Page 90 of Heartbeats & Highways

My apartment that had no personal touches and no dog to greet me.

My apartment that had no men’s boots by the door, and no leather cut hanging in a closet.

Savage wasn’t here.

I liked waking up next to him. I liked our morning routine of pickle juice and croissants. I liked his toothbrush resting next to mine.

I liked the permanence of him, but this apartment was just the opposite.

It was six-thirty in the morning when I texted Savage, so I didn’t expect a reply. I set my phone aside.

Then I got to work peeling the pears.

I was halfway through the box when Savage walked through the front door holding a crate of canning jars.

“Good morning,” I greeted with a smile, my eyes raking over him as I set down the peeler. “Your face doesn’t look too worse for wear.”

He set the crate down on the counter and then wrapped his arms around me to kiss me hello. When he pulled back, he said, “I asked Acid to spare my pretty face.”

“You sleep okay?” I asked.

“As well as I can when you’re not next to me,” he admitted. “My clubhouse bed is comfortable, but I don’t like it there without you, babe. I need to be able to feel you next to me.”

“Hmm.” I kissed him again. “I think I have to be honest with you. I slept with a very furry companion last night. She doesn’t kiss as well as you, though.”

He grinned. “Yeah, Brielle sent a photo of you spooning her dog. Fucking cute as hell. That’s the only way I’ll ever share you, babe.”

“I was just going to make some breakfast. Have you eaten?”

“No,” he croaked, his gaze sliding down my body. “I haven’t eaten.”

I pointed at him. “Behave.”

“But it’s my favorite thing to eat.”

My insides quivered and desire swirled through my belly. “You can have that for dessert. If you’re a good boy and eat your entire breakfast.”

He sat on a stool at the counter. I moved the pears to one side to give myself some room. I grabbed the carton of eggs and cracked several into a mixing bowl.

“Now I get why you needed the canning jars,” Savage said. “Where did you get the pears?”

“My neighbor across the hall,” I said, whisking the eggs and turning on a stove burner. “They were on my doorstep when I got home this morning.”

“And you still haven’t met each other, huh?”

“Not yet. I’ll leave a jar of pear jam on her doorstep to thank her.”

“Why don’t you just knock on the door and introduce yourself?”

“I’m waiting for her to make the first move. She’s skittish. You gotta be patient with this sort of thing.” I dumped the eggs into a pan and they sizzled.

“Hmm. So, tell me about last night. Give me the deets.”

“You’re such a gossip,” I said with a laugh.

“Damn right. What happened between Jazz and Homer?”

“They’re together. But like, nottogether, together.”

---