Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
“I need to help Lexi,” I said, standing up. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied, but she wouldn’t meet my gaze. “The asthma looks scary, but your sister is exaggerating. It’s not that bad.”
She was lying and we both knew it.
“Okay,” I said, playing along. Then I went to find my sister.
Chapter Seven
Rome
I woke up to find the apartment empty.
So much for morning sex.
Not that I’d actually expected it, but I’ve always been an optimistic kind of guy. What I had expected was to cook Randi breakfast and revisit her little speech about our lack of relationship potential. She probably thought sneaking out on me would end the conversation.
No fucking way.
Not after spending the night wrapped around that sweet little body of hers, which was pure torture. My raging hard-on had made sleep impossible. On the bright side, staring at the ceiling gave me plenty of time to consider the situation. Randi could protest all she wanted, but we had something here. Something that wasn’t entirely related to my frustrated cock. Something that made it clear that this wasn’t just about getting off.
This was about her.
I’d felt it from the beginning. Over the years I’d wondered if I’d imagined it. It’s not like I believed in love at first sight or any bullshit like that. But Randi had always been different. I still remembered the first time I saw her.
It’d been like a primal gut punch.
If I was the kind of guy who believed in love at first sight, that’s what I’d call it. Except I really wasn’t that guy. I believed in lust and sweaty sheets. But last night hadn’t been about sex. Okay, grinding up on her on the dance floor was all about the sex, but I’d actually had fun talking to her, too. I’d never seen anyone get so excited about cleaning teeth, but she was into it. When she talked about it, her face got all shiny and happy because she liked helping people. Later, when I’d seen that bruise covering up all that shine, I’d wanted to kill someone.
Literally.
I’d have done it, too, if she hadn’t held me back. And when I’d accidentally dragged her off the bar stool, I felt like ten thousand kinds of asshole.
To be honest, I was kind of an asshole. When she’d passed out on my bed, I hadn’t taken the couch. Nope. I’d stayed right next to her, and when she’d rolled over and started snuggling into my body, I was happy to oblige. It hadn’t been the most comfortable night of my life, that was for damned sure. Not because she kicked me or snored or anything like that. Nope. The girl was an octopus. I’d had hand jobs with less groping, I shit you not. If she hadn’t been sound asleep, I’d have fucked her six times by now.
Randi’s brain might not be on board with us, but the rest of her body sure as hell didn’t agree. It’d been nearly four before I’d managed to sleep—even then I’d had to rub one out in the bathroom first.
Then morning came, and my little octopus turned into a chicken.
If I wasn’t so frustrated, I’d have thought it was cute. Not knowing how to handle the morning after meant that she didn’t hook up very often, despite that bitchy little speech about keeping it casual. My inner cave man got off on this idea, and it made my cock all twitchy. I checked the time. Nine. Usually I woke up early no matter how late I’d been out, so this was a surprise. I reached for my phone, planning to text her, when I realized I still didn’t have her number.
Fuck.
Tinker would have it. For about two seconds, I considered texting her. Then I thought about Gage reading the message over her shoulder, and all my club brothers flipping me shit because I’d had to go chasing after a woman. I loved every one of those bastards, but they were like teenage girls when it came to gossip.
I’d been planning to swing by Gage’s place today anyway. He had a part I needed for an old bike I’d been fixing up. I’d learned restorations from my dad and grandpa, and while it’d started out as a hobby, these days I made more fixing up motorcycles than I did as an EMT.
An hour later, I found myself sitting across from my club president in Tinker’s kitchen, eating pancakes.
“Randi still talking to you after the black eye?” he asked.
“I think she was terrified,” Tinker said, frowning as she took a seat next to him. I passed her the syrup. “Back when she worked for me, she didn’t go out much. I’m sure she’s more experienced now, but I don’t think she’s ever seen a fight like that. I know I was scared the first time I did.”