As she licks a smidge of butter from her thumb, she asks, “What?”
Realizing I’m staring, I look down at the bread in my hand and take another bite. “Nothing, it’s just…you’re not from around here, are you?”
“Is it obvious?” She laughs. “Born and raised in a small town outside of Austin. How ‘bout you?”
“I’m from The Drift.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “Is that like, south of here or…?”
With a smile, I finish the rest of my slice of bread and brush my fingertips together, removing the last of the crumbs. “I think we’re going to be good friends, June.”
Her baby blue eyes crinkle in the corners. “I think so, too.”
“Listen, I should probably grab my things from my house, but I’ll be back in a couple hours.” I start for the door, but she stops me.
“Do you want me to go with you?” she asks. “Maybe help or something?”
“No, I’m good,” I rush out. The idea of someone as sweet and innocent coming face-to-face with my sperm donor is enough to bring out my Mama Bear instincts. “Thank you, though,” I add, trying to soften the blow. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay.” She gives me another sweet smile. “I’m going to hop in the shower, but we’ll hang out when you get back, okay?”
“Sounds perfect.” Closing the door behind me, I step outside and walk down the steps toward my car. After being up for a bit, my muscles are a little looser, and I can move around a bit better than this morning, but I’m still sore as hell. I’m sure tomorrow will be even worse, but the sooner I can grab my things and bring them back, the sooner I can steal some actual rest. The idea alone is enough to make me smile. Sometimes it’s weird. How quickly life can change. The highs and lows from the past twenty-four hours are enough to leave a girl dizzy. Yet, here I am. Still standing. As long as I can figure out a way to replace my laptop, I might even make it out of this week okay, and wouldn’t that be the nicest of surprises? Yeah, it would be amazing. But first? Packing. Keys in hand, I stop short at the base of the stairs. My jaw drops.
What the hell?
“What are you doing here?” I ask as Roman climbs out of the passenger side of a cherry red Ford Raptor, moving toward the back.
The driver’s side door opens, and Jagger appears. “Hey.”
“Hey?” The simple word manages to jog me from my stupor. I march closer to Jagger’s truck. “What are you doing here?”
“Someone had to pack your shit.”
I stride toward the bed of the truck and peer inside. Sure enough, my things are tucked in boxes. “How did you…” My voice trails off. Turning back to Jagger, I ask, “Did you do this?”
“Pack your shit?” The look he gives me makes me feel like I got hit in the head again and am hallucinating our entire conversation. “Already confessed.”
“Don’t let him take all the credit,” Ford interjects. He must’ve slipped out of the back seat while I was distracted. “Hawke and I did most of the heavy lifting.”
Ignoring him, I give Jagger a pointed look. “No, I mean…” My lips smash together, and I wince from the contact.Ouch.I shake my head, determined to find an answer. “Can I talk to you?”
With a slow nod, Jagger starts toward the edge of the parking lot as I follow behind.
“Keep going!” he calls to Ford and Roman, since Hawke appears to be missing at the moment. Satisfied they’ll do as they’re told, he turns back to me. “There a problem, Little Thief? Although, I might have to reconsider your pet name.”
My face scrunches, and I try to keep up with the conversation, but the man’s way too good at shifting topics on a dime. “And why is that?” I ask.
“Because you’re a terrible thief.”
I fold my arms. “Says the man who literally broke into my house and stole my things.”
Ignoring my sass, he says, “Yeah, your shit took like ten minutes to pack. I thought you had a storage unit or something, but Roman insists?—”
“Roman?” I screech. “Roman was with you, too?”
“And Ford,” he offers. “But he already told you that. Is there a problem?”
Is there a problem? I mean, other than the fact that this is a massive breach of privacy, how the hell did he know I needed my things packed in the first place? Let alone where they should be dropped off? Add in the fact that I slept in his bed and woke up to him working out in his gym. When did he even have the time? Oh, and let’s not forget about how he had to have snooped to find out where I live in order to pick up my things and potentially run into my?—
