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He shook his head at his own folly. Hell, he’d never even laid eyes on her, and from the way Talon talked, she probably looked twelve. Definitely not his scene.
Pushing the useless fantasy aside, Brick said, “I’ll tell him. Anything else?”
Margo giggled, “Just be careful on your ride back.”
And then the line went dead, and Brick was left standing in a gas station parking lot off a deserted stretch of interstate, staring at his phone and wondering who in the hell he’d just talked to.
Chapter Twelve
Maybe One Day It’ll Take
Lizzie
The scent of fresh pancakes made Lizzie’s stomach rumble, just like it always did, even when she cooked them for herself.
The fact that she had a very large, tattooed man with heavy silver jewelry and a goatee still in her bed made the aroma of breakfast just that much sweeter.
She’d never had a man spend the night here before. And she’d definitely never fallen asleep with a near stranger in her bed.
But Maker was different.
Sure, he was big and covered in MC leather, but something about the way he looked at her, the way he seemed to breathe her in every time he got close, was comforting.
Lizzie supposed most women would be freaked out by his appearance alone, his behavior notwithstanding.
He was older, and if the silver in his hair was any indication, probably by a good bit.
Maybe decades.
Plural.
And she found that she didn’t care. Instead of making her think twice about having him in the very personal space of her home, it had the opposite effect.
Maker’s presence made her feel safe. Protected.
He’d said it himself. Whatever scared her, he was worse.
Having someone at her back felt good, even if it was only for a little while, and Lizzie decided that she’d enjoy it while she could.
In her experience, good things never lasted, bad things never left, and sorrow was inevitable.
So if Maker were willing to give her a little peace of mind and maybe have breakfast with her on occasion, she’d take that and run with it, thank you very much.
She wondered about other women in his life. There had to be one. Maybe several. She couldn’t imagine a man like Maker being lonely. She imagined long legs in miniskirts strutting through the club and just as quickly shoved the image to the back of her mind.
No point in allowing herself to feel even the first glimpse of jealousy. Maker wasn’t hers and probably never would be.
“What’s with the frown?” Maker rumbled from the entrance of the kitchen.
Lizzie spun, pancake batter flew, and Maker sprang away from the line of fire.
“Oh, I’m sosorry!” Lizzie gasped, snatching up a dish towel and swiping at the front of Maker’s half buttoned shirt.
Maker placed his bear paw hands over hers.
She stilled and looked up.
“Do I scare you?” Maker asked.
