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Really, nothing about this shit seemed like it needed to be spelled out. But Coach was relentless when he wanted to know something, so it was useless trying to brush it off. It was easier just to come out with it.
“She’s a good girl, Saúl,” I said.
“And what? We’re bad men?” he asked.
That was a tricky question.
Objectively, no, we weren’t bad men. We did a lot of good. We had a code.
“We’re criminals,” I said, shrugging.
“Seems to me she’s involved in some crime shit all on her own.”
“She’s innocent. She’s not at fault if someone else got her wrapped up in shit without her knowing about it.”
“So, what? We’re not allowed to find women and be happy?” Coach pressed.
“We can. But if you notice, the guys find women like us.” Delaney was the sister of the Irish mafia. Nyx worked at a mafia bar. Morgaine poisoned men for a living. Murphy made weapons.
Even the ones who weren’t directly criminals themselves were a part of the criminal world.
That wasn’t Everleigh.
She had a nice, normal life.
She deserved to continue to have a nice, normal life.
“She deserves better than the constant worry about the repercussions that can come with this lifestyle,” I insisted.
To that, Coach tipped his head to the side, watching me with those intense eyes for a minute.
“Don’t you think you should value her own intellect and sense of self enough to allow her to make that decision?” he asked, then turned and walked away.
Leaving me to ponder that shit all through shopping, pretending not to watch Everleigh baking, me prepping dinner, and all of us eating it.
It was closing in on bedtime, and I hadn’t said a single private word to Everleigh since asking if she wanted to go to the store with me.
I was sure she overheard the conversation I had with Slash about having the HVAC guy in, and then when he’d heard back and the guy said he couldn’t come until the following afternoon. So she knew she couldn’t sleep in there. But I needed a chance to tell her that she could take my room, and that I would crash somewhere else.
When I finished taking Rook back home and went upstairs, the bathroom door was cracked open, steam billowing out, making me figure she’d taken an ultra-hot shower in the hopes of chasing the chill away, so she could sleep in her room.
I wasn’t having that.
But I had to give her a few minutes to get dressed before I knocked, so I pushed into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
Only to find her standing there.
Wrapped in a barely-there towel, her hair pulled back in a clip.
There was that caramel/vanilla scent again.
And way, way too much exposed, tempting skin.
And, if I wasn’t completely fucking mistaken, heat in her eyes.
“Fuck it,” I said, taking a step forward.
CHAPTER EIGHT
