“I need to get back to work,” Patch said. He gave me a once-over that lingered a bit below the hips. “Killer skirt. Deadly legs.”

“Killer skirt, deadly legs.”

“Shh!” the guy beside me hissed again.“Blame him,” I told the guy, pointing at Patch. The guy craned his neck back. “Listen,” he said, facing me again. “If you don’t quiet down, I’ll get security.”“Fine, go get security. Tell them to take him away,” I said, again signaling Patch. “Tell them he wants to kill me.”“I want to kill you,” hissed the guy’s girlfriend,”

“Patch leaned back against the booth and arched his eyebrows at me. The gesture said it all: Pay up."You got lucky," I said. "I'm about to get lucky.”

“Does Patch have a restraining order against him?' he read. 'Is Patch a felon?' 'Give-me-that!' I hissed furiously.Patch gave a soft laugh, and I knew he'd seen the next question. 'Does Patch have a girlfriend?”

“I watched him pitch the ball at a table neatly lined with six bowling pins, my stomach giving a little flutter when his T-shirt crept up in the back, revealing a stripe of skin. I knew from experience that every inch of him was hard, defined muscle. His back was smooth and perfect too, the scars from when he’d fallen once again replaced with wings—wings I, and every other human, couldn’t see.“Five dollars says you can’t do it again,” I said, coming up behind him.Patch looked back and grinned. “I don’t want your money, Angel.”“Hey now, kids, let’s keep this discussion PG-rated,” Rixon said.“All three remaining pins,” I challenged Patch.“What kind of prize are we talking about?” he asked.“Bloody hell,” Rixon said. “Can’t this wait until you’re alone?”Patch gave me a secret smile, then shifted his weight back, cradling the ball into his chest. He dropped his right shoulder, brought his arm around, and sent the ball flying forward as hard as he could. There was a loud crack! and the remaining three pins scattered off the table.“Aye, now you’re in trouble, lass,” Rixon shouted at me over the commotion caused by a pocket of onlookers, who were clapping and whistling for Patch. Patch leaned back against the booth and arched his eyebrows at me. The gesture said it all: Pay up.“You got lucky,” I said.“I’m about to get lucky.”

“I'll be firm," I promised Patch, adopting a no-nonsense expression. "No backing down."By now Patch was full-on grinning. He kissed me again, and I felt my mouth soften its resolve. "You look cute when you're trying to be tough," he said.”