“You’re gonna need to let me know when you’re deviating from your routine in the future,” I tell her. “Though starting tomorrow, there’ll be someone stationed outside your office during work hours, just in case.”
“I’m really going to be watched every second of the day?” She wrinkles her nose.
“Well, it ain’t like we’re gonna follow you into the bathroom or anything, but yeah.”
We’re coming up on her house now. My Tahoe is in her driveway, parked behind her car. Jude sees us and climbs out the passenger side.
“This is Jude,” I say. “Wanted to introduce him to you, so you’d be used to seeing him around. He’s gonna be taking the midnight to eight shift tonight.”
I call out to him as he walks toward us. “Jude. This here’s Ember.” I reach down and pet the dog. “And Bert.”
“Hey, there, darlin’,” Jude drawls, shooting her a smile that’s half-respectful, half wondering what he can get away with. I give him a warning look, but he ignores me.
Ember smiles politely at him. “Hello.”
“Jude will be out here watching all night, starting at midnight. You’ll have both our numbers. You call one of us if you experience anything funny — anything at all.” I glance at Jude to make sure he’s listening. “If anything happens, he’ll call me right away. We’ll have people here within minutes.”
I half-expect Ember to argue with me, thankfully she doesn’t. “Okay,” she nods.
“Okay then. You go on ahead inside. I’m gonna talk to Jude a bit more, then he’s gonna take off. I’ll be out here if you need me.”
Ember clicks her tongue and leads Bert up the front walk. Jude and I watch her go.
“Holy shit, she’s hot,” Jude whistles. “You didn’t tell me she was hot.”
I scowl at him. “You’re workin’ overtime to get thrown outta this club, motherfucker. And don’t think because you’re the prez’s brother-in-law I can’t make that happen.”
“Chill, man, I was just sayin’. Lighten up. Or are you planning to hit that? Cuz I definitely respect first dibs.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I bite out. “Now take the Tahoe and get outta here. Come back at midnight on the dot. And don’t joyride. I know how many miles are on the odometer.”
Jude smirks. “Gotcha.”
I watch him as he gets in my vehicle. He starts the engine, backs out of the driveway, and squeals the tires a little on purpose as he takes off.
“Goddamn that kid…” I hiss as I watch him drive down the street. I contemplate making a night out of calling him and sending him on errands for me every half-hour until midnight. But just as I’m formulating the plan, I hear Ember’s voice calling to me from the front door.
“Hey, have you had dinner?” she asks as I trot up the sidewalk.
“No. Why?”
“Well…” Her cheeks are pink and rosy from her run, and they shine in the late afternoon light. “I mean, if you’re going to be here for hours anyway, there’s no point in you just sitting outside hungry, is there? Why don’t you come in, and I’ll make us both something to eat?”
11
Ember
The question is out of my mouth before I give myself a chance to second-guess it. Even as I’m saying the words, my brain is firing the panic alert. Are you crazy? What the hell are you going to talk about for more than ten seconds? Why would he even want to come hang out with a weirdo introvert lawyer?
Why would you want to invite an outlaw biker into your house?
Striker doesn’t say anything for a couple seconds. My cheeks flame.
“Sure,” he finally replies. “Saves me from havin’ to call Jude to bring me an order of McDonald’s.”
“Great!” I say brightly, feeling slightly idiotic. My instinct is to be a little offended that I only rate slightly higher than lukewarm fast food, but I push that thought away.
Striker follows me up the path to my front door. “Come on in,” I say when I get inside the foyer. He steps in behind me, peers around. Striker’s face is inscrutable as he takes in the foyer, the flowers, the high ceiling with the drop chandelier, the winding staircase to the second floor. But even though I can’t read his expression, I can’t help but feel like he’s judging me, somehow.
I resist the urge to blurt out that I didn’t pick out the house. That I don’t even particularly like it. It isn’t huge — at least it’s not the biggest one in the neighborhood — but it is definitely on the imposing side, and it’s decorated in a style chosen by the professional decorator Mark hired when we first bought the place.
“You want me to take these off?” he asks, pointing to his boots.
“Oh, no. That’s okay. Really,” I say quickly. I don’t want him to think I’m any fussier than I already feel. I unclip Bert’s leash and set it on the large, round table in the center of the entryway, the sole purpose of which is to hold a large vase of fresh-cut flowers. These days, the vase holds an artificial array, which I notice now could use a dusting.
“Um, I’m sort of sweaty from my run,” I murmur. “I’m going to go up and take a shower, if that’s okay with you.”
He lifts a corner of his mouth. “It’s your house.”
I feel so freaking awkward with him in here right now. This was probably a huge mistake. I can see the entire evening stretching out before us, with me struggling to make conversation, and him wondering how long he has to stay before he can decently take his leave.
“Do you want something to drink?” I offer, pointing toward the kitchen. “I have some white wine.”
Striker chuckles. “I ain’t exactly the wine type.”
“Yes, I probably should have guessed that. What type are you?”
“Whiskey. Beer.”
I bite my lip. “I don’t think I have either of those.”
“That’s okay. I’m on duty. I shouldn’t be drinking, anyway.”
“You want iced tea? Water? I have sparkling and still.”
“Just some tap water is fine.”
Leading him into the kitchen, I go to the cupboard, pull out a water glass, and fill it from the tap. I start to grab some ice to put in it, but he stops me with a raised hand.
“No ice.”
“Here you go,” I say awkwardly.
“Thanks.” He lifts it to his lips, takes a drink. I don’t know how he does it, but he manages to make even that look sexy. Those hard, muscled forearms. The large, powerful hands, with fingers that I already know are callused but can be gentle. The square jaw, with those sensual lips that are usually set in a scowl but also sometimes surprise me with a rare smile.
Striker drains the glass, sets it down on the counter with a slight bang that startles me back into the present moment. My skin flushes, even though I know he can’t know what I was thinking.
“I was thirsty.” His lips quirk up, and it somehow makes me want to melt into a puddle.
“Would you like another glass?” I stammer.