His Read Free Page B

forty-five minutes until Bethy and Bean will be back. I’ll have to work fast.
    “Excuse me.”
    I look up at the source of the warm male voice that pulled me from my thoughts. He’s a little taller than average, with a lean physique and short black hair styled in a neat faux-hawk. His cashmere scarf and expensive-looking wool coat make me wish he wouldn’t have noticed me, because this guy would have made a great mark.
    “What?” I ask, my voice flat and lifeless. “I’m not trespassing. This is public property.”
    His lips curve into a slight smile. “I just wanted to ask if you’d like to get a cup of coffee. Maybe some breakfast? You look like you could use a break.”
    My brow furrows as I stare up at him. “And why would you give me a break?”
    He shrugs. “Someone gave me a break once.”
    My stomach begs me to say yes. I stand up and meet the man’s brown eyes. “I’ve got no money. You’re offering to buy?”
    “I am.”
    “And what do I have to give you for it?”
    “Nothing. We’ll talk and eat and then go our separate ways if you’d like. No hard feelings.”
    “I’m not blowing you or letting you bend me over a Dumpster somewhere,” I say in an even, no-nonsense tone.
    He cringes. Cringes. Do I smell that bad?
    “Ah . . . I’m not interested in that,” he says with a shake of his head.
    I shrug a shoulder and nod at a diner across the street. “Over there?”
    “Sure.” He pulls a dark glove from a well-manicured hand and offers it to me. “I’m Dawson Wright, by the way.”
    I give him a perfunctory handshake. “So let’s go, Dawson.”
    He’s still looking at me. “And your name is . . . ?”
    I scoff. “Does it matter?”
    “Why wouldn’t it?” His brow wrinkles in confusion.
    “Most people don’t even see me, let alone care what my name is. I’m about as important as the dirt on the bottom of their shoes.”
    “I’m not most people. What’s your name?”
    I’m taken aback, but I don’t show it. “Quinn.”
    He nods, satisfied, and leads the way across the street and into a packed diner. As soon as I step inside, the smells of bacon, toasting bread, and cinnamon hit me hard. My stomach rumbles painfully. It’s been a long time since I set foot in a place like this.
    A passing waitress gives me the evil eye as we walk to a tiny booth next to the windows facing the street. I bristle, preparing myself to get kicked out of the place. She returns to our table and sees Dawson. Her expression morphs into a smile.
    “What can I get you two?” she asks.
    I glance at a menu while Dawson orders coffee. The waitress looks at me expectantly.
    “Coffee and a house omelet with two side orders of bacon and two side orders of toast. And some oatmeal in a takeout container.”
    Dawson doesn’t blink at my large order. The waitress disappears, and he leans his forearms on the table and studies me.
    “So what’s your story, Quinn?”
    I arch a brow. “It’s a little early in the day for life stories, isn’t it?”
    “I suppose,” he says, smiling. “I know you seem to have the weight of the world on your shoulders. And you really like bacon.”
    Our waitress reappears and fills the empty white mugs in front of us with steaming coffee. I sip it gratefully. I haven’t had hot coffee in a while. There’s something soothing about it. I savor another swallow as the waitress walks away.
    “So,” Dawson says, clearing his throat. “I know this seems sudden, but I have a proposition. I’d like to buy an evening with you.”
    I sip my coffee and try to decide how to play this. I can’t risk pissing him off and not getting that food. I decide to buy some time with the tell me more approach.
    “An evening?”
    He nods. “You’d need to submit to a quick blood draw from a nurse first. It’s a standard screen. And then you’d spend a mutually enjoyable evening having consensual sex with a man I think you’d like.”
    I set my mug down, curiosity piqued. “Not