Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Nope.” He wasn’t admitting that one for anything. “What do you say you grab another beer and join me on the couch? We can find a shitty movie to pass the time.” He lifted an eyebrow in challenge. “Unless you’d rather run away and hide in your room again tonight.”
Brenna cringed. “Not gonna lie, that had been my plan.”
“I figured. C’mon, I’ll even let you pick.”
She didn’t say anything, clearly unsure of him and their situation.
With a sigh, he pushed off the table. “Look, this situation is weird as fuck for both of us. We can make it even weirder by tiptoeing around each other, or we can acknowledge it and roll with it.”
Therapy for the win. He’d sure turned into a mature fucker over the past few months.
After a few tension-filled seconds, Brenna finally stood. “Got any popcorn?”
“Atta girl.” He winked. “Cabinet above the coffee pot. You get that going while I get the slobber monster taken care of. C’mon, Bubba,” he said to a filthy Caleb. Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed.
After changing the squirmy baby’s diaper, Lock got Caleb in his sleeper, fed him a bottle, and laid the nearly sleeping infant on his back in the crib. He paused, taking a moment to listen to the gentle sound of his son’s breathing and reflect on the vast changes in his life over the past months. Deanna’s death had been the catalyst for the worst and best moments of his life, and that was a mindfuck he still struggled with daily. How could he be so grateful for Caleb and mournful of his sister’s death at the same time? Had Deanna not died, Caleb most likely wouldn’t be in his life at all. He wouldn’t have spiraled downward until he hit the concrete bottom of the barrel at full speed and wouldn’t owe his life to his club brothers.
Would Brenna be waiting on his couch had Deanna lived? Probably not. He’d probably be at the clubhouse, working his way into some random’s bed. Part of him missed that life and the lack of responsibility, where no one would be counting on him except for whatever woman he’d made it his mission to pleasure that night.
But the other part of him—this new, moderately healthy version of himself—was happy right where he was, battling every day to keep from becoming a full-blown piece of shit.
Who the fuck knew what life had planned?
Christ, he needed to stop with the introspective bullshit and get his ass out to the couch before Brenna gave up and went to bed.
After a final stroke of Caleb’s soft head, Lock went to the couch. The sight of Brenna’s bare legs had him biting off a groan. Shit, maybe this had been a terrible idea. How the hell was he supposed to sit next to her and not want to pounce?
“Ever seen this?” she asked of the movie she’d queued up.
“Unfaithful? Nah, can’t say I have. Diane Lane is hot, though.”
Laughing, she rolled her eyes. “Does that mean you approve of the movie?”
He shrugged. “I’m not picky.” He didn’t give two shits what they watched. Whatever it was, he’d spend the entire movie trying not to lean over and sniff her. What was that incredible scent? It was more damn enticing than any drug he’d taken.
“All right.”
She pointed the remote at the television, but before she could hit the play button, he said, “Hold up.”
“Yeah?” She turned those gorgeous eyes his way.
“How are you holding up with all this shit?”
“Oh, um, I’m okay.” She blinked as though surprised by the question.
“Can’t imagine you planned on hanging with a bunch of bikers this week.” As he spoke, he turned her way only to find her body angled toward him.
“Uh, no… can’t say that was part of my original plan.” Her laugh wasn’t pleasant, more uncomfortable and nervous. “I don’t know. I guess I’m a little off. I couldn’t concentrate worth a damn at work today. I kept dropping stuff and messing up everything. I keep wondering how I could have spent so long with a man without picking up on clues.” She frowned. “There had to be clues. Right? Something I missed to let me know he was willing to throw me to the wolves?”
“Don’t you mean ‘throw you to the bikers?’ ”
She huffed a half laugh. “Right.”
“People hide their shit really well when they want to.” He sure knew better than most.
Their gazes met, and he lost anything he planned to say. God, he sucked at this kind of shit. Give him a pussy and a set of tits, and he’d rock it, but an emotional conversation? A shudder rippled through him. He sucked. “Besides…” he said, “… you can always blame it on the sex. Good sex warps your mind.” Humor took much less mental energy and felt safer. Easier.