I glanced at the clock. It was shortly after nine thirty. I’d slept in. Eleven. Come alone.
He didn’t reply, affirmatively or negatively. Shaking my head, I texted Brian, Tate’s right-hand man. Meeting up with Scotty in Charlie’s at eleven. Need anything while I’m there?
Charlie’s was another front for money laundering, and we kept a large quantity of our cash in the safe. This was a dangerous play. There was a slight chance—okay, it was fifty-fifty—that I wouldn’t make it out alive. If I didn’t, someone needed to know where I’d been, and whom I’d been with.
Nah, but stop by after. Tate wants to talk to you.
I stood and rubbed my jaw, staring at myself in the mirror. My restless night hadn’t done me any favors, and a hint of desperation darkened my expression. I couldn’t help it. I was facing impossible choices.
The door opened, and Heidi poked her head in.
She didn’t meet my eyes, and her cheeks were flushed. She looked nervous. Why the hell was she nervous? Maybe it had something to do with last night. She’d said she didn’t have any regrets, but she could’ve lied. “You’re up?”
“You think?” I asked dryly.
She waved a hand dismissively. Her blond hair was damp, and she smelled like peaches even from this distance. “Whatever. I’m making breakfast, and it’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
I scratched my stomach, liking the way her gaze dropped to the brief flash of my abs. “Okay. I’ll be out in a few.”
She didn’t reply, and closed the door again. I made quick work of brushing my teeth and showering before walking into the living room and making my way to the kitchen barefoot. Heidi had her earbuds in again, so she didn’t hear me come up behind her. She swung her hips, tossing her head back and forth as she danced to whatever the hell it was she listened to.
The whole thing felt so domesticated and so . . . normal.
Heidi looked like she belonged in my kitchen. It made me think that she was wrong. That maybe we’d make badass gardeners. My tulips could win the top prize at our fictional town’s gardening show. It was entirely possible that we’d kick ass at being normal.
But, really, what were the odds that two fucked-up people like us could pull that off? I’d never been good at following the rules. I closed my arms around her, sliding my hand up her shirt to rest on her rib cage, right below her breasts. Burying my face in her neck, I inhaled her scent deeply. “Mm. Smells delicious, darlin’.”
“Thanks.” Heidi skated out of my arms, shooting me a nervous glance as she popped her earbuds out. Okay, then. She didn’t want to be touched. Message received loud and clear. “The secret is butter. It makes the eggs richer.”
I hadn’t been talking about the food, but I didn’t point that out. She was throwing up major back the hell off vibes. I tried again, lowering my voice, “Can’t wait to taste them.”
She picked up the plates. “Well, lucky for you, you don’t have to. It’s ready.”
“Thanks.” I grabbed the plates out of her hands and carried them out to the table. She followed me with two mugs of steaming coffee. “You do know that you don’t have to cook for me, right? I don’t expect anything because you’re living with me. I’m not that guy.”
“I know. But it keeps me busy.” She set the mugs down and lifted a shoulder. “Uh . . . the cooking, I mean. I don’t sit idly well. I need to do things, or my mind wanders. And when my mind wanders, I get even antsier than before. Like this morning. So, I cooked.”
I got that. I was the same way, but with the cars downstairs. I set my fork down, studying her closely for any hint of the reason she was acting so odd. The only thing I could figure it would be was regret. “I have to work today. Want me to get you anything while I’m out? Books? Movies? More booze?”
“I have to work tonight, too.” She fidgeted. “So, no, I’ll be fine. I won’t be here much longer, I’m sure.”
I made a mental note to be back before she went to the bar. I wanted to be there, guarding her. If I’d had it my way, she wouldn’t leave my place at all.
“What makes you say that?” I asked, half hoping she’d changed her mind and was going to take the cash and go, and half hoping she hadn’t. Selfish bastard. “Where you going?”
“Nowhere at the moment. But this thing with your brother can’t go on for much longer.” She picked up her spoon, set it down, and picked it back up again. “So once you handle the situation, I’ll be free to go home, and you can go back to . . . doing what you do.”
In other words, she couldn’t wait to get out of here. What-the-fuck-ever. If she wanted to hit the road the second the coast was clear, I wouldn’t stop her. I could go back to enjoying my silent apartment, and my silent life, without any complications. And if I felt a cavity in the bottom of my stomach at the idea of going back to normal . . .
I’d ignore it.