He cocked his head. “I meant the order you wanted those things taken care of, but I guess you answered that.”

She laughed. “Oh yeah, sorry. I’m starving.”

He chuckled, lifting his hand to signal the waitress to come by to grab Jane’s order. “What’s a Squealer?”

“Oh my God, their best pizza. Sausage, pepperoni, ham, and bacon.” She sighed happily at the thought. “I am unapologetic about how much I love it.”

God, there was something about the way this woman ate that he really, really loved. “Sounds amazing.”

Her eyes went round. “Are you eating with me? Because if so, we’re going to need a bigger pizza.”

“How many slices in a small?” he asked as Riley, their waitress, arrived.

“Six,” Riley said.

“They’re small though,” Jane inserted. “Seriously, dude, if we’re ordering a small, you can’t have any.”

He smirked.

“And don’t you dare judge me for that.”

“Absolutely not.” He looked at Riley. “A medium.” He glanced at Jane. “Medium?”

She shrugged. “If four is your usual number of pizza slices.”

“There are ten in a medium?”

“There are eight. But they’re bigger slices than the six in the small,” she explained. “I will totally eat four of the medium.”

“Huh.” He did love a great pizza. “Large, then.”

Jane seemed relieved. He laughed. “And two shots of tequila. With salt and lime.”

Jane nodded. “And water,” she said.

“Got it.” Riley moved off to put their order in.

“So, do you need to eat before you tell me about your dad? Or do you want to go into the storeroom while we wait for the food?” he asked.

“The storeroom?”

“The horniness,” he reminded her.

“Oh right.” She nodded. “So you’re offering me a quickie in the storeroom?”

“Absolutely. I’m here for you.”

She snorted. “Well, thanks, but if you think I’m going to have sex with a millionaire for the first—and probably last—time in my life, in a dingy bar storeroom, you’re nuts,” she told him.

He grinned. “Tell me more.”

“Oh, there better be a huge hotel suite involved, massive king-sized bed, ridiculously high-thread-count sheets, Jacuzzi tub, room service, on-site spa with massage therapist included, one of those fluffy bathrobes to lay around in…” She trailed off. “Tell you what, let me watch Pretty Woman again quick, and then I’ll let you know if I missed anything.”

Dax pulled his phone out and tapped on his Netflix app icon. “Do it now.”

She laughed.

Riley set down their shots and two glasses of water.

Jane looked at him. He looked at her. Then they both licked the backs of their hands, she shook salt on both of them, and they clicked their glasses together. Then they licked the salt, shot the tequila, and sucked the lime wedges simultaneously.

Jane didn’t even shudder as she swallowed the strong liquor.

“Okay,” he said. “Since the hotel suite and all the perks are over in Dubuque and the amazing pizza is here—”

“You really have a hotel suite with all that?” she asked.

“Of course.” He leaned in. “And if I didn’t, I’d get it.”

That made her smile. “So much charm you can’t even contain it.”

“Something like that.” He wanted to kiss her. More than he’d ever wanted anything. “Tell me about your dad,” he said instead.

6

He wanted to hear about her dad. Which was strange. He didn’t know how to handle that. He wasn’t sure he could do a thing to make it better, and he wanted to make things better for Jane in a way he hadn’t felt for anyone in a long time. His instinct should be to deflect and distract. Flirt. Maybe talk her into dancing. Maybe one more shot and a game of darts.

Instead, he asked about her dad.

“You really want to hear about that?” she asked. “Even with sex maybe, kind of on the table, you’d want to talk about my dad?”

“If that’s one of the things you came to me for, I’ll do whatever I can to make it better,” he said with more sincerity than he’d felt for something in far too long. The last time was probably when Ollie had come to him and said, “I need you to help me make sure no one leaves this Comic-Con without knowing who we are.”

He’d do anything for Ollie.

Or Aiden, Cam, or Grant. Or his mom. Or brother.

And now, apparently, Jane Kemper. A small-town Iowa girl who worked in a cake factory and had a sick father Dax couldn’t do a damned thing about.

She looked a little amazed for a moment. Like she wasn’t sure if she should believe him, but then she wet her lips and said, “My dad has this weird disorder. They’re not really sure what it is. It’s a little like Parkinson’s, but they don’t think it’s that. They think it’s caused by exposure to pesticides through his work. But they don’t know which one for sure, and he’s the only one of the men who got sick from the work.”

“What job?” Dax asked, frowning. That was a no-joking, bullshit thing. Someone got sick like that from work they were doing, but no one knew for sure?

“He did crop spraying,” she said. “Flying planes to spray the fields with pesticides.”

“So he’s a pilot? That’s cool.”

She smiled. “He was. And then he also did farmwork. Various farms and farmers. Different jobs. But obviously exposed repeatedly to fertilizers and chemicals.”

Dax nodded. “Weird he’d be the only one affected.”

“Yeah. Though they say everyone is different, and how chemicals affect us is still based on our body makeup and genetics and other factors. So it’s probably a combination of things.”

“Are you investigating? Fighting to find out more? Any litigation?” Dax asked.

She sighed a very heavy sigh. “Honestly? That’s all so exhausting. Battling the health insurance company is bad enough. I just… we just… go day to day. We try to make today as good as we can. Solve the problems right in front of us, and do the best we can.”

He nodded. “I get that. But if these companies are doing something that’s harming people, someone should be looking into it.”

“They do. They have. But he’s just one case.”

“There have to be others.”

“There probably are. But someone would have to get them all together and prove it.” She shrugged. “It’s just a lot for people like us to take on.”

Dax frowned. “People like you?”

“Regular people, Dax,” she said, fatigue obvious in her voice.

He wanted to take that away. He wanted her smiling and laughing and teasing him like she had been a little bit ago. This was why he didn’t go into this stuff. This was hard stuff. Real-life stuff. Video game stuff—like lopping heads off trolls—was a lot easier.

“Regular people deserve to have things turn out right for them too,” he said. He reached out and covered her hand with his, needing to touch her.