Page 38 of Ridin' Free
I replayed the last twelve hours in my mind.
Georgia and Tommy. My confession. The tears which followed. All the Stallions who had my back—and the one who seemed dead set on taking my flank, for whatever reason.
The wreckage all of this caused in my head was not minor. I knew if I went home, sleep wouldn’t come easily. It had been a long-ass day. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go home and wrestle demons.
While I wasn’t exactly in the mood for a fuck—the company of a tall, bearded distraction was an indisputably welcome idea.
“What are you doin’ right now?” I finally asked.
He chuckled and my eye-roll couldn’t be helped.
“Yeah. Okay. Get over yourself.” I waved, signaling for him to be on his way. “Your place. Hope you’ve got food. I’m hungry.”
Not ten minutes later, I was pulling into his driveway behind him.
Given the other shit trying to wreak havoc in my mind, memories of what happened the last time I was at this address were easily tucked away. I had no intention of taking my clothes off. Not to mention, this time—I had my knife.
Not that I thought it would be necessary.
‘I got you, sparky. You’re safe.’
I could almost feel his fingers grazing the skin of my back as I replayed his words. A part of me knew better than to trust himwith my body or my secrets—but in that moment, back at the clubhouse, I let him have a little of both, and I couldn’t say why.
I was pulled from my thoughts by a gentle tap on my driver’s side window. I jerked, abruptly shifting my gaze to find Twister standing there with a frown tugging at his brow.
“Thought you said you were hungry.”
Not sure how long I’d been sitting there, I was quick to reach for my purse and my keys before climbing out of my vehicle. I followed Twister inside. He closed the garage door behind us and led me straight to the kitchen. I set my bag on the island as he began to rummage through closed cupboard doors. He paused when he pulled open the freezer drawer of his fridge, and I heard his quiet chuckle before he turned to address me.
“Sparky, we’ve got two options. Peanut butter protein shakes or frozen pizza.”
I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure you live here?”
“On occasion,” he replied before he moved to preheat the oven. “Don’t cook much, though. When I do, I buy what I need and leave the rest. Fresher that way.”
“So, when it’s not total shit, it’s organic?”
The grin that pulled at his mustache made his brown eyes dance. I wished I could hate the way he found me so entertaining, but I couldn’t despise how handsome he was when he looked at me like that.
“My body’s a temple, baby,” he replied, leaning his backside against the counter next to the stove.
Aware it would take a while before our pizza was ready, I ignored his comment and peered around the island. There was a built-in space for seating but—not surprisingly—Twister didn’t have any barstools. I didn’t bother asking permission before I hoisted myself up onto the countertop, situating myself across from him.
“For real, though—what is with this place? From what I can tell, it’s half furnished and barely lived in.”
“Spend most of my time on the compound,” he replied easily.
“Okay. Then why buy a house at all?”
“I’m a grown man, not a drifter. Needed an address.”
I narrowed my eyes at him skeptically. “You bought this big house so you’d have someplace for junk mail to get delivered? Why not get a condo or a townhouse?”
“Grew up on a ranch, remember? This place might not be that, but any home with my name on it needed to have some space.”
“Hate to break it to you, brown-eyes—but so far as I can tell, this is ahouse, not ahome. A home has character. This place is practically a blank slate.”
Smirking at me, he folded his arms across his chest and replied, “Yeah? And what would I find if I walked into your house?”
