Legend (Cerberus MC)

“I think it was a little more personal gathering between her and Spade.”

Realization dawns on me, and my eyes widen. “Yeah. She spent the night there.”

“She enjoyed her stay. I don’t think she’s done raving about the umm… accommodations.”

I do not want to talk to this woman about the sex Spade and her friend had, but I’m grateful her mood has shifted from what I brought on with my insensitive questions in the SUV.

“Yeah? I’ll let Spade know he got a five-star review.”

Her cheeks flush as she opens her mouth, but the waiter arrives to take our order.

I battle between asking her what she was going to say and letting the subject drop as she takes a sip of her wine. Curiosity wins out, as it normally does.

“Why did your cheeks get so red when we were talking a few minutes ago?”

She looks away from me, the pink in her cheeks threatening to turn red. She looks around the room, and my interest grows even more. What could she possibly want to discuss that would require her to check and see if anyone else was listening in on our conversation? She’s in the clear. I chose this place because of the intimate settings and wide space between tables.

“She gave me way too many details about her night at the clubhouse.”

“Are you saying you’re interested in receiving the same treatment your friend got?”

Yep, her cheeks go from pink to red, and a sick feeling settles in my gut.

“He wouldn’t remember your name the next morning. Spade doesn’t remember your friend’s name.”

She looks confused. “Spade? Why would I—No! Ethan, that’s gross.”

The tension that was building up inside of me slowly starts to ease.

“What I was talking about—you know what? Never mind.”

“You don’t want to sleep with Spade?” I ask, needing confirmation.

“No. I was going to ask if you guys sit around and gossip about sex with random women like Sylvie did when she told me more than I ever wanted to know about her night there.”

Is it getting hot in here? I lean back in my chair, barely resisting the urge to pull at the collar of my shirt.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she says, draining her glass of wine.

“I haven’t heard anything about Sylvie,” I clarify.

I also haven’t been hanging out with the guys as much recently, so just because I haven’t heard doesn’t mean that Spade hasn’t been running his mouth.

“So if we were to have sex—” My cock perks up at the notion. “You’d talk about it to the other guys in the club?”

I shake my head.

“But you said—”

“You asked if we talk about sleeping with random women. As much as I’d like to deny that right now, the answer is that we do talk about it.”

“I see.” She swallows, her throat looking like it’s working hard on a lump there.

“You’re not a random woman, Faith.”

Her eyes dart back to mine. “If I ever got the chance to be intimate with you, I’d never talk about it with my friends.”

Her eyes search mine for truth before she looks away, fiddling with the cloth napkin in her lap.

“This dinner is a lot more romantic and intimate than I anticipated,” she says, the flame from the candle in the center of the table dancing on her cheeks.

I take a moment to look around. Soft music plays over hidden speakers, and the tables around us are filled with smiling couples who take every chance they can find to lean in close and whisper to each other. I picked this place for its intimacy and charm.

“It seems we had different ideas of how dinner should go. I can cancel our meals if you’re uncomfortable.”

I want to reach across the table and take her hand, but I think that may have an adverse effect right now.

She’s smiling softly when she turns her gaze back to me. “I’ll confess I’m a little uncomfortable with how uncomfortable I am. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” I answer.

Before I can dig a little deeper, our food comes out, and we tell the waiter we’re good when he asks if he can get us anything else. Faith declines another glass of wine, and I haven’t bothered to touch the water I ordered as we dig into our meal.

“This is what a date is supposed to look like,” I say after she catches me getting lost in watching her eat rather than consuming my own food.

“Is that right?” Her words are playful, but it’s becoming clear to me that she hasn’t dated a man willing to take her to a nice place. “And if I wanted French fries and a chocolate shake instead?”

“Then we’d hit a drive-thru and eat on a soft blanket in the park.”

“It’s a little cold for that, and I’m in a dress.”

“Is it too forward to say that I’m more than willing to keep you warm?”