“Don’t touch that fucking door handle, Selle,” he snapped.
I usually hated when people shortened my name, and I usually corrected them every single time, but not Stone.
I rolled my eyes but let my hand fall to my lap.
He jogged around and yanked his door open then offered a hand to help me down.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He nudged his head toward the entrance and followed me inside.
“You can sit anywhere you’d like.” One of the ladies in the kitchen spoke up as soon as we entered.
Several pairs of eyes landed on us and I heard someone whistle from the opposite side of the little pancake house.
“Ay.” Stone looked over. “Eat your fucking eggs and shut your fucking mouth,” he warned. “Or I’ll come over there and shut that shit for you.”
“Down, tiger.” I gripped his arm, picked out a booth in the far back corner, and led him toward it.
We slid into opposite sides of the booth and I clasped my hands on the table.
“You have a short fuse,” I noted.
“And?”
“Should I be worried about that?”
“I don’t hit women if that’s what you’re asking and you should know that shit. I’ve taken more punches from women than some female professional boxers.”
I laughed because he was right. He took much more shit from female patrons than men by a long shot. He restrained women for sure but he fully knocked men out when it came down to it.
“And yet you’ve never let me slap you. Should I be jealous?”
Stone lifted an eyebrow. “Do you want to slap me?”
“Maybe.”
“Then, slap me.”
“Would it do anything for you?”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“You know.” I wagged my eyebrows. “Stone?”
He snickered. “Nah. Getting slapped isn’t going to make my dick hard, Selle.”
“Then, never mind.” I shrugged.
“Are you trying to make my dick hard?”
“Do you know what you’re ordering?”
Stone looked at me for a beat then another while I avoided his glance and kept my eyes on the menu in front of me.
“Yeah,” he said finally.
“What were you thinking?”