“Portland. That’s where I am, at least. I believe they’re on the outskirts. Lovely city, by the way. You should bring the kids here. They’d love the beaches. Reminds me a bit of home, I must say.”
“Yeah, maybe one day,” he said. “But I gotta get to the house and make sure they’re in bed. Call if anything happens with them, alright? If they’re hurt, or that rat bastard tries to pull some shit, and they need healed, or resurrected, or whatever the case may be. You call.”
“Will do, love. And have your wife call me either way.” She smiled. “I miss her.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
CHAPTERTWENTY
BROOKE
“Icould ride you home,” Declan said as we walked from the restaurant. “It’s a little cool, but I’ve got a jacket.”
“Why would I need a jacket?” I gestured to the one I was already wearing.
He smirked, letting out a quiet laugh. “Guess you’ve never seen what I drive, huh?”
My face must’ve shown my confusion.
His smile widened. “Do you want to teleport? Or do you want me to drive you?”
No, but also maybe no? If his car had no heat, maybe no. If it was a convertible, maybe yes. “What do you drive?”
As we rounded the corner of one of the pillars of the parking garage, Declan nodded ahead, still smiling.
I glanced that way, and my brow arched.
Why am I not surprised?
A bike.
A Honda Shadow motorcycle, to be specific, painted a sparkling shade of black, lined with chrome finishes.
It was pretty. Really pretty, actually.
“Up to you,” Declan said as he took a few steps closer to it. “But since I’m not a teleporter and all, it might not be a bad idea if I knew where you lived in case something ever happened.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” He lifted a leg over the seat and zipped up his jacket. “If you fell down the steps, and you were knocked unconscious, but I felt the pain, I wouldn’t know where to send 911 to.”
The likelihood of that was slim to none. The chance of me refusing a ride on that beauty was also slim.
“A fair point.” I stepped up closer. “Where’s that jacket?”
Big grin stretching into his cheeks, he bent backward to the saddle bag, dug inside, and held out a leather jacket. As I shrugged it on, he said, “Have you ever ridden a bike?”
“I’ve driven one.” I zipped it up and held his shoulder for stability as I lifted one leg around him.
He glanced at me over his shoulder, gaze quizzical. “Seriously?”
“Why would I lie?”
“Why would you drive a bike?”
Because when I was seventeen, there was an eviction notice on the door, and I couldn’t afford to move schools my senior year and lose the one scholarship I had.
One of Dad’s dealers drove a nice bike, there was a kid two streets over who always wanted it, and I knew he’d give me the twelve hundred bucks I needed to keep us from getting kicked out.