Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
She bumps into me again.
“You’re awfully violent when you get dressed,” I say over my shoulder.
“Nah, I just have a big butt. Gets away from me sometimes.”
I smother the urge to tell her everything looks good to me. Besides, it’s her quick wit and razor-sharp tongue that interests me even more than her curvy body.
“Ta-da. All done,” she announces.
I back away from the car and turn, taking in her jeans and sweatshirt imprinted with wander with purpose, the words scrawled around an image of a compass. A sense of déjà vu washes over me.
“That’s my symbol.” I tap the compass patch stitched onto my cut. “And a very Lost Kings kind of saying.”
She glances down at her shirt and a wry smile twists her lips. “Well, it’s full of shit because I haven’t had much chance to wander. With purpose or without.” Her expression softens. “But I like the sentiment.” She lifts her head and stares at my patches. “I thought your club’s symbol was the skull and crown?”
“It is. But we each have our own patch.” I’m not in the mood to give more details to a civilian.
“Ah, right.” She nods as if things are clicking into place for her. “Grayson’s symbol is the lock and key.”
“Right.” I pull out my phone. After a few attempts, I manage to get a signal and send a text. “I’m having a friend tow your car—”
“What? Where?” She crams in closer to peek at my phone. “How’d you get a signal?”
“Better service?” I shrug. “I just sent a text.” Another whiff of vanilla fucks with my need to keep my hands off Emily.
If life’s taught me anything, it’s to temper my desires. Emily’s not meant to be mine. She’s forbidden fruit—too full of life to be swallowed by my darkness.
CHAPTER TWO
Emily
This man is sex and sin wrapped in a tantalizing package. He towers over me in a protective, reassuring way. Well-defined, inked arms could easily pick me up and toss me over those broad shoulders.
Get a grip, Emily.
The heat of embarrassment clings to me as Dex texts his friend for a tow. I can’t believe I interrupted him in a cemetery. While he was kneeling in front of a headstone. I was so relieved to see another human being, once I realized I knew him, I threw caution, courtesy, and common sense to the wind and ran to him for help. Ignoring the fact that, given our location, he might be in mourning. I was only concerned about my own selfish needs to flee this place I hate but feel compelled to visit at least once a year.
“How long do you think he’ll be?” I ask.
He stares straight ahead and stuffs his phone in his pocket. “Not sure.”
Damn. I pull out my useless phone again and try to send a text to my boss.
“I’ll get you to work.”
I glance up and find Dex watching me so intently, heat sears my cheeks. “Thanks. I really appreciate this. I’m sorry if I’m holding you up.” I wave my hands around. “Do you have to be at work or something?”
“Not until later.” He runs his gaze over me. “You got a jacket?”
“Yes.” I hurry to the car and open the back door, crawling halfway across the seat to snatch my heavy canvas coat. As I back out of the car, my butt collides with something hard and unmoving.
“Sorry.” Dex’s boots scrape over the gravel as he backs away.
I slip my coat on and zip it up. “This okay?”
He slides his gaze over me again. Why does it feel like fingers tracing a path over my skin? “It’ll do.”
The weight of my keys weighs heavy in my palm. Should I hand them over to Dex now? Or wait until his friend shows up? What’s the protocol for this situation?
As if he’s read my mind, Dex nods to my palm. “Got your house keys on there?”
“I do.” I quickly work my car key loose and hand it over. “Thanks.” That’s safety 101. Why does this man render me speechless and stupid every time we’re in the same space? It’s not like I want to date him. I don’t have space in my life for a relationship. Two more years until my sister graduates from high school. Then I’ll worry about dating.
The bump and scrape of truck tires rolling over the dirt road stops any further conversation.
One corner of Dex’s mouth twitches. “That was fast.”
The old red-and-white tow truck pulls in front of my car and stops.
“You remember Griff?” Dex asks.
I nod. “He’s come with you to do yard work a few times. I feel bad he keeps getting roped into odd jobs for me.”
“For the club. Not you.”
He doesn’t say it in a mean way—he’s just stating a fact, so I don’t take offense. I’m still confused, though. “But I’m not part of your club.”