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He didn’t get up to leave, or claim he didn’t want another beer, so she headed inside and grabbed two more.
When she came back out, his arms were folded behind his head and his eyes were shut. But they opened when she stopped next to him.
He held out his hand for his beer but after tucking it between his thighs, he held out his hand again. She handed him hers and he twisted off the top for her. As he handed it back, he let his fingers slowly slide over hers, but didn’t pull away completely.
Such a simple touch, such a complex reaction.
She didn’t pull away, either, when he wrapped his hand tighter over hers.
His Adam’s apple bobbed once. Twice. “Chelle?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes.” Honestly, no matter what he asked next, she was pretty damn sure she’d say that same answer.
And that could be reckless.
But he didn’t ask anything. Nothing at all. He only took a few silent moments to stare up at her as she stared down at him while their hands remained connected.
Eventually his fingers twitched over hers. An unspoken message to accompany his words. “My brain sometimes hiccups. So, to hide it—when I’m forced to speak—I do it slowly. Like now. I choose my words carefully and think them through first so I don’t fuck up. Sometimes you might hear me say the wrong word.”
“Sometimes you catch it...” she began.
He tilted his head but didn’t say anything more.
“Sometimes you don’t,” she finished. “Do you know why?”
“Got an idea.”
He only had an idea? His issue hadn’t been diagnosed by a professional? “Head trauma?”
“No.”
She waited and when he didn’t continue, she wanted to scream in frustration. He didn’t have to tell her anything, but he told her enough for her to want more. She needed to know more.
She wanted to machine gun more questions at him. He couldn’t just leave her hanging. That wasn’t fair.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Life isn’t fair. You know that, Chelle.
She knew that only too well.
Her eyes popped open when he tugged on her hand holding the beer. Did he want her beer?
No.
That was not what he wanted.
He gently tugged again.
Was she going to give him what he wanted?
It wouldn’t be smart to sit on his lap, so instead she perched on the arm of the chair, trying to keep most of her weight off it, just in case it wasn’t strong enough to hold her. She kept her eyes locked on him even when he didn’t release her hand and his other slipped under the oversized shirt, curled around her hip over her leggings and squeezed.
Holding her there, but not trapping her. Though, the slow back and forth slide of his thumb over the fabric at her hip might as well be a restraint. She couldn’t pull away even if she tried.
She fought the urge to slip into his lap, what he originally wanted, and forced herself to remain where she was instead. To try to keep a grasp on reality.
Because right now, she really wanted to experience her fantasy. A night of her and Shawn connected in a more intimate way. No invading thoughts of kids, their difference in age, or what he belonged to.
Which was a motorcycle gang.
She had no idea what a group of bikers involved themselves in. Only what she’d generally read or seen in the news. Or the little she’d heard around town when it came to Shawn’s MC specifically. Though after this weekend, she planned on doing some research.
However, what she’d heard about bikers involved violence, drugs, guns and run-ins with both law enforcement and other motorcycle clubs.
Even if he wanted her and she allowed herself to have him—even for a few hours—she didn’t want any of that touching her daughters in any way.
She should break his touch and free herself from his spell. But the pull to hear more about him was even stronger than her self-preservation.
“Whatever it is, whatever causes these... hiccups. You haven’t gotten professionally diagnosed with the cause. Am I wrong?”
“Not wrong.”
“Why didn’t your parents take you to see specialists?” She couldn’t imagine not doing everything in her power to help her own child. Even if she couldn’t afford it, she’d find a way.
“No reason to.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple.”
He released the hand holding her beer and she placed the bottle on the ground next to her feet. She twisted toward him, so she could see his face better. “Tell me.”
Chapter Eight
Tell me.
Not a demand, but a soft request. One he was surprised he considered answering.
He hadn’t told anyone.
Like Easy, some might have guessed. But most didn’t pay close enough attention to care.
Why he would discuss this with Chelle, he had no fucking clue.
But he was drawn to her in ways he’d never been drawn to a woman before. He didn’t understand it, probably never would.
