Page 80 of Psycho

And most of the time, the price of carelessness wasn’t something I was willing to pay.

So that was what I did. I watched Lainey, and I watched the room.

Mostly Lainey.

16

LAINEY

He pulledup to a small but nice little steak restaurant near his house.

I tightened my arms around his waist as he put the bike into park, trying to convince myself that little movement was me preparing for the stop and not because there was something so… appealing about being on the back of his bike and holding him this close to me.

He smelled like his body wash with a hint of the outdoors.

It wasn’t unpleasant.

And there was something about feeling his huge solid form in front of me…

I shook my head.

I should not find the man who took me to settle my dad’s debt appealing.

I should not soften toward him, especially since he had been watching me for the past three years, and especially when he had so casually cut off Garrett’s thumb and gifted it to me the next day like some sort of—I shuddered—mating ritual.

Was that it? Was he—

Was he trying towoome?

I didn’t know, but that was the only explanation I could come up with so far.

I was still trying to figure the unemotional man out.

It was like trying to figure out the thoughts a rock would have—pointless and so, so stupid.

Did he honestly think the thumb would make me fond of him?

No, but the place he arranged for Grandma to live in did.

It was worlds away from what I had imagined where he had put her. It was so much better than where Dad had placed her, and she—

I swallowed around the small lump in my throat, trying hard not to show any of my emotion.

She remembered me today.

Micah turned off the bike, taking away the loud rumble that had been a constant companion in my ears during the twenty-minute ride over here.

He held out one large hand to me, and I slowly took it and let him help me climb off the bike.

I looked around the place as he got off, too, reaching over and helping me take off my helmet.

I could have done it myself—should have.

But before I could really voice the protest, he already had it off.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“Lunch. Aren’t you hungry?”

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