Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Lazy days aren’t my thing. I get too wrapped up in my own head. It’s when I have time to stop and think that gets me into trouble. It’s when, despite my many attempts to think of something else, Sylvie Davis infiltrates. It feels like an insidious invasion, mainly because there’s never been another woman capable of taking up space there.
Thoughts of her will wane eventually. I just have to avoid her. Since she doesn’t seem to have any interest in me and she’s hardly ever at the clubhouse, it will happen in due time.
My only goal is to not go insane before it does.
Chapter 7
Sylvie
I’m not a woman prone to nervousness. I make a plan, set a goal, and go after it.
Today’s task started no differently than any other—get off work, shower, get packed for my trip back to Telluride so I can deal with the shit storm my cousin has created in my life.
Maybe it’s the irritation making my hands tremble a little as I toss clothes into the suitcase. Maybe it’s going back home after so many years, knowing I won’t find that home in the same condition as when I left it. Maybe I’m still worried about Big Daddy even though Faith assured me she’d look after him.
I hiss when a pair of underwear land outside the suitcase rather than in it like I intended. It seems the smallest of inconveniences are just grating on my nerves today.
Faith texted late last night that a plan was worked out for my trip but didn’t go into further detail. I asked last night exactly what she meant, thinking it had to do with the paperwork she was having prepared for me, but when that text went unanswered, it hiked my stress level to the point I hardly got any sleep last night.
Since she still hasn’t texted me back today, I’m no closer to relaxing.
The sound of a motorcycle approaching my house isn’t a relief, and my heart is pounding as I walk to the front door, startling when I find Faith standing there with Legend.
“What’s going on?” I ask, suspicion and a healthy dose of irritation marking my tone.
Legend cocks an eyebrow at me, but I ignore the opportunity he’s allowing for me to change my tone.
Faith is my best friend, and when she does shit that annoys me, I’m going to call her on it. Her protective man will just have to deal with it.
“Open the garage so I can park my bike.”
I bare my teeth when I see an unhappy Spade sitting on his motorcycle in my driveway.
“No,” I say immediately, speaking to whomever is listening. “I’d rather go alone.”
I knew Legend would never let Faith out of his sight, but if this is what Faith meant when she texted that she had a plan worked out, I want no damn part of it.
“Faith mentioned you were nervous about your trip,” Legend begins. “Spade is going to go with you. Make sure nothing bad happens.”
I glare at my friend, ignoring her pushy boyfriend.
“I want you to be safe,” she says, gnawing on the corner of her lip. The action tells me that she knows this is a bad idea. “I thought it would’ve been someone else.”
“Anyone else,” I growl. “Not him.”
“Everyone else is busy.”
I still don’t acknowledge Legend when he speaks again. This isn’t about him. I’ve never felt more betrayed by my best friend.
“The garage door,” Spade snaps.
“It won’t be so bad,” Faith offers, but her tone tells me that she’s possibly just as uneasy as I am about this.
“Why can’t you two come?” I offer, knowing that physically I’m still safe with Spade, despite my irritation at the mere sight of him. It’s the slap in the face, the sting I still feel on my skin, that makes me want to go back to bed and hide from this problem altogether.
“Kincaid has a different project for me,” Legend answers before Faith can even open her mouth. “He won’t give you any trouble.”
I watch over Legend’s shoulder as Spade leans his bike on its kickstand. Climbing off, he walks toward the driver’s side of my car, pulls open the door, and hits the garage door button.
My lip is twitching in anger as he climbs back on his bike and drives it into the garage. A few seconds later, the roar of the machine silences and he walks out carrying a duffel bag.
“You should really keep your car locked if you’re not going to park it in the garage.”
Glaring at my friend isn’t going to change a damn thing, but it’s better than the alternative of cussing like a crazy person at this man.
“I do what I want,” I spit instead of explaining that I just got home from work and left my car in the driveway instead of pulling it back into the garage where I park it every night. It’s a tight fit getting in, and I didn’t want to struggle with my suitcase before I left.