I barely know him, but I’m looking to change that. I know the important things. He loves his daughter and is respectful to his mom. He’s a big, scary outlaw biker who can frighten me into submission, and who’s made up his own twisted version of a board game that he apparently plays with his daughter often. He’s gone out of his way to help and protect me, even though I’m not technically his responsibility. And I’ve lost my marbles because I’m going out of my way to defend him. And he gives fantastic orgasms. That alone qualifies him for obsession status.
He did get me into these messes, but he could be a real bastard and leave me to suffer the wrath of his enemies and he done with it. His hands and the club’s hands would be clean of it if he’d just let that mafia guy take me out. And I wouldn’t be the kind of person who thought about things like how to take somebody out and keep your hands clean if it weren’t for Grady and his club. But even knowing this, I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to lose the bickering and the excitement and the way his heavy arm rests on my shoulders. Even if it is temporary, I’m part of something real, and I like it. I more than like it, but I don’t let myself go there.
Grady catches me staring at him a little too long and raises his eyebrows in question. A smile tugs at my lips. I raise my eyebrows in response, trying in vain to mimic the half-hearted scowl he’s sporting. He hooks his foot around the front leg of my chair and, with the help of his arm around my shoulder, he tugs me closer and places a kiss on top of my head. I flush with anticipation of where this is going and hope that I’m not a complete idiot for thinking we could be something.
“You fit in here,” he says. “You fit in with me—with us. We don’t fit in anywhere, either. So we fit in together.”
And just like that, I’m a goner.
Chapter 21
BY THE TIME the game is over, both Cheyenne and Lisa can’t stop yawning. I think Lisa won, but I’m not entirely certain. All I know is that I definitely lost. Cheyenne is mumbling incoherent things about taking down The Thimbles street gang with a series of federal charges. I try to ask her what kind of sentence The Thimbles would get for that, but she replies with something about shooting bunnies. Lisa stands from the table, stretches her back out, and pats Cheyenne on the back. “Time for bed.” They leave abruptly and when they’re out of earshot, I turn in my seat and ask Grady, “Should I be worried that your daughter is talking about shooting bunnies?”
“Nah,” he says as he finishes off his fifth beer since dinner. “The bunnies deserve it.” My eyes widen and I can’t find anything to say. What the hell does that even mean anyway?
Suddenly, being alone with Grady is too much. I want this. It just makes me nervous. I hop out of my seat and collect the bowls and plates from around the table. In the kitchen, I set them in the sink and get to rinsing them off in preparation to put them in the dishwasher. Grady follows behind and dumps the empty beer cans into the recycling bin. He hovers over my shoulder as I scrub the dishes free of food particles. Warm breath heats the back of my neck sending a shiver down my spine. He lifts my hair, drops it over the front of my shoulder, and presses the front of his body into my back.
“What are you doing?” I whisper. I don’t want him to stop. Feeling his body pressed into mine, trapping me between him and the counter, makes me think I could be agreeable to just about anything—things I probably shouldn't agree to. Like going to bed with him. But he is and I am, so I can’t think straight enough to wonder how insane I am. I want him, I know that. I want him more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.
“Getting you to cooperate so I can fuck you. Don’t think I forgot what you look like as you come.” He drags his hand up the center of my spine all the way to the base of my neck. His touch is gentle. It makes me want to tell him everything about myself. His proximity is much too close– it is unnerving. I am already in way too deep for my liking. It can't be healthy for me to be this obsessed with him. I guess it's just been so long since I've been in any kind of relationship that I forgot how these things work. I force myself to be here and in the moment, and not too much in my own head. “Where do you want me to fuck you?”
Turning off the water and using my hands as leverage against the edge of the counter, I take a deep breath and let my head fall back against his chest.
"Are you always this bossy, and does it actually work for you?" I ask.
"I'm the one asking questions here," he says. His hand comes around from the back of my neck and trails effortlessly across my collarbone and down my forearm. “I asked where you want me to fuck you.”
"Is that how it usually works for you with women?"
"I don't normally do a lot of talking with women," he says. "Don't usually care what they have to say." I'm not exactly surprised, but maybe a little disappointed. It's easy to forget who he is, and what he does when he's sitting around playing a children's game with his daughter and mother on a Friday night.