Page 160 of Beyond the Badge: Crew

And if anyone asked, he’d tell them he’d never stop worrying.

Not until she was done with that assignment.

Plus, the late nights put a kink in them spending time together. And that kink wasn’t the good kind.

In the past few weeks, he found himself heading over to Fletch’s empty house most nights, letting Murphy out to do his business, watching some late night TV, then falling asleep in Cami’s bed. On his request, she’d check in with him throughout the night via text when she could.

In the early morning hours, after dragging herself home, taking a quick shower, she’d climb in beside him, wake him up in a variety of ways he couldn’t complain about, then they’d have a quickie that still more than satisfied them both.

Afterward, she’d roll over and crash while he’d stare at her sleeping in the dark. Like a fucking creeper.

Once it was time for him to head out, he’d press a soft kiss to her bare shoulder before rolling out of bed quietly and carefully so he wouldn’t wake her. Before leaving, he’d set up her coffeemaker so she had a fresh pot when she woke, then let Murphy out again and feed him.

Some nights, he’d don his Throttle persona and head down to the outlaw biker bar himself to keep an eye on her for a few hours, ignoring her assurance that he didn’t need to do that.

Yes, he certainly fucking did.

He had no idea how long this routine would last. But for now, this was his life.

He caught himself thinking about her just as much as his kids. That was how important she had become to him.

When Cami walked through the door of The Plant a little while ago, she had hardly acknowledged him except for a chin lift and a, “Hey, boss. How’s it hanging?”

They still acted like they weren’t fucking like rabbits just about every night when she didn’t head into Hawg Wild or early morning when she did. If they could find the time, sometimes both.

What they did in private was their business, not the rest of the team’s. Or his brothers’. Or even her father’s.

He didn’t need to be served a rash of shit.

But now she stood with the pool car’s keyring hooked over one finger, wearing a black leather mini-shirt—too short for his liking—her black knee-high boots with a heel, and a very snug camisole with Harley-Davidson emblem that pushed her tits up enough to make them look bigger than they were.

She’d probably be tucking that bottle opener in her cleavage again and those motherfuckers would be tempted to touch her there.

He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, then realized he was missing out on eavesdropping on her and Rez’s conversation.

He tipped his cell phone up and visually scanned the app. Some words were missing but he got the basics of the conversation. They were talking about the differences of culinary dishes between their two cultures. His being Venezuelan and hers being Columbian.

Rez promised to bring her some of his mother’s cooking. Excited about his offer, she began speaking so fast, the app couldn’t pick up on most of it.

Crew had to admit, Carmen Alvarez’s cooking was some of the best. Any time he could snag an invite to sit at her table, he took it.

Suddenly a hand flashed in front of his face and snagged his phone.

“What the fuck?” Finn yelled and hooted behind him.

Crew surged to his feet and tried to grab it back, but Finn danced out of the way, twisting and turning to avoid him.

There went his goddamn secret. And his advantage.

“Hey, this asshole is listening in on your conversation by using a translation app,” Finn announced loudly, lifting Crew’s cell phone in the air over his head.

“Give me my phone back,” Crew hissed.

Finn wagged a finger at him and clicked his tongue. “You shouldn’t listen in on someone’s conversation without them knowing, you sneaky fucker.”

Cami stared at the phone in Finn’s hand with her eyebrows pinned together. “You were using your phone to translate our conversation?”

Fuck.“I’m—”

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