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I didn’t tell him that last Christmas, Delaney had gotten me a cup that saidThank you for being a friendon it and I’d bawled my eyes out when I was alone and no one could see me.
I didn’t tell him any of that.
But the thing was… I wanted to.
I just barely held myself back from doing so.
“I get that,” Slash decided.
“What do you watch? Shootouts and heist shit?” I asked.
“Well, let’s see. Saw a kundalini yoga documentary this week. And one about plant medicine…”
“You’re… you’re a documentary watcher?” I asked, looking at him like he’d grown another head.
“No. But Coach is. And he’s been hogging the TV. But, I watched the shit and it was interesting. So maybe I am a documentary watcher.”
“Coach seems interesting,” I said, talking about the club’s newest prospect.
“He’s keeping shit fresh, at least,” Slash said, and I couldn’t tell if he was deliberately not engaging me, or if he was just as uncomfortable as I felt trying to make small talk after years of just using each other’s bodies.
“Are you adding any new members anytime soon?” I asked.
“We’re always looking. We’re too small for comfort right now. How the fuck old are these broads?” he asked, wincing at the TV.
“I think they were supposed to be in their mid-fifties,” I told him. “I know,” I agreed when he shot me a raised-brow look. “Some people think we are just aging better these days. I think it was the hair. Made them look so much older. Regardless, Blanche is future goals. Doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks, she’s always out there getting all kinds of strange.”
“What? Don’t plan on settling down?” Slash asked.
“I haven’t given it any thought,” I told him. Since, well, I couldn’t. I was still, whether I liked to admit it or not, under Czar and his organization’s thumb. Which meant I didn’tgeta future where I settled down.
That was why I was in a hotel with Slash instead of my own damn apartment.
It was why there was a world between us because it was dangerous to get close.
For him.
Maybe for me.
Maybe I could have seen myself as a wife one day. As a mom. But that wasn’t the future I could have. At least not unless or until I found some way to get away from the heroin operation that was doing nothing but pulling me deeper into their clutches.
I felt the sudden, almost overwhelming urge to tell Slash. Spill it all out. About Czar. About the borderline stalking. About the guys who’d been hurt because of me. About the drugs in the shed.
All of it.
I tried to tell myself it was nothing personal, that what I really needed was someone to vent to, and Slash was just who was closest.
I knew the truth, though.
I wanted to tell him because I liked him. I mean, as much as I could like someone that I didn’t know a whole hell of a lot about.
But I couldn’t tell him any of that.
First, because I knew the story wouldn’t paint me in the best light. And as absurd as it was, I gave a shit what Slash thought about me.
Second, though, I didn’t want him to feel like he had to make it his business. I didn’t want him and his crew to have to tango with the Bulgarian mafia just because of me and my shitty-ass taste in men.
That was asking too much.
