Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“Hey, Everleigh,” a voice called, making me turn to find two men coming in. One, I recognized from the fact that half the girls who frequented the gym had talked about him and his manwhoring ways. Before he settled down, of course. Sway. The other guy, though, wasn’t familiar.
“This is Coach,” Detroit said, sensing my confusion.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, giving him a smile.
Coach was tall with golden skin, black hair, and dark eyes. Objectively really good-looking. But what drew me in more was the vibe the guy had.
I mean, that probably sounded really woo-woo, but people had an energy about them. Like Detroit being that gentle giant, someone I knew had a good soul. And Sway, with his lighthearted, carefree feel. But Coach had a sort of wise, and calming vibe. I could use some of that right about now.
“We’re happy to have you here, even if the circumstances aren’t the best,” Sway said, and I was pretty sure there was no stopping the flush over my cheeks at the suggestion.
Of course they knew what was going on. Detroit would have needed to tell them. But it was still embarrassing.
“Bet you’re glad to get a good meal,” Coach said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Spent years eating the food inside,” he added, making some of the tension slip from me. Of course some of these men would be ex-cons. The bikers in general were criminals.
“Yeah,” I said. The cake pop and coffee helped, but my stomach was gnawing at me again.
“Lucky you, then,” Sway said, all smiles, but I sensed something, I don’t know, teasing, under his words. “You get Detroit to cook for you.”
“You cook?” I asked, turning to look at him, all loaded down with all my bags.
“Are you kidding? No one else is allowed to cook here. The kitchen is his domain,” Sway said.
“I can’t ask you to cook for me,” I said, shaking my head.
“You kidding? He already bought a bunch of shit,” Sway said.
Was it my imagination, or did Detroit almost look a little… embarrassed at that?
“Then I will be happy to eat it,” I told him. “But only if you are already cooking,” I added.
“You gonna show her her room, or what?” Sway asked when the silence stretched just a second past the comfort zone.
“Right. Yeah. Let’s go get you settled,” Detroit said, walking past the kitchen and toward a hallway with a few doors and a… freight elevator? “This used to be a warehouse,” he reminded me as he leaned down to pull open the door, so we could move into the massive space.
“Right. Duh. Yeah.”
“There are stairs too, if the elevator is occupied.”
“Occupied how?” I asked, but caught a certain flash of discomfort in his gaze that had me putting the pieces together.
“Oh. Oh,” I said, hoping my cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.
They had sex in the elevator?
Where others could hear?
And know about?
I mean, I wasn’t a prude or anything. I even liked kind of steamy books. I’d even packed a few when Detroit wasn’t looking. But I guess I just wasn’t… adventurous about it.
“Don’t worry. I think things will be a bit calmer while you’re around,” Detroit said.
“I don’t want everyone to have to change their lives because of me, though,” I said as the elevator stopped, and Detroit pulled up the door.
“Trust me, they could use a small party detox,” he told me as he led me out into the hall.
“Okay. Your room is the last one in this direction,” he said, walking down the long hallway of doors on either side. “This is me,” he said, jerking his head toward the door right beside mine. “And that,” he said, motioning across the hall, “is the bathroom.”
A bathroom.
With a door.
And a lock.
And no one potentially walking in on me.
I would never again take that for granted.
“Oh, wow,” I said as Detroit moved in, so I could see the room. “Oh, my God. I think my entire apartment could fit into this room,” I said, turning in a circle.
It was empty, which was probably adding to it feeling so massive. There were big windows that looked out onto Shady Valley, letting in a ton of light, even when it was dreary out.
The only furniture in the room was a black metal framed queen-sized bed, a long white dresser, one nightstand with a gold lamp, and a little desk under the windows.
Detroit’s gaze was fixed on that desk.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I think Coach made that for you,” he said, brows drawn down.
“The desk?” I clarified, sure I misunderstood.
“Yeah. He was making something outside yesterday, but I didn’t know what it was for. He’s always making things. Guess he made you a desk.”
“He made me a desk?” I asked, feeling those damn tears sting my eyes again.
It wasn’t overly fancy, but it had delicate rounded edges, and an open shelf underneath for storing things, and was stained an antique white shade.