She’s bouncing with nervous energy, but she’s going with it. I’m impressed. I thought she’d stop us long before we’d gotten this far. Demand I take her to get froyo instead of some light B&E. I’ve done this a few dozen times. It’s a rite of passage around here, but she doesn’t know that.

After a few minutes of failing with the bolt cutters, I kneel and take a look at the new lock. It’s hardened steel. Guess the owner got sick of buying new ones.

“Well, fuck.” I shake my head. Froyo it is.

Jessie peeks at me over her shoulder. “Just cut the chain.” Her voice is light and playful.

I look at her in amazement. “You a little hellraiser, Jessie Bird?”

“Bet your sweet ass, Big Man,” she says with a wink. Fuck, this woman might just be perfect.

I slice through the cheap chain like butter and pull open the door, ushering Jessie into the darkness. I slide in next to her, letting the door close behind us, shutting out the sliver of light from the alleyway. Dropping the chain and the bolt cutters with a metallic clatter, I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her into me.

“Having fun yet?” I ask in the pitch black.

She spins in my grasp, pulling me down to her while she stands on her tiptoes. “You always keep me on my toes, Devin Bennett.” She brushes her lips against mine and my tongue dips out of its own accord to taste her. She slaps my chest and giggles. The sound shoots acid into my veins, burning across my body.

“What is this place?” she asks.

I slide my hands to her hips and turn her around. I flick on the flashlight and hand it to her. The small beam of light cuts through the darkness. Jessie takes a tentative step forward, spotlighting the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty, the Pyramids, Mount Rushmore and the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

She spins and I squint when I get a face full of flashlight before I can put my hand up.

“Mini-golf?” she squeals. Is there anything this woman won’t get excited about? Her enthusiasm is fucking exhausting.

I shake my head and the flashlight drops. I can’t see her, but I know the wheels are turning in her head. I can just make out when she holds up the putters in accusation.

“Mini-golf is boring. This is strip putt-putt.”

“Strip putt-putt?” she asks. I grunt in affirmation. “You’re going down, Bennett.”

“That’s on the agenda too,” I growl, reaching out for her in the darkness.

She slips of out of my grasp, graceful as a dancer.

“Not so fast. Let’s see what kind of moves you’ve got first.” She struts off to the first hole, my flashlight and gaze following the sway of her hips the whole time.