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“Sure. I’ll text you my address.”
Shit. Should he tell her he already had it?
No reason to freak her out. “Okay. What time you want me there?”
“Will this be a regular thing?”
“The sex?” He sure as fuck hoped so.
She rolled her lips inward for a second, the corners of her blue-green eyes crinkling. “Picking me up.”
“That’s the plan. Unless I’m needed elsewhere.”
Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll let you know what time later.”
She headed toward the door.
“Hey…”
She paused with her hand on the knob and glanced back at him. He was sure he was a sight. Skin damp with sweat, his hair standing on end, her essence still clinging to his beard and his dick still wrapped in a full condom…
“I’ll let myself out after I get dressed. I’ll check back in later.”
She nodded. “I’ll see you then.”
After she closed the door behind her, he dropped his head to the back of the couch and blew out a long, loud breath.
He was afraid he might have just tumbled down a deep black hole.
One he might not be able to escape.
Chapter Eighteen
Finn pulled into the driveway of a small gray stone church. He ducked his head to take a better look at the limestone building through his windshield.
Once he rechecked the address in Mel’s text, he glanced up through the windshield again and snapped his fallen jaw back into place. While he had known her address previously, he had no idea what was actually at that address. He certainly hadn’t expected an old church.
Not just any church, either. What looked like a historic one from the 1800s. The fucking place had a bell tower and everything.
A white wooden picket fence separated what would be considered the small front yard from what was most likely a backyard and met a matching four-foot limestone wall that surrounded a just as old cemetery.
At least she had no neighbors.
Well, she did. Sort of. But they were the silent-type since they were six feet under.
He was undecided whether having your home surrounded by a cemetery with occupants over a century old was cool or creepy.
He’d have to ask her if she believed in ghosts. Or if her place was haunted.
He shuddered at the possibility.
Last night, he had wanted to follow her home but her so-called assistant manager never showed up again, so she was stuck working until closing. He had stayed for a while, but besides Popeye disappearing several times toward the back of the club last night, Finn hadn’t noticed any dealing out in the open. The prospects were definitely not exchanging meth for money on the floor.
He had kept a close eye on Mutt, too, stationed behind the bar. If the wannabe bartender was dealing, he was being slick about it. He’d talk to Crew again about sending someone undercover into the club to test the prospects.
After he said goodnight to Mel, he had sat in the dark, in the Toyota Tacoma Crew had scored for him—thank fuck—and kept an eye on the Astro Van for over an hour.
Unfortunately, he didn’t see a damn thing. Saint, like Cookie, never showed at the club at all and none of the prospects working the club last night took a trip out to the van.
Frustrated that this undercover assignment might not pan out, he finally went home to catch some shut-eye since he was scheduled to pick up Mel bright and early this morning.
Nine might not be so early for him, but with her long hours, it was for her. He didn’t know how she managed a busy club with hardly any sleep night after night. The thought of how she was forced to push through exhaustion made his blood boil.
He would have a little discussion with Saint about those late nights. But in private and without Mel around.
As her overly protective and concerned “boyfriend,” of course.
The subject of his thoughts slipped out the heavy wooden door tucked inside the stone vestibule, pausing only to lock it before jogging down three stone steps and heading over to his truck. He had no fucking clue how the woman had any energy to jog to the car, forget going into work early, dancing on stage for an hour and then managing the club for the next eight to sixteen hours.
Lots of caffeine could be the answer, since she carried a travel mug.
But however she managed it, this morning he could see it was beginning to take a toll.
The closer she got to the Tacoma parked in her stone driveway, the easier it was for him to see the dark circles under her eyes and deep creases in her normally flawless face. It was more apparent since, like yesterday morning, her face was make-up free.
It probably didn’t help when the last two Mondays she would’ve had time off, hosting the Peckers had stolen that much needed down time from her.
