Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Seriously, when had Saint developed all those muscles? Riding behind him, with her arms around his waist on the way to the motel, had been eye-opening and distracting in ways she didn’t have the bandwidth to think about.
Not that she was in any position to do something about it, but two solid days of clinging to him on the back of a bike would be its own brand of torture. Maybe it was a good thing she wasn’t in the headspace to think about anything more than appreciating his good looks. Her dad would flip his shit if he knew she was attracted to one of his MC guys. From the moment her hormones started surging, he’d drilled into her brain how she was not to so much as look at the men in his club.
“You gonna stare at me all night, or you gonna eat something?”
Her face burned as she jumped.
Busted.
She grabbed the closest thing, which happened to be a rolled taco smothered in cheese, sour cream, and guac. Yum. “Yes, of course.”
What the hell is wrong with you? Caught lost in thought twice in less than an hour.
She needed to get her head in the game.
“Okay, because if I’m so hot it’s too distracting, I can put a pillowcase over my head or some shit.” He winked before taking a long sip from his super-sized soda, large enough to induce diabetes.
“Funny,” she said, even as the butterflies in her stomach agreed with his description of himself. “You seem to think very highly of yourself. Sounds to me like you might need a bigger helmet.”
“I do have a big… head,” he said with another wink.
That had her sputtering out an unladylike half snort, half laugh. She did not remember Saint being open and funny, but the fact that he could make her laugh despite all that had happened today felt incredible.
“Wow. I see you have the sense of humor of a thirteen-year-old.”
He grunted. “Eat your dinner, brat.”
So, she did. They chatted a little. He filled her in on some shenanigans from home, and she talked about her job at the pet grooming salon, but most of the meal was quiet. Saint seemed to realize she had a lot to process and let her do so without his two cents, which she greatly appreciated.
As she listened to him describe the clubhouse, the mountains, and Copper snarling about some new bikers in the area, a strange swell of emotion rose in her chest. She missed home, missed the noise and laughter, her mom’s hugs, and her dad’s gruff affection. Excitement tugged at her. She was really going back, and she was more than ready.
Right on top of it sat fear. Fear of the questions. Fear of their judgment when they eventually learned what she’d allowed to happen. Fear that she wasn’t the Beth they remembered anymore, but a beaten-down version they’d no longer be proud of.
By the time they finished eating, her energy had bottomed out, and an all-consuming heaviness settled over her. Whether she was tired or just ready to turn her brain off didn’t matter. She wanted nothing more than to crawl under the scratchy covers and pass out.
Would Saint care if she turned in early? Jason always got mad when she went to bed before him, claiming it meant she didn’t want to be around him. He was a night owl, whereas she preferred mornings, and more than one fight had begun over her inability to stay up as late as he did.
You say you love me, Beth. If you really loved me, you’d want to spend some fucking time with me.
Ugh, she hated that statement because it always preceded a horrible mood and either a lengthy silent treatment or Jason’s screaming. Opposite ends of the reaction spectrum, but equally awful.
“You wanna tell me what’s on your mind?” Saint asked after a long stretch of silence.
“Huh?” Her cheeks heated. This guy would think she was the biggest space cadet if she kept zoning out.
“You look like you got something to say. What’s up?”
“Oh…well, I was just thinking that I’m, uh, pretty tired.”
He tilted his head and studied her with those dark, intense eyes. Her face warmed. Being the focus of such robust scrutiny was unnerving. “I imagine you would be pretty fucking whipped. Today was shit for you.”
A harsh laugh burst from her gut. “Yeah, you could say that,” she said as she touched her bruised neck without thinking.
His eyes narrowed as his gaze darkened. “All right, you ready to call it a day then?”
“Oh.” She blinked. “Only if you are. I don’t want to mess with your plans any more than I already have. I’m good to stay up as long as you want.”
Grunting, Saint began to clear the table. “Babe, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, you are my plan. I came here to make sure you’re okay and find out why you’re ghosting your mom. But even if I wasn’t here for that, if you’re tired, you sleep.” He shrugged. “Simple as that.”