Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Baby?”
Her gaze flicked upward, going round, knowing she was caught looking.
“Coffee?” I asked, trying not to smile.
“What? Oh, um. We don’t have any soy—”
I moved over to the fridge, reaching in, and pulling out the soy milk.
“Wait… how?”
“I asked Teddy if he could send someone over before we got here so they could bring in a few basic groceries. Soy milk, sugar, and your sweetener were top of the list.” Her head tilted, brows pinching. “What?” I asked.
“That was a lot of forethought.”
She wasn’t saying it outright, but I was reading between the lines: she was impressed.
It was no secret that Lula was a very ambitious woman. She liked her plans, her lists, her five-step thinking. And she was intrigued by men who had those same qualities.
“What can I say, I like keeping you comfortable,” I said. “Peek in the freezer.”
She did just that as I started the coffee.
“You didn’t,” she gasped, grabbing the box of her caramel blondie ice cream bars she’d mentioned.
“And I got myself the chocolate fudge brownie ones so I’m not tempted to steal any of yours.”
“Coming home from the club to dessert sounds perfect.”
“I’ve always been more of a mac & cheese or grilled cheese guy when I’ve been drinking, but I see your vision.”
“Both of those meals require cooking. You can cook?”
“It might be a stretch to call stirring gooey cheese into boiled pasta ‘cooking,’ but I can do that, yes.”
“I can cook but don’t do it much.”
“Do you like it?” I asked, passing her a mug of coffee.
“I, um, yes. If I don’t have to worry about the time it takes.”
“Is something wrong with the coffee?” I asked as she kept turning the mug in her hand.
“This cup is from Tiffany.”
“Guess so.”
“No, it is. I have these saved. I didn’t pull the trigger because they’re not dishwasher safe. And that just felt like a lot of work.”
“Well, that was good information to have before I ruined these by putting them in the dishwasher,” I said, adding sugar to my mug.
“Anything with gold on it like this can’t go in a dishwasher,” she explained, standing beside me to make her own coffee.
It was so normal.
Comfortable.
Nice.
Something I could get used to.
If all worked out the way I was hoping, maybe I could. Get used to it. Us. Together. Domestic. Happy.
At that moment, sipping coffee and watching the seagulls land in the backyard, I had no idea how close I was to losing it all.
To almost losing her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lula
Given what Raff told me about Zayn, I’d gone with a general ‘sexy’ vibe for my dress. But with a classy edge. Tight, black, a little sparkly, but no tits hanging out, no worries about flashing the whole bar if I raised my arms over my head.
For my hair, I went with natural. Partly because it felt more appropriate than a slick-back bun. But also partly because I liked how much Raff seemed to like it.
I packed all my remaining jewelry for the road trip—too paranoid to leave anything worthwhile behind in a motel room—so I slipped on some small, chunky gold hoops and an understated gold necklace. Then I applied my makeup, spritzed on some perfume, slipped into the new heels I bought which I knew were going to leave blisters if I stood for too long, then made my way toward the door.
I’d just stepped into the hall upstairs when I heard the chorus of male voices.
Among them, my mind seemed to immediately isolate Raff. But there were maybe three others.
The sister club bikers.
I was only halfway down the steps when a tall, wide, bearded guy—bringing serious lumberjack vibes—spotted me and inclined his chin.
Seeing that, the others turned.
There was a guy in all black, with dark hair, gauged ears, and a quiet air about him.
And then there was another guy—younger, tattooed, easy smile—who sort of reminded me a bit of Raff.
Then, of course, there was Raff himself.
Gone was his usual uniform of jeans and tees (or board shorts and tank tops). In its place was a pair of pressed black slacks, a tucked-in black button-up, and loafers. All of it was well-tailored—not too loose, not too long.
His messy hair was slicked back.
There was an expensive-looking white gold watch on his wrist.
Desire was a punch to the gut, making me want to fold forward to ease the impact.
My feet refused to move as his gaze raked over me, taking me in while I stayed transfixed by his transformation.
Raff moved forward, offering a hand that I was helpless to take since I no longer trusted my feet not to trip over themselves and send me face-planting onto the landing.
At the touch, a sizzle coursed up my arm, wrapped around my throat, and settled in my chest, my stomach, lower.
“You clean up nice,” I said, my voice just for the two of us as my feet hit the lower level.