Page 111 of Kings Fear No One
“I don’t know about that.”
“It’ll be good for you. You should finish your education. It’s important.”
I scrunch my nose at him. “You’ve never taken any classes.”
“So? I’m a Steel King. We’re not the studious type. But you… it’d be good. What were you majoring in anyway?”
“Don’t laugh.”
“Now I’ll be sure to.” He squeezes my hip in warning.
I curl into him, stretching my arm over his stomach. “Biblical studies.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he laughs.
But it’s not a mocking laugh. It’s a laugh born of affection. It’s a laugh that makes me laugh too.
“You know I read some of your Bible. While you were gone. I saw it on the nightstand, so I cracked it open.”
“You did!?” I squeak, more excited than I probably should be.
“Yeah, a whole passage. It only made me think about you more. Which is the worst thing you can do when you’re already missing somebody.”
“You missed me?”
“What did you think would happen when you’re so damn gorgeous and perfect and sleeping in my bed every night?”
“Then I should be here every night from here on out.”
His eyes gleam as they meet mine. “After Abraham’s gone. Then… maybe we can figure out a future for us.”
It might sound uncertain, but coming from a brooding loner like Logan, it feels like confirmation of what I’ve sensed is happening. He’s falling for me in the same way I’ve fallen for him; he’s already fallen for me in that way.
He just won’t let himself admit it and be happy ’til the threat’s eliminated…
26
LOGAN
“Wanna go for a ride?” I ask.
It’s late in the evening when I’ve come home to find Teysha in the kitchen. She’s doing what she’s often doing—she’s whipping up some home-cooked meal so it’ll be ready by the time I make it home.
Her cooking’s some of the best I’ve ever had. It’s damn sure better than what I used to scarf down before she came into my life. I survived on a diet of frozen pizzas and bologna sandwiches. The fanciest I ever got was whipping up some pasta. The box stuff you grab off the shelves at the store.
Compare that to Teysha’s borderline chef-level dishes she puts together that feel straight out of some gourmet restaurant.
I’m grateful for the effort she makes. But it also makes me question if she feels like it’s something she has to do for me. Second-guessing I’ve done plenty of times before.
Our relationship—our entire marriage—began off a forced encounter. Though she insists she wants me, sometimes it’s difficult to wrap my head around the fact that she does. That she really wants to be with a man like me.
Some renegade who’s devoted his life to bikes and lawlessness. Some guy who couldn’t be less marriage material if he tried.
I shake these thoughts off as I enter the apartment and she beams at me from the stove.
“A ride?” she asks, stirring the pot that’s on the burner in front of her. “What do you mean?”
“A ride around the area.”
