Page 8 of Craving Francesca

“I didn’t imply shit. It was a one-time thing, and there’s no reason for anyone to hear about it.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I can keep a secret,” Rumi grumbled.

“I know you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I didn’t say it was a secret,” I continued quickly.

Rumi pressed his lips together and mimed zipping them, throwing the imaginary key over his shoulder.

“You’re such a child,” I sighed. “And I need to pack up our tent.”

“Need some help?” he asked, his tone changing completely.

I let out a huff of laughter. “I’m just going to grab my stuff. Mick said to leave the tent, and he’d grab it before he left.”

“All right.” Rumi glanced over his shoulder at the men gathered in the center of the tents.

“Go. I’ll see you later.”

“You’re good?” he asked, turning back to me.

“All good,” I confirmed.

“If he’s an asshole, let me know. I’ll straighten him out.”

I smiled. I didn’t have siblings, but the Hawthorne brothers had adopted me the first day Myla brought me home with her. They were mostly annoying, but sometimes they were ridiculously sweet.

“It’s not like that,” I assured him.

“The offer stands,” he said, backing away.

When I got to my tent, I didn’t bother organizing the mess I’d left. Stuffing all of my clothes and toiletries back in my bag, I thought about Gray. He’d barely acknowledged me. The shitty part of it was that I couldn’t remember if he’d always overlooked me or if it was new. I’d never really paid attention before.

Gray was older than us, and he didn’t hang with our group. We’d known each other in passing, and he’d never been an asshole or anything, but he’d never really been on my radar. I’d figured out early that if I wanted to keep things drama free, I had to find bed partners who didn’t have any connection to the Aces Motorcycle club. As my dad would say—you don’t shit where you eat.

I probably should’ve remembered that before I fell into bed with Gray.

Chapter 1

Frankie

“Why did Iagree to this?” I asked, using my forearm to brush my hair out of my face. No matter what I did, I could never keep the little wispy pieces pulled back. I’d never even cut them. They just didn’t grow.

“Because we agreed to fix this place up before we moved in,” my best friend Lou reminded me.

The three musketeers, Myla, Lou, and Frankie were finally splitting up. Well, sort of. We were still best friends, but Lou and I had agreed to move out of the house we’d been sharing with Myla. She and Cian had finally figured out their shit, and once he’d moved in, Lou and I had decided it was time to find our own place. I loved Myla, and I tolerated Cian, but walking in on them getting down on our kitchen table had been the last straw.

“Why did we do that again?” I asked, lugging the five-gallon bucket of paint to the other side of the room.

“Because Tommy is a saint,” Lou replied, following behind with our paint rollers.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I countered, making her laugh.

“Fine, because Tommy is renting this place to us for a steal, and we owe him?”

“Oh, yeah, now I remember.” I sighed and stretched my arms over my head.

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