Bull (Kings of Mayhem MC 6)

“And he lost his hearing because of the infection.”

“Not completely. He can hear better with his hearing aids, but he takes them off because the kids pick on him.” Kids could be assholes because they didn’t realize the impact their bullying could have on someone’s self-esteem. “He started to take them out when he went to school, but his schoolwork started to suffer, so the school contacted me. After we had a long talk, he promised he would keep them in. I didn’t realize he was still taking them out.”

“But he signs.”

“At one stage he was almost completely deaf from the infection. We didn’t know how significant the loss would be, so we learned how to sign. His hearing improved enough for him to wear hearing aids, but he still likes to sign sometimes.”

He nodded and moved around the desk to stand in front of me. And damn, it was as if his aura was molten lava and wrapped its heat around me. I felt my face flush and my heart kick in my chest.

There was something a little fascinating about him.

“Where is he now?” he asked, leaning against the lip of his desk.

“Our neighbor babysits him for me sometimes.”

“I bet he hates that.”

I chuckled. “She’s a seventeen-year-old blonde cheerleader with big boobs and legs for miles. He’s an eleven-year-old kid discovering girls. I’m sure he hates it.”

He smiled, and dear God, I almost fell over. His smile was breathtaking.

“Sounds like hell.”

A sudden pang of longing assaulted me and I had to draw in a deep breath. How long had it been since a man had made me feel that with just a damn smile?

In all honesty, it had been easier to take care of things myself.

I’d been so damn preoccupied with keeping Noah safe and spending as much time with him as possible, there was no time to make that connection with someone.

I cleared my throat. And now most definitely wasn’t the time to start.

Yet, when Bull turned around and asked me out to dinner, my first inclination was to say yes.

“You’re seriously asking me out to dinner?”

“I am.”

I folded my arms. “Let me get this straight. I yell at you for showing my brother how to protect himself, then crash into the back of your van because I wasn’t paying attention, and now you’re asking me out for dinner?”

“Yes.”

What was this guy up to?

“Fine,” I said.

“Fine?”

“Yes, I accept your invitation.”

“Great, let’s go.”

My arms fell to my sides, surprised he’d called my bluff.

“You mean right now?”

“Is there ever a better time?”

Again, his smile lit up parts of me that had been dormant for years.

“I can’t believe this. Shouldn’t I be buying you dinner so you don’t sue me?”

He grinned as he handed me a helmet. “Who said you weren’t. I hope you’ve got money, because I’m ordering the biggest fucking lobster on the menu, and I’m definitely not a cheap date.”

BULL

Despite what I’d said earlier, she wasn’t paying for dinner.

And I wasn’t eating lobster either.

I was fucking allergic to seafood.

I was also allergic to being a jerk.

Despite my shortcomings—and let’s face it, I had a fucking ton of them—I still knew how to be a gentleman.

I took her to a small Italian restaurant where they had little candles and baskets of breadsticks on the tables.

“You like Italian food?” I asked.

“I love it,” she replied, flicking her long hair over her shoulders as she got settled in her chair.

I liked how she did that.

I also like the way she bit her bottom lip as she looked over the menu.

“Funny, I don’t see any lobster on the menu,” she said with a twinkle in her big brown eyes.

“What a shame,” I replied, trying not to notice the cute dimples flickering on either side of her bee-stung lips. “Maybe next time.”

“You’re confident there’ll be a next time.”

“I’m a pretty confident guy.”

She smiled. “So I can see.”

The waiter came to take our order.

“I think I’ll have the tagliatelle al ragù,” she said, handing him the menu.

Her pronunciation was perfect.

“Make that two,” I said. “And a bottle of the Fontodi Vigna del Sorbo.”

When he left, she leaned her arms on the table, and her beautiful eyes shone across at me. “You’ve been here before.”

“What gave it away?”

“I didn’t see a hundred-and fifty-dollar bottle of chianti listed on the menu. It tells me you know they have it.”

“You’re very observant.”

“I have to be,” she said, ambiguously. But before I had a chance to ask her why, she grinned mischievously. “Tell me, do you bring all your first dates here?”

“It might surprise you to know this, but I don’t date.”

One eyebrow jumped up. “I call bullshit.”

Of course, she did. Because she was a straight shooter and I liked that.

“Tell me, how do you know your bottles of wine and how much they cost?” I asked, changing the subject.