I’ve been looking at the Liberty Bell she’s been working on. Honestly, I can’t tear my eyes away from it. It’s obvious she hasmore work to do since it’s not completely covered in whatever makes it go from just a paper sculpture into a disco ball. I tilt my head from one side to the other as if the angle is what I’m not understanding here.
“Why are you staring at it like you expect the doors of Studio 54 to open again?” Ezra’s question is filled with amusement, and I turn to where she’s packing a plastic tote with whatever it is she needs.
“I mean,” I gesture toward the bell, “I kind of am expecting that.” I look at it, measure it in a new way, and tease my woman, “I’m not sure if you should even put this in your classroom.”
She pulls a face at me like I must be joking with her, but I keep my face composed. With narrowed eyes and suspicion in her voice, she asks, “What do you mean?”
“I’m a little bit afraid they’re going to get a contact high from this thing.” I point to the bell with an accusing finger.
The laughter that comes out of Ezra soothes part of me I didn’t even realize was on edge. Still, given the situation, I can’t allow myself to let my guard down. Not when we don’t know where Bobby is.
I can only relax, marginally, because Diesel is outside watching her place right now. He’ll make sure no one gets the chance to even try to take me by surprise. Knowing this and allowing myself to relax are two different things. It’s not going to be possible until I’m back on the club’s land.
Behind my fence.
With more eyes watching Ezra’s back.
Ezra stands up and huffs out a breath that causes the tendrils of blonde hair surrounding her face to flutter slightly. Her handsslap against her thighs, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing.
Something tells me she would not be amused if that were my reaction.
“I really don’t even know what else to take. I have everything for the bell.” She grimaces and adds on, slightly apologetically, “Unless I need to order more of the mirror strips, which is possible because it’s not an exact science.”
“Isn’t the area of an object just an equation? Math wasn’t my favorite subject and I’m not Scratch, but I’m pretty sure I remember something about that,” I tease her.
She scrunches her face up at me and waves her hand. “I don’t need that kind of logic in my craft room,” she insists.
I hold my hands up in surrender. “I apologize. I would never want to create any offense in such an auspicious room.”
When she eyes me, my cock goes rock fucking hard. I don’t have enough time to fuck her here. Not right now.
“Better.” She nods once. Then her eyes cast around and the worry is back on her face. “I guess I’m just not sure how much to pack up. I’m not always sure where my next project is going to take me or what I want to do next.”
I cross my arms across my chest and decide straight forward is the only way to go. It’s the only way she’ll trust me and believe that this thing between us is real.
“Then bring it all.”
Ezra stares at me with her mouth hanging open and her eyebrows shooting up toward her hairline. Her eyes look evenbigger behind her glasses. She looks like a nerdy princess; I fucking love it.
“I’m not going to,” her voice drops down to a lower register as she impersonates me, “bring it all.” She shakes her head, her question genuine, “What is wrong with you?”
One side of my mouth tips up. There aren’t many people who would talk to me with that kind of sass. And she sure as hell never did until recently.
Until she realized she could trust me.
It makes me think about Graycie and how she blossomed right in front of us. There’s a fire in her, one she didn’t allow to catch and become flame before. But there was always the ember.
“Nothing is wrong with me,” I assure her. “I’m just telling you how I see it. If it were up to me, you’d be packing it all up and moving in.”
“I think that might be a little fast and a little much,” her voice trembles slightly. “There’s no way all my stuff could fit in your room in the clubhouse,” she points out.
“No, not my room in the clubhouse,” I agree.
“I definitely can’t fit my dark room in your room there,” she says, almost like she didn’t hear me.
“You have a darkroom?”
She makes a face and points toward the closet door. “I didn’t really need a closet in here since I’m not using it as a bedroom. I created a very small darkroom.”
