The Biker's Rules
Apparently, I, too, respond well to structure and the promise of food.
Inside Scoma’s, the smell hits me like a warm, buttery slap — garlic, seafood, sizzling heaven. My stomach growls loud enough to embarrass me. My mouth waters. Actively.
Jinx doesn’t break posture, though his nose works overtime, darting through the air like it’s conducting its own investigation. His eyes stay glued to Alejandro, sheer willpower and strong training keeping him in line.
“You’re torturing the poor thing,” I whisper.
Jinx immediately collapses onto the floor with a dramatic sigh the moment we sit.