Page 26

My backpack is on the floor beside me, still mostly empty except for the two hundred dollars he gave me. I argued with him about taking it, but he was so sure about the whole thing, *you're mine to take care of*, that I didn't know how to keep saying no.

*Mine.*

He said that. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I don't know if he meant it the way it sounded: possessive, protective, and entirely too intense for two people who met less than twenty-four hours ago. Or if it was just the way motorcycle club guys talk, and I'm reading too much into it because I want it to mean something.

Because I do want it to mean something.

I want him to be interested in me the way I'm already interested in him. I want this to be more than just a good man doing a good thing for someone who needed help. I want…

I stop that train of thought before it goes any further.

It's too soon. Way too soon. I left my wedding yesterday. I'm wearing jeans and a borrowed leather vest in a motel room in a town I'd never heard of until I bought a bus ticket here. I don't have a plan. I don't have a job yet. Not really, not until I survive the three-day trial at Petals and Stems. I don't have anything except two thousand dollars in cash and a backpack with barely enough clothes to last a week.

I can't afford to get distracted by a man right now, no matter how good he looks on a motorcycle or how safe I feel when he's standing between me and trouble.

Even if he did say I was his.

Even if he's coming back at seven to check on me.

Right now, what I need is to go shopping. Something comfortable that I don't mind getting dirty, like Margaret said. And I need toiletries. And probably food, because I can't keep relying on other people to feed me.

I grab my backpack and head out.

The thrift store is exactly two blocks away, just like Angel said.

It's small and cluttered, with racks of clothes crammed together and a faint smell of mothballs and detergent. But the woman behind the counter smiles when I walk in, and the prices are so low I almost cry with relief.

I find three pairs of jeans that actually fit, which feels like a miracle because thrift store jeans are usually hit or miss when you're curvy. I find two plain T-shirts, one gray and one navy, and a soft green flannel that looks warm and comfortable. I find a pair of sneakers that are barely worn and only cost ten dollars.

By the time I'm done, I've spent sixty-three dollars and I have an entire new wardrobe.

The pharmacy is next door, and I stock up on the basics—shampoo, conditioner, tampons, body wash, toothpaste, deodorant, a hairbrush, a pack of hair ties. I grab a cheap makeup kit, a box of granola bars and a bottle of water because I'm starving and don't want to spend money on a full meal yet.

Total: forty-two dollars.

I walk back to the motel with my bags, and the entire time I'm thinking about how surreal this is. Yesterday I was supposed to be walking down an aisle in a designer gown. Today I'm buying jeans at a thrift store and eating granola bars for lunch.

And I've never been happier.

Back in the motel room, I spread out my purchases on the bed and take inventory. I have clothes for work. I have toiletries. I have enough money left over to pay for the motel for at least a week, maybe two if I'm careful.

I can do this.

I can actually do this.

I eat two granola bars and drink half the bottle of water, then take a shower just because I can. The hot water feels amazing, and I use my new shampoo and body wash and stand under the spray until my skin is pink and the bathroom is full of steam.

When I get out, I feel more human than I have in days.

I pull on the pink sweater and jeans again, and slip Angel's cut back on over it. The leather is still warm, still smells like him, and I feel that same grounding sensation I felt this morning.

I check the time on the alarm clock: 5:47 PM.

One hour and thirteen minutes until Angel comes back.

I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at my phone sitting on the nightstand.