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A shot of lust heats my blood. I focus on answering her question and not acquainting myself with the color of her bra. “Yeah. Kids don’t bother me. Most of the time I like them a hell of a lot more than I like their parents.”
There’s an inch between us. Maybe less. When she moves slightly her legs brush mine. Images of weaving my hand around her back and sliding her body underneath mine torture me.
As if by instinct, I release her fingers and claim the curve of her stomach. Emily’s eyes flash to mine and there’s a hooded look to them that screams she’s sharing the same thoughts. Her hand hovers off the bed. With a deep breath she slowly reaches over and rests it on my bicep. Electricity shoots up my arm with her touch and I blink with the dizzying caress.
“Why’s that?” Emily asks in a hoarse voice. When it’s obvious I lost the conversation, she prompts, “Why do you like the kids better than the parents?”
“Some people around here think the Terror are the shit, but there’re others that treat us like garbage. People see the cut, see the tattoos and earrings on some of the guys, and they assume that we’re a bunch of felons. Both Mom and Dad have lost jobs because they were told to choose between the club and where they worked.”
“Did the club interfere with their jobs?”
“No. It’s a small town and people know that Dad rides with the club and that Mom is a part of the support group, the Terror Gypsies. Guess their bosses thought it was bad for business to have a club member working for them. That’s a huge reason why Cyrus started the security company—to give jobs to brothers who the community shut out.”
Emily bites her bottom lip and over the past few weeks I’ve learned that means she’s analyzing and worrying. “Do people treat you differently?”
“Most years at school I was labeled a disciplinary case before I walked into the classroom. What school never understood is that I didn’t just have to answer to my parents about my grades and behavior at school—I answered to the whole club. The club pushes the ‘it takes a village’ concept to the extreme.”
“I’m sorry,” says Emily.
“Don’t be. It’s what people do. Judge before they bother getting to know someone. Judge before they understand what the club’s about. Their loss as far as I’m concerned.”
“No.” Emily stares into my eyes. “I’m sorry for being the person who judged you.”
Her words are like two slugs to the chest and I sway. Emily’s hand on my arm tightens as if she could carry my burdens. It takes a big person to admit when they’re wrong and it takes an even bigger person to admit that they’re wrong to the party that wounded them.
If she can be honest, then so can I. “I’m sorry the club hasn’t done right by you. All this secret stuff—I don’t get it. You’re Eli’s daughter, Cyrus’s granddaughter. If you grew up around here you would have been the princess. Still could be if you wanted. There’s not a man in the club who wouldn’t do what you asked.”
Ingesting the concept that she’s royalty, Emily fiddles with a loose string on the sleeve of my T-shirt. “As long as whatever I asked for didn’t interfere with what Cyrus or Eli wanted, right?”
She’s learning fast. “That’d be right.”
“Is that the reason why we’re friends? Because Eli told you to be?”
The sadness in her voice creates an ache in me. My fingers ease to the small of her back and I edge closer as I pull her to me. She doesn’t protest. Just places her other hand on my chest as those dark doe eyes search me for an answer.
“I’m done bullshitting you. At first, I was nice to you because Eli told me to stay near you and protect you. I...”
Emotion locks the words in my windpipe. I almost failed her and knowing what I could have lost if I had fucked up that night at the motel causes hurt and anger to weave together in my gut.
“I fell asleep the night I was supposed to be watching you at the motel. That mistake almost harmed you and almost cost me my chance at membership in the club. Following you around was my penance. But then being around you...”
There’s a reason why people shouldn’t talk at four in the morning. Exhaustion eliminates the ability to lie. It demolishes the ability to tiptoe around the truth. Emotions are too exposed and real. Heightened to the point of explosion.
My hand roams up her back until I can tunnel my fingers through her hair. I slide a chestnut lock between my thumb and forefinger and enjoy the silkiness as it falls back to her shoulder. Her breath catches and the sound causes my cells to spark to life.
“But being around me...what?” Emily whispers.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, and the honesty of my words stings. “You’re beautiful inside and out. I like how you challenge me. I like how I can never figure out what you’re going to do or say. I like how we’ve thrown weird shit in your direction and you take it like a pro.”
I cup her face with one hand and caress her soft skin. “I like how you smile and how you laugh. I like how you love and defend your family and I like how you’re trying to love mine. I love how you trust. But mostly, Emily, I like how I feel when I’m around you.”
Shit. My heart bursts as the words tumble out. “I’m falling for you.”
Emily
OZ’S FINGERS BECOME individual flames lapping against my skin and my whole body is on fire. Mom has warned me about boys like him. Boys who are dangerous. Boys who s
ay pretty things. A voice in my head screams to run, but instead I lean into his touch.
