Page 40 of Bloodlust

"I suppose I'll just have to trust you on that one," he says in a gritty tone, glancing down at my hand as I pull it away. He looks up at me, his Adam's apple rippling before he asks, "What do youactuallydo? On the days you're not flinging yourself off buildings, that is."

I bite my lip. He doesn't know who I am. No one does. Unless you're a part of the criminal underworld, for all intents and purposes, I'm just a business owner. A successful one at that. I suppose there's no harm in sharing my life on paper.

"I own a club. Suffer N' Rage," I divulge. "It's downtown. Have you heard of it?"

"Suffer N' Rage?" he asks, shaking his head. "Can't say that I have." A pause. "That's a rather aggressive name for a nightclub, though."

"Stripclub," I say, tossing him a coy wink. "And it's a play on words."

"Suffer N' Rage," he mumbles to himself, pursing his lips. My gaze darts to the plump pink flesh, wishing they were muchmuchcloser. Mmm. "As in...suffrage?"

"Exactly," I mutter, wondering how hard I could bite his lips before the skin breaks. "It's an homage to feminism."

"And it's astripclub?" he asks, evidently confused. "That's an...interesting take."

"Why?" I blink, snapping myself back. "Because you don't think stripping is empowering?"

"Some might say it objectifies women," he says passively with a nonchalant shrug.

"Yeah, that someone is probably a man," I snort. "And who said it's only women who dance at my club,hmm? I've got a flavor to satisfy anyone's palette. Men, women, and everyone in between." I tilt my head, gaze flicking to the tie on the bench. "What'syourflavor, Doc? I have a feeling it's not vanilla."

"Vanilla's a bit boring, isn't it?" He picks up the tie and rolls it between his fingers, the fabric bunching up slowly. He catches my stare, the corner of his lip clipping into a knowing smirk. "I prefer morecomplexflavors."

"Really?" I hum, my skin starting to heat. "Funny, me too."

"Yeah?" He watches as I take off my jacket, his conflicted gaze struggling to look away. "What's your favorite flavor, Camilla?"

"Mine?" I give him a sweet smile, flipping my hair off my shoulders. "Oh, I like anything with big chunks of nuts. The bigger, the better."

"Big isn't always better," he notes in a strained tone. "Sometimes the smaller the nut, the bigger the flavor."

"Really?" I grin. "Guess I need to try more nuts, huh, Doc? Got any recommenda—" Before I can finish my sentence, Hayden's arm darts forward. A flying tennis ball slams into his palm seconds before hitting my face. I jerk back, grabbing my chest. "Holy shit!"

"Jesus Christ. Are you alright?" Hayden asks, gripping the ball in his hands. He looks over at a woman jogging toward us, a worried look plastered across her face. "Is this yours?"

"I'm so sorry!" she pants, stopping on the other side of the bench. She glances down at me apologetically. She holds up the tennis ball launcher in her hand. "I'm still learning how to use thisand?—"

"It's fine, I had the same problem." I wave her off. I take the launcher from her hand and grip the handle. "You're probably just holding it wrong. Try it like this, okay?" I hand it back, pointing to the field. "Which one's yours?"

She sighs, shaking her head. "The little one that doesn't listen."

"Be stern but kind, you'll get there," I say. "Just takes a bit of patience."

"Thanks." She offers me a sweet smile. "I take it yours is a bit more obedient?"

I laugh. "Mine's pushing fourteen and kind of does whatever he wants at this point. He's earned that right, I think."

"Old dog privilege?"

I grin. "Exactly."

"Okay, well thank you, and sorry again!" she says. "Maybe I'll see you around?"

"Yeah, maybe." I turn back to Hayden, who's frowning at me. I blink. "What?"

"Nothing," he mutters, brows furrowed. "I forgot you have a dog. He's fourteen?"

"Yeah, he is," I say quickly, wanting to change the subject. "You caught that ball really fast. Good reflexes, Doc."