Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
“Morning.”
“I’m glad you’re still here.”
Did she think I was going to bail? After I told her I was in this for good?
Gretel stretches one leg and gently swats at Margot’s hair with her paw.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Margot laughs, scooping Gretel into her arms. “Do you want some alone time with my man?” She sets the cat on the bed and Gretel jumps off and slowly leaves the room. “That’s right, keep going, you little hussy.”
I pull her down and roll on top of her, pinning her underneath me. “I like hearing you call me your man.” My lips quirk. “Even if it is to the cat.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” I kiss her neck. “I like waking up with you. Even if I have to endure fifteen pounds of fur landing on my chest first thing in the morning.” Is that who I am now? A man who has a girlfriend with a cat?
She cringes and laughs at the same time. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I kiss her cheek, then roll to the side.
She reaches over to the nightstand and picks up her phone. “Shoot. I have to get ready.”
“We’re not staying in bed today?”
“I would love that.” She rests her hand on my chest. “But I have to prep for back-to-back funerals tomorrow.”
That’s a mood killer.
“Sorry.” I sit up.
“One was a very long consult yesterday before you showed up. That’s why I was headed to bed so early.”
Shit. I was so worried about my ego and getting my dick in her I never asked her something as simple as how was your day. I’m already sucking at this boyfriend thing. “Sorry I messed up your night.”
A quick burst of apology widens her eyes. “You didn’t mess up my night.” She tilts her head to the side, her hair covering her face, reminding me of The Hermit card in my reading. “You were the best part of my whole day.”
Maybe I’m not fucking up the boyfriend gig yet.
She rolls out of bed. “But I really do have to get ready.” Her expression softens. “You can stay here if you want.”
“I have a few things I need to do today.”
A hesitant cloud of doubt dulls her expression. Can’t blame her. “I’ll come back tonight. If you want me to.”
“I do,” she whispers. “Is that okay?”
Instead of answering, I stand and kiss her, letting the warmth of my lips on hers show her how much I want to be with her. “It’s more than okay.” I pull back enough to see her face. “But I’ll head out early tomorrow, though. Sounds like you’ll be busy here and I’m supposed to ride out to see my sister.”
Her eyes brighten. “Oh, good. Is she okay?”
Warmth that she seems to care about my relationship with my sister spreads over me.
“Yeah.” I rake my hands through my hair. “I still want to go see her. Might take her to my buddy’s racetrack for the day.”
“That sounds like fun.”
I open my mouth to ask if she wants to join us, then stop myself, and not only because I know some of my club brothers will be there and find out about us. “How long does the funeral go?”
“Hours.” She takes a deep breath like she’s fortifying herself for a grueling day. “Then there’s all the cleanup here. And the first family, well…they’re difficult. I’m sure there will be issues.”
“You need me to stick around? I can go see Jezzie day after tomorrow instead.”
“No, we’re used to it. If they’re too belligerent, Paul and Henry handle it or we call the sheriff’s office.”
Grief makes people do crazy shit. For the first time, I wonder how safe Margot is living here. “Well, if you need me, please call. Zips isn’t that far from here. I’ll come over and bring a few guys with me.”
Her lips curve and the tension in her shoulders seems to ease. “That would be quite a sight. All these handsome men on Harleys roaring into our parking lot to calm the angry mourners.”
“I’ll make sure to bring my ugliest brothers then.”
She leans up and kisses my cheek. “Haven’t met one yet. You’re each beautiful in your own ways.”
While she’s getting ready for the day, I go into the kitchen to make her breakfast. If Rooster could see me now. The number of times I’ve given him shit for fetching Shelby tea and stuff backstage at her concerts, and here I am watching a YouTube video on my phone to figure out how to make my scrambled eggs fluffy enough.
Margot enters the kitchen while I’m at the stove using a spatula to scrape the egg mixture into long ribbons in my pan. Her gaze dances to the banana that’s propping up my phone on the counter to the toast popping out of the toaster, the coffee brewing, and finally the stove.