“What now?” I ask, unsure if this is what he wants; if he wants me.
“We’ll tie up some loose ends, make sure everything is safe, and get you set up on your feet, Darlin'.” His face and voice are sincere; I can tell he wants nothing more than for me to stay here.
“You're my blood. You're always welcome here and always protected, Dani.” He pats my shoulder. “Besides, I kind of like you.” I look up at a smiling Bull, wrinkles framing his bright green eyes.
I guess this is my home now. With that thought, my pursed lips turn into a smug grin.
-------------------------------------
I walk out to the courtyard at the appointed time of 5pm to find Shadow already waiting by his bike. He’s wearing snug blue jeans, a white shirt and his cut. His dark hair is all messy on top, as usual, and he has the laziest grin when he sees me walking toward him. Just the sight of him makes me tremble with arousal. Every day I feel myself falling deeper and deeper into his web.
He hands me the helmet and revs up his bike. The roar coming from the chrome pipes screams up my spine. I put my helmet on and climb on the back of his bike. He grabs my legs and pulls me closer, making me smile. In a flash, we fly forward and are out of the courtyard and hitting the pavement. His smell is intoxicating; his spicy shampoo mixed with grease. I can tell he tried to wash off all the grease but the smell still lingers. I love it; it’s so masculine.
Looking out at the sunset, I see big gray clouds swarming the sky; looks like a storm is brewing. I wonder where Shadow is taking me. This should be interesting. Still, I bet anything he has to offer is better than the blind dates my mother used to set me up with; they always took me to the finest places and threw cash, or their family name, around like it was flattering; it wasn’t.
I feel the bike slant off to the side of the road bringing us back to the beach he took me to a week or so back. I’m not complaining. I love the beach and this could be romantic. Then again, Shadow did say he didn’t do romantic.
I slide off the back of the bike and hand Shadow my helmet. He takes it and hands me a red and black checkered blanket from one of the saddle bags.
“Go find us a good spot; I’ll follow in a sec.”
I take the blanket and make my way down to the warm, sandy beach. The breeze has picked up making the waves crash onto the beach. I pick a spot and throw the blanket down. Sitting on a corner, I take my shoes and socks off and dig my toes into the warmth. Feeling the grainy sand squish between my toes is amazing; it is so relaxing. I need this after the last twenty-four hours I have had. The thought of Candy and my mother makes goose bumps rise on my skin. I haven't been at the club long and I have already managed to wreck havoc. What a mess.
I look behind me to find Shadow setting down a red cooler and kicking off his boots and socks.
“What’s in the cooler?” I ask, lifting my chin toward it.
“Eh, my attempt of being romantic,” he responds, chuckling.
He opens the lid and pulls out a Tupperware dish with sandwiches cut into triangles, then he pulls out another dish with cheese and grapes, followed by two beers. I am in complete shock, my mouth has fallen open and my eyes are as wide as saucers.
“I know it’s not a five-star restaurant or anything fancy, but this is about as romantic as I get.” He rubs the back of his neck and eyes my reaction. He thinks I hate it; that I’m mortified he would make me sandwiches for a date, but the truth is, I love it. I hate that he thinks I’m some high-class broad from New York that’s impossible to please. I bet everyone at the club thinks that.
“It’s perfect,” I respond, my voice full of emotion.
He scoffs at me. He clearly thinks I’m lying. Jerk.
“I’m not lying,” I protest.
He sits down and opens the tub with the sandwiches in it. He takes a beast-sized bite and looks out at the crashing waves. I crawl over and straddle his lap and cup his face so he's looking directly into my eyes. His cheeks, rough with stubble, feel glorious under my fingertips.
“I’ve been to those five-star restaurants you’re talking about; sure they can be nice but anybody can throw money at someone else to cook for their significant other. This takes a lot more thought. You did this yourself; you didn’t hire someone else to take care of the hassle. This is way more intimate than anything you might think is considered fancy...” He cups my face back and lightly brushes his lips over mine, so tender and friendly I forget who is holding me.
“So you think I’m your significant other?” he whispers against my lips, his breath smelling of turkey.
My cheeks flush and my heart starts galloping like a horse. Shit, I did say significant other. I know labels aren’t his thing. Just taking me out on a date is pushing it and here I am saying “be my boyfriend”.