Beast: Learning to Breathe (Devil's Blaze MC #5)

“I’m pregnant, not disabled,” she defends.

“You could fall,” I point out what she should already know and ignoring that she’s trying to be cute. She is cute. That thought settles in my mind. I never thought she was much to look at, but today she’s wearing these soft blue leggings with a long ivory like sweater that comes down to her knees. She’s got her hair brushed until it shines and it falls softly along her shoulders and back. I wouldn’t have thought she was pretty before, but today she looks...almost beautiful. Maybe it’s the pregnancy glow.

“Do you want to come to dinner with me and Maggie?” she asks, instead of answering.

“What’s for dinner?” I ask, instead of telling her no. I can’t believe it. I’ve obviously lost my mind.

In response, she grins at me like she just won a war. “I made meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and corn,” she says, seeming very happy with herself.

“What if I don’t like meatloaf?” I ask her, enjoying our conversation and isn’t that just a giant bucket of fuck. I’m getting in over my head here. I know it, but for the life of me I can’t seem to stop it.

“You love meatloaf. You order it at the diner all the time, and for dessert, I made apple pie,” she adds, and fuck, she’s been paying attention to me—more attention than I would have ever dreamed. How did I miss that? She’s also right. The last woman who cooked meatloaf for me was Annie—Sabre’s old lady. It was damn good.

“Okay,” I tell her before I can talk myself out of it.

“Just like that?” she asks surprised. Her gray eyes widening.

“You didn’t want me to agree?”

“I did, I just figured you’d make me work harder for it,” she says with complete honesty, and I find myself smiling, yet again. At her.

“I thought about it, but then you’d have to walk down the stairs by yourself,” I tease her, and I watch as Hayden’s mouth opens, closes and then opens again. Then she laughs. It’s a nice laugh, and for some reason, hearing it feels good enough to keep the smile stretched on my face.

Fuck.





32





Hayden





“Do you want some more pie?” I ask Michael, as he pushes away from the small table, holding his stomach. I must admit that I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself. He had two heaping platefuls of food and two pieces of pie on top of that. I watch as he rubs his stomach, and his dark eyes look up at me ruefully.

“If I eat anymore, I think I might explode. I take it you are not the cook at the diner,” he answers.

“Nah, Charlie’s sister does all the cooking. She’s good and quick.”

“You’re better. Charlie doesn’t know what she’s missing,” he tells me, and I feel like I just won a medal or something. I’m not used to people praising me.

“Thanks, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I stand there for a minute grinning at him like an idiot. He looks back at me and he almost seems relaxed. Before I can be any more of a goofball, I grab plates and start carrying them over to the sink, trying to find anything to do, because suddenly the atmosphere between us seems uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing I want.

“I’ll help you wash the dishes,” Michael offers, starting to get up from the table.

“Please, don’t. There’s no need. I washed up the pans and things as I cooked. What’s left I’ll just leave in the sink. I’ll get them later, or in the morning. I was wondering...I mean I was going to watch a movie. Would you like to watch it with me?”

His eyes harden for a second and his body goes stiff with tension. I’ve pushed too far. I should have known better than to ask. “Hayden…” he starts, but I cut him off.

“I’m only asking because I like the company. Honestly, I don’t have a lot of people in my life. Liese has her baby and she stays busy being a single mom. Charlie is kind of a loner, and I wouldn’t want to bother her outside of work. I respect Pastor Sturgill, but I wouldn’t want to invite him to dinner alone. He’s a Pastor, and well, it wouldn’t look right if I kept inviting him to dinner.”

“Do you care what people think about you?” he asks, leaning back against his chair and appraising me. Suddenly, I feel like I’m being tested. I have to wonder if I’m going to pass. I take a breath as I think about his words and I want to laugh, but I can’t. I smile, though it’s more of a resigned, sad smile.

“I think people have pretty much made their minds up about me, Michael. I meant, what they would say about Pastor Sturgill. I wouldn’t want to do damage to his reputation or his standing in the community.”

“But you don’t care about mine?” he asks, and those eyes of his are almost twinkling again. I’m getting the distinct impression he’s joking with me. I shake my head at him, wishing I knew exactly what ran through his mind sometimes.

“After the fit you threw at the doctor’s office I think people have already made up their minds about you. I’m sorry to tell you this, Michael, but, hanging around with me, taking up for me, is probably not a good thing.”

“And why is that?”

“Because people are assholes and the majority of them are mean,” I tell him, honestly. Once upon a time, I might have thought differently. Life has shown me the error of my ways, however.

“What movie are we watching?” he asks, surprising me.

“It’s a surprise,” I announce, grinning. “I think you’ll like it. The hero reminds me of you.”

“God help me,” he jokes, and he really does joke this time.

I laugh, happy he agreed to watch the movie with me and happy in general. I like having a friend—a friend I feel safe with. We move into the living room. Michael sits down on the sofa while I put the DVD in the player and set the volume.

“There we go,” I tell him, once it’s all set. Then I go sit in the chair across from the sofa.

“You can sit here with me. You can’t see the television from over there,” Michael says and he’s right, but it feels a little strange to sit with him. I don’t want to say that to him, however.

“Okay,” I agree with him, not wanting to ruin his mood by accidentally offending him. Once I sit down on the opposite end from him, I pull my feet up under me, hugging my legs, and wait for the movie to begin.

“I didn’t realize people still used DVD players,” he smirks. I look over at him and he’s smiling again, even with that mountain of hair on his face I can tell it. He’s got his broad arms stretched out, one along the top of my couch and another on the arm of it. He’s wearing a long-sleeved thermal top in red and it’s stretched across his large muscles. He looks relaxed, almost normal. I find myself smiling back at him as the last of the nervous tension I was holding in fades.

“Well, I’m sorry, I can’t afford internet and in truth I probably wouldn’t have it if I could.”

He scrunches up his face. “You don’t like modern conveniences? You’d be the first woman in history.”