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“I usually run errands, catch up on laundry, that sort of thing on Saturdays,” she answers.
Saturday. Fuck, my brain’s so scrambled I forgot what day it is. I shouldn’t take more time off from Crystal Ball. Especially on one of our busier nights.
“Sunday?” More than twenty-four hours. Can I wait that long to see her again?
“I go over Libby’s schedule with her.” She touches two fingers to her forehead. “Then I spend the rest of my day mentally preparing myself for the workweek ahead.”
The words are meant as a joke but there’s an underlying seriousness that rings my overprotective bell. “Everything okay at your job?”
“It’s not my dream situation but it’s a steady paycheck and has decent benefits.”
“They treat you okay?” I didn’t miss the punk who stared at us when I picked Emily up the other day.
She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the wall. Her lips slide to one side. “Why? You going to come beat ’em up if they don’t?”
I step closer and rest my hand on her hip. “Yeah, maybe I will.”
“Violence is never the answer.”
I strongly disagree but it seems like a sour note to end the night on. Instead, I lean in and kiss her forehead. “I have something Sunday morning. But after that? Have you and Libby ever been to Origin Park? It’s like an hour and a half south of here.”
“The place with all the rock sculptures and stuff?”
“Yeah, it’s nice this time of year. Libby might like it—there’s a whole stage made out of stone.”
“You remembered she likes theater?”
“Uh, yeah.” Does she think I don’t listen to her?
“Well, I’m in. I don’t know if Libby has something else planned but I’ll ask her.” She reaches out and touches my arm. “Thank you for wanting to include her.”
I’d give anything to know what’s going on behind Emily’s thoughtful eyes. I lean down, touching my forehead to hers. Maybe I can absorb the information that way. “Yeah, of course. I’ll get my hands on a cage.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“You’re not both going to fit on the back of my bike.”
“Oh.” She wrinkles her nose. “Cage?”
“Never heard that before? Bikers don’t like being caged in. Anything that’s not a motorcycle is a cage.”
“Cage,” she repeats. “Interesting.”
From her tone it’s hard to tell if that’s agoodinteresting or ayou-must-be-psychointeresting.
I can’t wait to learn everything about her.
CHAPTERTEN
Emily
I sighas I watch Dex back his bike out of my driveway. He waits until he’s rolled it into the road before firing it up. The rumble reaches the house and can be heard long after he’s left my quiet street.
I drop the curtain, turn off the lights downstairs, and head toward Libby’s room. Her door’s slightly ajar but it’s dark inside.
“Libby?” I whisper, tapping lightly.
“I’m awake,” she mumbles.
