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He looked down to where the ankle monitor was on his left ankle, then shook his leg to make the jeans fall back over it completely.
Lies.
They were all lies.
I was staring at your abs!
“I’m expected to have this ankle monitor for six more months. It was a condition of getting paroled early,” he explained.
I didn’t really care.
Was it bad that I found a murderer so attractive?
“I…” I began but was interrupted when a couple of bikes turned onto our quiet street and started heading our way.
I didn’t speak again as the bikes motored our way, pulled over at the end of my driveway, and parked in between my driveway and his. When they were stopped, they extended their kickstands out almost in sequence and dismounted.
All the while I watched the man at my side seem to wait for them to arrive with a resigned expression on his face.
My smile was wide for the first biker.
The second biker, not so much.
My dad walked up to me and pulled me into his chest, squeezing me lightly before letting go.
The other biker went to Slate and offered him his hand.
“Did you make a new friend?” I asked curiously.
Dad looked at the biker that’d ridden in with him for a brief second, then shrugged. “No idea who he is. Just met him about ten minutes ago on the ride through town.”
I nodded my head in understanding.
“And he just so happened to be going almost to the same place that you were?” I guessed.
“Actually,” he said. “I’m not here to talk to you. I’m here to talk to your neighbor.”
I frowned. “What? Why?”
Dad shuffled my hair with the palm of his hand, then gestured to my coffee cup. “You got any more of that?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course I do.”
“Can you grab me some?” he asked.
I sighed and nodded my head. “Do you want any sugar? Or do you just want it black?”
“Black,” he answered as he turned and started back for the stairs. “Bring it on over when you get it done.”
I gave him a thumb’s up and walked back to my door, cautiously peering over my shoulder at the two men that were now watching me go.
Feeling my heartbeat start to speed up in my chest, I placed a hand to it over my ribs and wondered if I was getting sick.
There was no way in hell that I was going over there to talk to the three of them.
Instead, I made the coffee, put it in a to-go cup with donuts on it, then took it out to the porch once again. I didn’t bother to see if I had their attention. Instead, I walked over to the porch railing and placed the coffee cup there. Once I was satisfied that it wasn’t going to fall off into the bushes, I chanced a look toward my father and was unsurprised to see that I had all three of them staring at me.
Giving a little wave, I gestured at the coffee to my father and said, “I’m going inside to get ready for work. You need anything else?”
Dad shook his head. Slate’s eyes narrowed.
The other man still hadn’t acknowledged me in any way.
Thinking it was for the best, I went to my bedroom and did indeed change and get ready for work.
Sure, it was an hour early, but I had a feeling I was going to be able to convince Dad that we needed to go eat after this. Whatever ‘this’ was.
My dad was always up for eating. Morning, noon, or night. Snack. Brunch. Dinner.
Whatever and whenever, he was down.
Which was why I hurried even faster.
If I wasn’t ready by the time my father needed to leave, he’d use it as an excuse not to take me.
Slipping into a pair of scrub bottoms that were fitting me kind of loose lately, I checked out my appearance in the mirror and tried to decide if tonight was going to be a good shift or not.
I hadn’t worked many night shifts with this particular group of staff before, so having to learn other peoples’ habits was wearing on me.
I heard a bike sound, followed by some cursing.
Thinking that the people were leaving, I rushed through my makeup, putting on half as much as I would have had this been different.
With my mascara wand still in my hand, I rushed out of the house while also still applying mascara.
It was only when I was all the way down the steps, and halfway across the yard, that I realized that the loud truck I’d heard wasn’t actually anybody leaving.
Well, not my father or Slate, anyway.
Who was leaving was the reason Dre and I had rented the house we had.
There was a large truck parked in front of the house across the street, and none other than Dre’s man was stepping out of it.
