“Haven't we had this conversation before?” I ask slyly.
“Perhaps. Alright. Get some sleep. Are you planning on staying there for a while?”
“I don’t have any jobs at the moment. I’ll let you know what I decide.” I park in front of the hotel. “Love you, Momma.”
“Love you, sweet boy.”
I chuckle and disconnect. We end every conversation the same way. I don’t feel any embarrassment for loving my mom and expressing that love. I’m lucky to have a mother who cares. She respects me, and I return that sentiment. She is the reason I am who I am. So, I can blame her for my quirks.
My body is ready to shut down for the night, and if Bash is to be believed, I’ll need all the rest I can get to be prepared for tomorrow night.
I appreciate his warning, but it takes a lot to shock me.
Chapter Three
Rylee
Rolling to my side, I snuggle in, debating whether I should get up. It’s Saturday, so I don’t have any plans. I didn’t accept any fights this weekend, not knowing if I would be done dispensing justice. I could stay in bed and read, my favorite pastime.
My bedroom is my haven. My bed is custom made. Below the mattress, bookshelves wrap around the tall frame, and beneath the head of the bed is a small cubbyhole. All I have to dois reach down and grab a book. It wouldn’t matter which one because they are all my favorites. I love reading paranormal. It’s interesting to see if the author describes shifters in any way close to our world. Other times, I forget to compare and get lost in the story.
My room is decorated for my comfort. The bed is a queen, and covered in white, fluffy blankets. The frame and the dresser are gray wood. A large, cushioned chair sits in the corner, with more bookshelves beside it. There is an attached bathroom and a large closet. No one has been inside this room except my best friend, Haven. I don’t invite men here. Haven’s mates and Heath are the only men who’ve been in my home. It is my safe place, and I have tons of locks and security to keep it that way.
My stomach rumbles, and I groan. I suppose I should leave my cocoon. Swinging my legs over the side, I sit up and yawn. My hair falls on my face, so I sweep it back. I ease to the floor and slide my feet into my slippers before going into the bathroom. As I use the toilet, I rub my eyes. Regardless of the events of the past few days, my life is usually calm. The most excitement I have is fighting in the ring, or going out with Allie or Sally. They make sure there is always something to talk about. Haven hasn’t been over since she mated, but we’ve talked on the phone regularly. She is bonding with her mates. I can’t imagine the energy you need by having four mates.
I shudder and walk to the sink. She has her hands full, yet she’s happy about it. Having a mate hasn’t been something I’ve thought much about. I don’t know how I would react. The idea of a fated mate is interesting. Someone who is yours alone, but I like my life. My past is messy and filled with trauma. When a female shifter meets her mate, she goes into heat, and her mate is the only one who can relieve it. The universe wants you to populate the community. I spent years not in control of what washappening with my body. Having a mythical force dictate who I can love and be with makes me want to challenge it.
Rubbing my empty stomach, I leave the room and walk past my bed. I unlock my bedroom door and move toward the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I scan the contents. Cooking is not something I am good at. I live on takeout and box meals. I enjoy a good frozen meal, and my microwave gets a workout daily. One good thing about having Haven’s mates here was that I got yummy meals. Remy is a chef and runs a restaurant in town. I’m a regular customer. I was spoiled for a couple of days, and now I’m back to scrounging shit together.
I grab a water and a taco I picked up the other night. Unwrapping the cold shell, I put it on a paper plate and toss it in the microwave. While it’s baking, I start making coffee. It’s probably not great to have leftover fast food and coffee for breakfast, but I don’t care. The timer goes off, and I take it out, sliding it across the counter. My kitchen has a small island, and more often than not, I sit at it instead of the table beyond it. I can’t wait for the whole pot of coffee to brew, so I hold my cup under it until there is enough to start, then put the pot back. I sit on a stool, take a drink, and press the button on the counter to open the curtains. A wall of windows is directly across from me. The living room and kitchen are open. There is a sitting area, a desk, and shelves filled with books at the back of the space, farthest from the front door. I spend hours sitting by my shelves, reading, or staring at the horizon.
I blow on the taco before taking a bite. Chewing slowly, I realize there should be a rule against eating soggy tacos in the morning. I smack my lips and frown when my phone rings. My expression clears, and I grin.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping in? I would think your mates would have worn you out,” I say.
“I actually went to bed early,” Haven says.
“Sure,” I snort.
“I did wake up to two sexy jaguars beside me,” she hums.
“La, la, la….” I press my palm to my ear for dramatic effect.
“Goof,” she laughs. “What are you doing?”
“Eating a bad taco and drinking coffee.” I take another bite, then drop the remaining food and pick up my cup.
“Shit, Rylee. That sounds disgusting.”
“Actually, I loved it.” I grimace.
“You need to eat better,” she lectures.
“Says the woman with a personal chef. I remember when they had to force you to eat.” Haven is a painter, and when she gets immersed in her art, she loses track of time.
“So, what are you doing today?” she asks, and I allow her to change the subject.
“I thought about reading after a bath. Perhaps, reading in the tub,” I hum.
