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“I got your background check,” she blurted, then winced—way to kill the relaxed mood.
“Ahh,” he said as he rubbed the soft spot between Ray’s ears. Her dog’s eyes drifted closed in bliss.
Double traitor.
“I’m guessing that’s why you brought this guy along?”
Was it her imagination, or was that a note of disappointment in his question?
If she were as bright as she professed to be, she’d say yes. Let him think he alone was the reason she’d brought her dog along. But it’d be a lie. At least a partial lie. Picking at the label on her bottle, she shook her head. “Not entirely. It was more that I don’t know you at all and I was going to your house alone in the evening. I’d have done it with any man.”
“Smart,” he said to which she shrugged. “So, am I getting that puppy, or did my past change your mind?”
Aside from his past, everything checked out. He’d been thorough on the application, listing a veterinarian, agreeing to shots, and spaying the pup. He’d agreed if there were any reason he became unable to care for the dog, he would contact her before rehoming the pup himself. He owned a home with a fenced-in yard—all the checks in all the boxes.
Aside from the outlaw motorcycle club history. Despite that fact, she knew deep in her bones he’d make an amazing dog parent.
Brooke met his gaze, and they held like that for a solid twenty seconds before she nodded.
He tilted his head to the side. “Is there anything you want to ask me?”
Only somewhere around a million questions. But none of it was her business. What right did she have to ask him about a history that had nothing to do with her? None at all. So she shook her head. “No. No questions.” Probably best not to know. Otherwise, she’d lie awake all night obsessing over his past and why she was still attracted to him. Because no matter what he confessed, she’d still feel this out of character pull to him.
“Okay, then. How about you tell me what made you so passionate about rescuing dogs?”
Well, shit. And well-played by Curly.
She sipped her beer then let out a sigh. “Can I change my mind and ask you the questions instead?” Delving too deep into her past gave her hives.
His lips quirked, and his eyes smoldered as he slowly shook his head back and forth. “Nope. You missed your chance. I get to conduct the interview.”
She didn’t discuss her past with anyone. Nancy knew the bare minimum required to maintain a close friendship, and she assumed David did as well, but no one knew the gritty details. The humiliation, the years of having her self-worth torn down, the helpless, trapped, desolate existence she’d endured. Then the lonely years since where she’d fought to climb out of that pit of despair. Untangling herself from a ten-year marriage had been so much more complicated than she’d ever expected. Walking away was only the very first step. A hard one for sure, but no more dificult than everything that came after.
The financial concerns.
The living arrangements.
The legal complications.
The job situation.
The pitiful glances from supposed friends and family.
None of it had been easy.
Curly’s gaze held no judgment. Though he hadn’t heard her story yet, she had a feeling when all was said and done, he still wouldn’t judge her or find her lacking.
She’d done plenty of that herself and couldn’t handle it from someone she considered…what? A friend? An acquaintance?
Not really either, but it didn’t matter. Suddenly the weight of what she carried insider her pressed down on her shoulders like a million-pound blanket. She needed to shed it before the load crushed her. The man sitting before her was the absolute wrong man to flay her soul open for. He’d been a large-scale criminal and seemed to be diving back into that life, but still, the words burst from her mouth.
“I have a passion for rescuing abused and neglected animals because I know what it means to be one.”
CHAPTER TEN
A MAN COULDN’T spend the first decade of his adult years with an outlaw MC and the second decade in prison without hearing just about every fucked-up story out there. Nothing shocked Curly anymore. Not recounting gruesome murders, not torture, not even people with no sense of right or wrong. He’d heard it all, witnessed almost as much, and had done things that would keep most men awake with nightmares. It took a shit-ton to get a reaction out of him, but that’s precisely what Brooke’s statement did.
Someone had abused her.
He balled his hands into fists beside him on the couch. His instinct demanded he launch himself at her and shake her until the name of the asshole fell from her beautiful lips. But he’d learned restraint while in prison. It was one of the first and most lasting lessons. Rash behavior often led to a shiv in the side.
