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“Morning,” he rumbles, but I refuse to be distracted by his sexy gravely morning voice, no matter how excited my vagina is at the sound.
“Take me to Lisa’s,” I demand. Merch’s eyebrows shoot up as he regards me coolly.
“We’re back on this, are we? And I haven’t even had a cup of coffee.”
“Yeah, we’re back on this. I want my purse. I want my phone. I’m your….” I trail off. Fuck buddy? Yeah, that. “Whatever. Not your prisoner. I want my stuff.”
“Shelley,” Merch’s voice carries a hint of warning. Whatever. What’s the worst he can do? Lock me in again and force me to watch eighties and nineties movies? I can do that again. It wasn’t the most boring day I’ve ever spent. Not by a long shot.
“Daniel,” I mock back. He growls low at the sound, reaching for me.
No way. We’d only end up having sex. As much as it pains me, I slide off the bed, out of his reach.
“You want my pussy? You take me to Lisa’s.”
He glowers at me like a kid denied cake.
“Fine,” he snaps. “We’ll go to Lisa’s.”
I smile sweetly, dancing out of the room. Finally. My phone. I want to check in with Sophie. I haven’t spoken to her since the wedding. On the ‘Gram the other day, I saw she caught up with Amity. That hurt. I didn’t even get a text when she returned from her honeymoon, but Amity got dinner? Whatever. I’ll send her a text. Maybe she thought I wouldn’t want to hang out with her.
Merch stomps out of the bedroom, clad in jeans, motorcycle boots, a dark T-shirt, and his cut. So, his usual uniform. Is that what mechanics usually wear? I don’t really pay that much attention when I drop my car off for a service. Maybe I should start.
“Let’s go, kid,” he grumbles, digging a key out of his pocket and unlocking the door.
Smirking at my win, I fall into step beside him, walking downstairs. Merch doesn’t lead me to his motorbike, instead opting for a Chevy truck. Ah, the key I found in the kitchen.
I giggle as he holds open the passenger door for me. Such a gentlemanly move. I wasnotexpecting it.
Merch slides into the Chevy and shoots me a glare, pulling out of the parking lot. Lisa and Palmer live a little closer to Downtown than Merch, their building double the height.
Before I can even reach for the door handle, Merch opens the door and holds out his hand. I grin as I slap mine in it, and he helps me down. Given my tiny stature, it is hard to get in and out of a large Chevy truck gracefully.
With Merch practically lifting me down one-handed, it’s a lot easier. I could get used to this kind of treatment. Who knew I would only have to find a self-declared criminal to find some chivalry? Alex might have held open the Porsche door when he picked me up, but he stood and waited for the valet to help me out of the car at La Lita.
As we walk past the familiar sign declaring the buildingThe Pines, Merch takes my hand. I swallow another smile. We’ve never held hands before. This is nice.
Another biker passes us in the foyer. He nods to Merch, who grunts back at him. The guy is tall, so I guess the nickname patchLurchon his cut makes sense. He does a small double-take when he spots our clutched hands, but he doesn’t say anything, and Merch doesn’t drop my hand.
I’m getting better at Lisa’s stairs. I no longer summit the sixth floor, out of breath and cursing the architect. I think I’m actually getting fit from visiting her. Who needs a gym membership, huh? These stairs are terrific for my glutes. No wonder Lisa lives in jeans. Her ass would be amazing, especially after grocery store trips.
Merch drops my hand as he hammers on the door, easily leaning against the frame, toying with a strand of my ponytail. I pointedly ignore him. I’m supposed to be mad at him for holding me hostage, not being gooey because he held my hand and didn’t care if other bikers saw.
There is no answer, so Merch digs out his phone.
“Palmer must not be home,” he mutters, his thumb moving as he texts. Lisa. He’s texting Lisa to tell her to let us in.
The door opens after another moment, and Lisa smirks at us, her eyes finding my face. She steps back to let us in, and Merch’s hand lands on my back, ushering me into the room.
My purse is lying on the sideboard, and I snatch it up, fumbling it open and pulling out my phone. Dead. To be expected, it hasn’t been charged for two days.
“What are your plans today, Shelley?” Lisa asks, closing the door behind us. “I can show you around the clubhouse. You’ve never been there properly.”
Glancing up from my dead phone, I shake my head, pursing my lips.
“I need to go home.”
I start to insist but am cut off when Lisa snorts, rolling her eyes at me and jabbing her finger at my phone.
