The bell above the door chimes and Brooklyn walks in.
I pull back and whip my head in her direction.
“Hey guys, how’s it going?” There’s a slight grin on her face.
Reagan takes longer to recover, clearing her throat before looking at her friend. “Hey, come sit over here,” she rushes out, I think in an effort to water down some of the intimacy that’d begun to form between us.
I finish her tattoo, the three of us talking, but Brooklyn doing the heavy lifting in the conversation and I say goodbye and let Reagan walk out the door at the end of it all. But not because I have no plans on pursuing her. This just isn’t the time or place, but I’ll get a plan together.
I’m tired of letting her push me away. Time I fight for her.
Chapter Five
Reagan
Sunday morning I’m lounging around my house, not doing much of anything except being lazy. It’s been a long week, what with the anniversary of my mom’s death. That, and running into Moose on Thursday night—something I didn’t expect to happen. Then Friday was a mess at work with a bunch of the housekeeping staff calling in sick. I had to pitch in and clean rooms and let’s just say I didn’t have the stamina I used to.
So when the doorbell rings around eleven, I groan because it means I have to get my ass up off the couch to see who it is. I’m not expecting anyone and I paid the paperboy when he came around collecting yesterday, so it’s not him.
I sneak a peek out the side window beside the door and even though it’s blurry because the glass is somewhat frosted with a design, I’d recognize him anywhere. There are not many six-foot-six, muscled guys hanging around Lake Starlight.
He knocks again and I glance down at what I’m wearing. Boy short undies under an oversized T-shirt. And no, the lack of pants or a bra isn’t the issue. It’s the fact that I’m wearing what was once Moose’s T-shirt. He’d let me borrow it one night to sleep in after we slept together, and I never returned it. Purposely. I liked having something of his and with how much he’s been on my mind since I ran into him I wore it to bed last night.
Another loud knock on the door. “Reagan, open up.”
Closing my eyes in preparation for the mortification that’s sure to overwhelm me when I open the door, I inhale a deep breath and whip the door open. “Moose, what are you doing here?”
His unhurried gaze drifts from my head to my feet and back but he doesn’t say anything about the shirt, so maybe he doesn’t realize it was his once upon a time.
I do the same to him, and man, does he look hot. He’s wearing jeans, Doc Martens, and a white T-shirt that sets off his blue eyes with a leather jacket over top. In his hand resting against his hip is his motorcycle helmet and when I glance past him to my driveway, I spot his Harley parked by the walkway. How did I not hear him pull up in the driveway?
“Can I come in?” he asks.
“Um… sure.” I step back and motion for him to come in. “How did you know where I live?”
When my mom got sick and I had to eventually put her into a home, we sold my childhood home to help pay for the expenses, so I’d been renting during the time Moose and I were off and on. I was only able to buy the house I’m in now because of my mom’s life insurance policy.
He tilts his head at me like I’m a dumbass. “Not exactly hard to find anyone in this town, honey.”
I attempt to appear unfazed at the use of honey but my treacherous nipples pucker under his T-shirt and I’m pretty sure he notices from the way his gaze tracks down and he sucks in a breath.
“Okay well… not to be rude, but what are you doing here?” It’s not that I don’t enjoy being around Moose, it’s the opposite actually. Ever since Thursday, all I can think about is how much I used to love being with him, how easy it was to start to…
I cut that line of thinking before I can even go there.
“‘Cause I’m takin’ you out for a ride.”
I tilt my head. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Now get that sweet ass of yours upstairs and change.”
I blink a couple of times. “I’m not going anywhere, Moose. I plan to spend the day on my couch binge-watching TV until I relocate to my bed tonight.”
What the hell is this? I haven’t spoken to this man in years and he just shows up out of the blue ordering me around. Hell no.
He steps toward me. “We can go straight to the bed if you want.” He grins.
“I’m not sure I understand what’s going on here.”
Another step forward.
I back up, not because I’m afraid he would ever hurt me, but because he’s invading my space and my body can’t help but react. Can’t help but feel the strong pull to him like he’s a black hole sucking me in. The space between my thighs buzzes with desire. From the expression on his face, I’d say he knows it too. He always could read me like a book.
“Seeing you the other night made me realize something.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“You pushed me away once, said you needed space. Figure I’ve given you enough space, so now I’m here to get you back. Simple.” His eyes dare me to argue with him.
Which of course, I will because self-preservation has always been my priority.
“I know we ended things on a bad note all those years ago but I had a lot going on with my mom. And I’m still mourning her loss. Nothing’s changed,” I lie. It’s a lie because there’s a big part of me that does want to just give in and say yes and let him win me over again.
But then I remember what it was like to lose my mother—piece by piece. And if that’s the consequence of loving someone… I just don’t think I can do it.
“Honey, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Frankly, I prefer the easy way but I also realize it’s gonna always be the hard way with you. Either way, you’re walkin’ out this door with me and we’re hittin’ the open road. You decide whether you want that to be with you wearing just that T-shirt and underwear or fully clothed.” He crosses his arms over his chest, the strap of the bike helmet dangling from one of his fingers.
“You can’t just come in here and—” I stop short when he gives me a look. A look that tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing. That I want to go with him, but I’m scared and that he’s not going to let me get away with my bullshit. “Argh! Fine. I’ll go change.” I start up the stairs, irritation mixed with anticipation simmering inside.
“Don’t suppose there’s any chance I’m gettin’ that shirt back now, is there?” he calls out after me.
I don’t even break stride. “Nope.” I stomp the rest of the way up the stairs.
I hear him chuckle and wish that I were still standing across from him so I could see it for myself since it’s such a rarity. Then I slam my bedroom door shut so I can change, pretending the whole time that it doesn’t light a fire in me that I was the one who made his laughter happen.
Fifteen minutes later, he’s strapped a helmet on my head, given me the lesson about how to hold on to him, and explained how to lean into the turns.