty when you live here. You overlook it, get too busy or too bothered to brave the traffic, crowds, and clean up that comes from a trip to the sandy shores.”

We cross the street at the corner and step onto the cement path that leads down toward the shoreline.

“A bit further down, they have an area where we can sit.”

I follow her, admiring the flex of the muscles in her calves and the subtle sway of her hips. There’s a natural vibe I don’t see too often. I can’t say if it’s her personally or age related. A lot of the girls around the club are younger, and trying way too hard to be noticed.

We take a seat at a cement area, staggered to have a sort of bleacher effect. Silence falls as we tuck into our food. The flavors explode in my mouth, and I moan in appreciation. The spices of the Carne Asada are on point, and the salsa is out of this world. She nods her head.

“Good right?” she asks.

“Really good.”

No words are exchanged as we polish off our food.

“Thanks for bringing me here. I’m amazed I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Any time you want to play foodie, I’m game. I’ve missed this more than I realized.”

“I’ll take up on that. Tell me more about you.”

“What’s there to tell?” she asks with a shrug.

“Plenty.”

“I’ll answer a question if you agree to do the same and if it gets too personal we back off, no hard feelings?” she proposes.

“I can do that,” I say.

“Good, you first. What’s a Nomad?”

I laugh. If I gave her the real answer, she’d leave and never look back. “It just means I don’t have a permanent home. I go where I’m needed in my organization. We have a lot of different chapters. Which is like…home bases.”

“Ooh, wow. So you travel a lot?”

“I do.”

“Doesn’t it get old?”

“A few years ago, I would’ve said no. Now with thirty approaching… I’d like to set down some roots, actually own a home, all that good stuff.”