“He won’t give you what you want,” I shouted over the music, canting my head toward the bubble ass in pink jeans he’d been visually undressing. “And what’s that?” he asked, leaning in to be heard. I scanned him, noting the day-old scruff he couldn’t bother shaving off, and his calloused hands. “You’ve had a rough week. You want someone you don’t need to take it easy on.” “Is that so?” He smiled. “What’s your name?” “Raven.” I didn’t bother asking for his. “Care to dance, Raven?”
