Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“Need more whiskey,” she said. “Your dad had some, too, but not much. He’ll fall asleep early, then I’ll go home. Unless he’s been wandering during the night?”
“No, he hasn’t,” I said. “Once he’s out for the evening, he’s out.”
“Some things never change,” she said, nodding sagely. “Your mother used to complain about that—how he’d snore like a train and sleep so soundly she couldn’t wake him up no matter how bad it got.”
“Thanks for helping us,” I said, feeling suddenly awkward. “I know this isn’t your responsibility.”
“Bullshit. I’ve lived here since before you were born. If that doesn’t make me family, I don’t know what does. I care enough that I want to keep an eye on him for my own peace of mind. When do you see that specialist again?”
“Thursday.”
“Good. Be sure and tell the doctor that while he’s had trouble keeping up with the building for the last couple years, this mental stuff didn’t really start until Tricia died. It was sudden.”
I cocked my head at her, surprised. “I’d assumed I hadn’t noticed because I was so caught up with my life in Seattle.”
Mrs. Webbly shook her head.
“If that’s the case, I never saw it,” she said firmly.
Huh.
“Okay, I’ll make sure I mention it.”
“And have fun with your young man,” she added. “I like him. I know he wasn’t straight up with us at the start, but he had good reasons. I’ve lived in Hallies Falls my entire life—nearly seventy years. I’ve seen the Nighthawks rise and then I saw them change. Might not agree with his methods, but it’s good that he came here, Tinker. I’m certain of that.”
Okay . . .
“I’m going upstairs now,” I said firmly, deciding this was enough. At this rate she’d start giving me sex tips next.
“Just be safe,” she replied. “You be sure to use—”
“No. Just . . . No.”
Her laughter rang out as I ran for the door.
Sometimes retreat is the only option.
• • •
I’ve never been a motorcycle kind of girl, but the sight of Gage pulling up to the curb on his Harley . . . well, let’s just say we hadn’t even officially started the date and my panties already needed a change. This was dangerous, I realized. He was dangerous, and not just because he was part of a motorcycle club. I’d been lusting after him from the minute I first saw him. In some ways, it was the first real thing I’d felt since I’d lost my mom. The first positive thing, at least.
But where could it possibly go?
All I really knew about this guy were the lies he’d told me.
Remember, this is about having fun. You don’t need to marry the man. Just the thought soothed me as I watched Gage walk to the porch. Offering Dad and Mrs. Webbly a shaky smile, I stepped outside, feeling like a girl going to a high school dance. How long had it been since I’d had a date?
Since before I’d married Brandon.
“Hey,” I called to Gage, waving a hand limply, deciding I didn’t care for dating. I’d had sex with this man less than twelve hours ago, yet here we were. Awkward. Pretending to go through some ancient courting ritual when we’d already slept with each other seemed a bit silly.
You just want to get laid again.
(Yeah. I really did.)
I stepped down the stairs, meeting Gage at the bottom. He hooked a hand around the back of my neck, pulling me in for a fast, hot kiss that stopped all those pesky thoughts. Pure heat replaced them, and I leaned into his body, taking in his scent with a relief so intense it’s hard to explain. Standing near him felt right. Safe.
You’re infatuated, moron, my common sense pointed out. Your brain isn’t working right.
I told my common sense to fuck off, then wrapped my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.
“Get a room!” Mrs. Webbly shouted, and I jerked away guiltily. My elderly tenant and father were standing on the porch, watching us with smirks on their faces. Gage laughed, but I groaned.
“They could at least pretend to give us privacy,” I muttered.
“That doesn’t seem to be the way you do things around here,” Gage said, turning me slowly but firmly toward his bike. We walked over to it—their eyes burning into my back—and I wondered why it hadn’t occurred to me to dress for a motorcycle ride. (Probably because I wasn’t a motorcycle kind of girl. Duh.) Gage handed me a helmet, and I raised a hand to touch my carefully styled hair.
“You know, I never considered that we’d be riding your bike,” I admitted. Gage raised a brow, a knowing smile crossing his face.
“You’re a hell of a rider, or at least you were last night in bed. You weren’t worried about your hair then. Sometimes you gotta let go and enjoy a little, Tinker. Tonight’s for fun, okay?”