Keeping my mouth shut, I watch her walk to her office down the hall. Darby does medical billing from home. When I asked her once if she liked her job, she said she liked the working from home part.
I return to my bedroom and daydream about Ford. My mind is crazy with a million thoughts. Mostly about my brothers and Mom. I think about where they are right then. The boys at school, Mom at home. Does she help them with their homework at night? Are they getting ready for the bus in time? Devin always gets anxious about being late.
When Ford arrives for dinner, I’m sitting on the front porch. He parks at the street and gazes menacingly both directions much like he must have done years ago for Darby. He’s a scary guy to those who don’t know him. I’m still one of those people. Hell, I’m a stranger to everyone in Little Memphis and the homesickness is depressing me.
Ford walks up to the porch, gives me the once over, and sighs loudly. “Should I put on my running shoes?”
I give him a weak smile. “If I wanted to run, I wouldn’t get far.”
Stepping onto the porch, he sizes me up again. “That bad?”
“Naw,” I say, standing up. “A hot water bottle helped a lot.”
He grins, but seems grumpy. After he glances around, he focuses on me really hard.
“I’m going to kiss you. Don’t flinch or duck or anything.”
I roll my eyes and tighten my lips, so the kiss sucks. He responds by licking my lips until I relent and open for him. I’m laughing as he wraps me into his arms and dips me over.
“No running,” he mumbles against my smiling lips. “I’m tired from fucking you last night.”
“Poor bastard,” I giggle as he keeps me tipped over.
Ford kisses me until I’m mush in his arms. Once I’m sufficiently starry-eyed, he returns me to my feet and sighs.
“Why do you struggle when I always win in the end?”
“I wasn’t struggling. You just like making assumptions. In fact, I think you like seeing yourself as a put upon jackass.”
“I don’t know about the jackass part.”
I sit on the front porch and stare at the street. “Are we still going out to dinner?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he says, sitting down and stretching his arms across the back of the swing. “What’s your problem?”
“I’m homesick.”
Ford taps his foot against mine and I finally look at him. “Where do you want to eat?”
“I really don’t care,” I mutter. My depression makes me impulsive, so I blurt out, “I just want to spend time with you.”
Ford studies me and I stare right back at him. He smiles in a tired way.
“You’re spending the night at my place. Go pack up the stuff you need.”
I frown. “Say please.”
“No.”
I cuddle up next to him. “Please say please.”
Ford’s grin widens. “You smell good.”
“Is that your version of please?”
Giving me a nod, Ford takes my cap off and runs his fingers through my hair. “You get off work at two. I’ll be there at one thirty. Now go get packed for the night. I know you don’t wear your flannel and trucker cap to work. Go get packed up and I’ll take you to a quiet family place. Won’t be a scary fucker in sight.”
“Excluding you,” I whisper, caressing his lips with mine.
“Me scary?”
Grinning, I slide off the bench before he starts feeling me up. “I’ll get my stuff.”
Ford stretches his arms out again and watches the kids riding their bikes back and forth. They ignore the scary man at Darby’s house. I suspect their parents taught them to ignore anything they saw at the house. Smart people avoid getting sucked into club drama, yet I jump into it with both feet.
18
Ford
Not Yet
Shay’s gray eyes hide little from me at dinner. She’s depressed, missing home and her family. I don’t have any heartwarming shit to tell her. My concern isn’t her family back in Hawthorne, but keeping Shay in Little Memphis.
The Apron Strings restaurant isn’t where I normally take dates. The only time Pax and I eat here is when we have dinner with our foster mom Marcy. She’s a fan of chopped liver and only a few places serve it. While I don’t know what Shay likes to eat, she needs a quiet place separate from the club and bullshit in town.
My restaurant choice pans out when I catch her smiling at the menu. On Mondays, the place is quiet. A few families and more than a few seniors, our fellow customers aren’t scary. No one will start trouble or throw a drink. Shay can relax, allowing me to admire her smile.
“You come here a lot?” she asks, teasing me.
“The country fried steak is good. Pax has a thing for their spaghetti and meatballs.”