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“Another one?” he lifts his eyebrows.
“Yup. And tomorrow afternoon.”
“Damn, that’s a lot of pressure for high school kids.”
“Tell me about it. They used to do back-to-back shows on Saturdays. That was a nightmare. It’ll have the same run next weekend and then they’re thankfully done.” I sigh and step back. “She doesn’t like me to come the second night. But I usually make sure I’m there for the last one.”
“When is it on Sunday?”
I glance up at him and lift an eyebrow. “You don’t want to sit through that again.”
“If I’m sitting next to you, I don’t mind.”
This man has the power to melt me into a puddle.
If he breaks my heart, I’m not sure I’ll recover.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dex
Emily’s clearly stressed about leaving to get her sister as soon as possible. I clean up the kitchen while she runs upstairs to change.
When she returns, she already has her purse and keys in hand.
“Breakfast was great, by the way.” I shut off the water and dry my hands on a paper towel, tossing it in the trash as I walk across the kitchen to meet her. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for cleaning up.” Anxiety seems to thrum through her.
I reach past her shoulder and push the door open. “Let’s go. Don’t want to keep her waiting.”
She throws me a grateful smile and hurries outside. In the car, my phone vibrates, and I pull it out of my pocket, praying it’s not another girl from work. They’re not usually this fucking needy.
Wrath: Get your ass up here.
Thank fuck. What does it say about me that I’d rather get grumpy texts from my club’s enforcer than cute, chipper messages from strippers?
“Another hair emergency?” Emily asks. I think she’s trying to make a joke, but it comes out strained.
Fuck, I’d hoped giving her my passcode would ease her mind.
“Nope. A terse one from Wrath to haul my ass to the clubhouse pronto.” I shouldn’t be surprised I’m needed at the clubhouse. But I just got Emily back. I’m not ready to leave her. For any reason.
She chuckles. “Such brotherly affection.”
“Yeah, right.”
The car rolls to a stop at the end of her street and she glances over. My phone’s still in my hand, so I pull up the message from Wrath and hold it out for her to see.
She waves the offer away with a flick of her wrist.
At least she trusts me.
All too soon, she’s turning into the parking lot behind my building.
“Are you going upstairs? Or straight to the clubhouse?” she asks.
Maybe she’s not ready to say goodbye yet, either.
“I’ll go with you to pick up Libby, so Frank doesn’t get any ideas.”
Emily opens her mouth—probably to protest—then shakes her head. “Actually, I’d feel better if you were there.”
I widen my eyes and stare at her, a smile twitching at the corners of my mouth. “I should write this down somewhere.”
She playfully slaps my arm.
Outside the car, I take her hand and pull her close, pushing her against the passenger side. She slides her arms around my neck and smiles up at me. “What are you doing?”
I lean down and crash my lips into hers. My hands tangle in her hair, tilting her head back to deepen our kiss. The way I love kissing this woman…I could do it for a hundred years and never get tired of her warmth.
Her mouth opens and I groan low in my throat. She responds by pressing her body tighter against mine.
Somewhere around us a car door slams.
Dammit. I could easily get carried away right here in broad daylight.
Reluctantly, I pull away and stare down at her as if I want to soak in every detail.
“I’m not ready to say goodbye to you, yet,” she admits, echoing my earlier thoughts.
“Same, firecracker.” I lean down and press a quick kiss to her forehead. “But the star of the show is waiting for you.”
She ducks her head and laughs, then takes my outstretched hand. “Are you heading to work after the clubhouse?”
“Yeah. I have to.” I glance down at her. “Do you want me to come over when I’m done? Or I can swing by and take you two out for breakfast in the morning?”
She leans into my side. “Will you think I’m greedy if I say both?”
Jesus Christ, that warms me right down to my soul. “Nothing would make me happier.”
We make a plan for later, then head upstairs.
Emily knocks on the apartment door and a few seconds later, a little girl with long, curly brown hair wearing purple footie pajamas opens it wide.
She squints at us. “And you are?”
Little and full of sass. I choke back my laughter.
“Calista, right? I’m here for Libby,” Emily says, fighting back her own smile. “Is your dad here?”
The girl opens the door wider. “Libby!” she screams at the top of her lungs. “Your parents are here!”
