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The latest being Cage needing a home for him and his baby girl, Dyna. Cage couldn’t shell out the cash, but now he could make payments back to the club in an amount he could afford every month.
The club having fat coffers was like having their own personal bank and it helped keep everything running.
Trip was a smart motherfucker, that was for sure. Shade wished he had half his business sense. Even half his smarts.
He didn’t, so he was only a grunt who took orders.
And grunts like him painted interior walls of homes owned by beautiful, intelligent women. They didn’t hook up with them.
No reason remained for him to be standing in Chelle’s home right now. He’d kept his word to deliver the cremains and he’d gotten the payment for their services. He needed to leave.
He shouldn’t be considering painting her house so he could come back and spend more time with her.
Especially if she was married. Hubby wouldn’t like some lowlife biker sniffing around his librarian wife.
“Gotta go,” he muttered.
As he went to move around her, to escape, she reached out and touched his arm. Right above the wide black leather cuff he wore on his left wrist. “Wait.”
His lungs seized and every muscle in his body turned to concrete at her touch.
She probably wouldn’t stop him if she knew the truth about him. She’d demand he leave, lock her doors and probably draw her blinds.
Then she’d stand with her phone in her hand ready to dial 911.
But she didn’t know the truth and hopefully never would.
If he left now, she’d always think he was a nice guy who did a nice thing by bringing over her cat’s ashes. That was the best way she could remember him.
And, if he was smart, the only way.
But he wasn’t smart. Him standing there and not continuing to walk out the front door proved it. “Don’t got time.”
“You mean now or for the painting?”
Both.
He inhaled deeply.
“It doesn’t have to be right away...”
Fuck. Why the fuck did she want this? She could hire some college kid or neighbor, or, hell, head down to the nearest Home Depot parking lot and hire someone desperate for work.
“We can work on one room at a time.”
He frowned. “We?”
“Well, if you do it on weekends, I can help.”
That was even fucking worse. He’d be working in close quarters with her. “Ain’t good at it.”
The corners of the lips he wanted to taste curled up at the ends slightly. “I’m sure you’re better than you think.”
He dropped his gaze from her face to where her fingers were wrapped around his forearm. Right above where the wide strip of leather covered a reminder of his past.
That wasn’t all he noticed. “Where’s your weddin’ ring?”
Her face paled and she quickly removed her hand, curling her fingers into her palm. “What?”
He wasn’t expecting that reaction, but now he needed to know the answer. “Your weddin’ ring.”
“I... Why would you ask that?”
“Wonderin’ why your hubby ain’t paintin’.” That wasn’t why he wanted to know. He wanted to know where the fuck her man was. Why he’d been at her house twice in two days and hadn’t seen him once or even heard him mentioned.
Why would a man let strangers come to his home and not be there to protect the ones he loved?
She took a step back with a frown. “Because he can’t.”
Something flickered behind her eyes. Pain? Sadness?
He wasn’t expecting that. If anything, he expected her to get a bit bent about him asking. “You ain’t wearin’ a weddin’ ring. He leave you?”
Yeah, he was being rude but maybe she would change her mind about wanting him to paint. If she changed her mind, he could walk away from her and out of her house a lot easier. He’d have zero reason to stay.
“I’m not sure what this has to do with anything.”
“He might not want me paintin’ your house.” At least that part was true.
“I don’t think he’ll care.”
“’Cause he’s gone?” Why the fuck did he need to know so badly? It was more than trying to push her away, and that shit bothered him.
“Yes,” she said softly, “he’s gone. He’s been gone a long time.”
“Sorry.” That didn’t mean she didn’t have a man in her life. Maybe not the same one as in the picture.
“I guess I could just do it myself. Maybe get the girls to help me...” Disappointment colored her words. She turned away with a sigh.
That heavy sigh got him in the gut, even though her changing her mind was what he hoped.
Right?
He hadn’t liked when she was digging, but here he was doing the same. But his digging was painful to her and his intention wasn’t to cause her hurt. He’d been trying to make her mad so she’d push him out the front door.
A flicker of guilt had him saying, “Can only do weekends. Saturdays. Not sure about Sundays.”
