Page 38 of Man of Lies

"Yeah, sorry about that." He knocked back a swallow without flinching. "I'm a Folgers guy."

"I learned to drink anything with caffeine back in law school," I muttered, screwing my face up to hide the grimace. "It's part of the deal."

Silas raised an eyebrow just enough to show he wasn't buying it. "Lying to me again, counselor? You've got a taste for the finer things."

"Quality over quantity," I shot back, letting my gaze wander over his chest, tapered waist, and thick, muscular thighs. "You may have noticed that already."

He chuckled and settled beside me on the mattress, more comfortable in his nakedness than I was even with a blanket bunched over my hips. He'd seen and touched every inch of my body the night before, yet somehow, I still felt like I'd been caught on the back foot. Silas had stripped away more than my clothes, and now I couldn't even begin to figure out what I was missing.

"I would've warned you about the coffee," he said, flashing that grin I was learning to love, "but you were too busy judging my place."

"I was just thinking how familiar it looked," I said dryly, lifting my mug again, though I had no intention of drinking it. "Not much different from the places where Ben and I grew up."

"Yeah, well, I don't really care about the scenery," Silas said with a shrug, rolling the empty coffee cup between his hands. "I've seen how easy it is to lose material things. If I've got a roof over my head and fuel in my bike, I'm living just fine."

He flashed a smirk and leaned a little closer. "You think keeping everything neat and in line will keep the chaos at bay. Doesn't work like that, blue eyes. The world won't fall apart if you let yourself live a little. Take the day off. Let me show you what you're really missing."

I paused, more tempted by the offer than I should have been. My gaze slipped to the window, taking in the morning sunlight leaking through the glass. Silas's grin was even more blinding than that.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd taken a whole day for myself. I was always chasing the next rung in the ladder, but no matter how far I climbed, security was always just out of reach. The thought of letting go for a few hours was strangely…freeing.

I met his eyes and smiled. "You've got yourself a deal."

Silas's fingers threaded through my hair, lifting me with a firm pull until his mouth found mine. The kiss was brief, purposeful—and familiar. His lips were warm and slightly rough against mine, tasting of coffee and mint toothpaste. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his breath lingered against my skin.

"Get dressed," he ordered. "I'm taking you to breakfast."

The shower stall was a squeeze, so cramped I jammed my elbows every time I raised my arms, but I didn't care. At least the water was hot, just this side of scalding, pounding the stiffness out of muscles that hadn't gotten such a good workout in years. Running just didn't cut it. Steam billowed up, thick enough to fog the glass door, scented with Silas's cedarwood shampoo. Definitely not my usual, but spicy enough to clear my head.

He squeezed his toothpaste from the middle of the tube. I hated when Gage did the same thing, but the sight had me grinning for some reason. It lingered in the back of my mind, like the trace of cologne on the towel hanging by the shower, the razor left in the sink, or the watermarks from where he'd shaved without bothering to wipe it down. Small details that made him morethan just the sexy bad boy I'd been fantasizing about. They made him real in a way he hadn't felt before.

My heart gave a painful tug.

Silas had set out a t-shirt and jeans, faded and soft from a hundred other mornings. The clothes were too big, slung low on my hips and pooling at my ankles, but the scent of his fabric softener curling around me was strangely comforting. It felt like slipping into someone else's skin as I tugged them on.

He chuckled once he got a good look at me. "Quite the fashion statement," he teased, eyes twinkling. "Time to complete the look."

Without missing a beat, he tossed me a helmet.

The Dead End in the morning was something else entirely. Except for the trill of an eastern bluebird sitting on a nearby power line, the parking lot was eerily quiet. No bikes, no cars, no neon lights. The bar was locked up tight, and the windows were dark. It felt like a place that didn't belong in the light of day.

Silas stood there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, watching me with a half-smile ghosting one corner of his mouth. This time, I didn't hesitate. I wrapped my arm around his waist and settled behind him on the Scout, snugged up against him and bracketing his thighs with mine. Last night, riding as his backpack had left me feeling weak, but today, it was his strength infusing me, comforting me in ways I hadn't even known I needed.

Summer heat hadn't fully set in yet, but the humidity was already a hand around my throat. As Silas tore onto the highway, the breeze rolled over us, comfortably cool and scented of earth, wildflowers, and the faint tang of gasoline. The air had a certainsweetness, warming greenery and the mellow, almost musky scent of fresh-cut grass. The richness of rural Louisiana. It felt like breathing in something alive.

Orange slices of sunshine leaked through my helmet's visor, bright enough to make my eyes water, but I kept them popped wide as I rested my head on Silas's shoulder and watched the scenery fly by in a smear of deep green. When I rode alone, I was too focused on speed to absorb the sights. I must have ridden this highway a hundred times, but I'd never noticed the rolling fields broken by boggy swampland, sagging farmhouses, or barns with rusted tin roofs half-covered in moss that stretched further and further apart as the miles rolled by. At the edge of the parish, the last sign of civilization was a run-down fill station. The pumps were rusted and looked like they hadn't worked in years, and a faded red and white sign in the window promised cheap beer and boiled peanuts.

Silas gunned the bike, the engine growling in response, and I braced myself as we surged past the state line and into Mississippi. The air pushed back hard, flowing over us with the comforting summer scents of engine oil and hot asphalt.

Devil's Garden was sticky. It clung to my skin no matter how far we went or how fast we moved, but in that moment, with Silas's body warm and solid against me, it didn't seem so bad. The world felt free. The edges were softer—or maybe I was. The electric tension was still there, humming in my veins every time I looked at him, but I'd never felt so relaxed.

By the time we stopped for food, my stomach was so empty it felt like I'd swallowed a black hole. Silas must have heard it rumbling at his back, because he chuckled and pulled off at a roadside diner that sat at the edge of a sprawling, tangled stretch of kudzu. A giant rooster statue stood out front, painted brightneon pink, its beak pointed toward the sky in a squawk. Above the door, a weathered sign read'Cluckin' Good Biscuits and Gravy'in twisted, funky letters.

The shelves behind the counter were cluttered with a bizarre mash-up of merchandise: snow globes, ceramic roosters painted in clashing shades, miniature American flags, and vintage-style soda pop bottles with labels likeMama's Home ElixirandRagin' Cajun Cola.A menu was handwritten in chalk on an oversized blackboard, boasting "Biscuits & Grits Tacos" and something called the "Crawfish Gravy Breakfast Sundae" that I couldn't quite wrap my mind around.

It felt like a tourist trap, quirky and a little weird, but the first breath of warm, buttery, biscuit-scented air had my mouth watering.

"After that coffee, I'm not sure I trust your tastebuds anymore," I said, giving him a sideways glance as we slid into a ripped vinyl booth. "But I'm too hungry to care."

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