“Ass up the stairs, Lauren,” he demanded, his words slow and heavy.
“O-okay,” I breathed.
Then I turned and got my ass up the stairs.
I flattened myself against the wall in my kitchen once I was out of sight.
Took one breath.
Then another since the first one was shaky and shallow.
And then I recovered. Went to the kitchen, reached up to where I kept my coffeepot—strictly for guests I rarely had—did everything I needed to get it brewing, and then I went to quickly get the rest of myself ready.
Facing the mirror, I barely recognized who was staring back at me. My eyes, big and even bigger when magnified by my glasses, were almost glowing. Buzzing. More alive than I’d ever seen them. My cheeks were flushed a soft pink, lips seemingly swollen though they hadn’t been kissed.
I touched them, thinking about Gage’s lips on them. I had the distinct certainty that he would not be gentle. Tender. That my lips would be a lot more swollen than they were right then. That they would hurt from the force of his own.
And that excited me more.
“Get it together, Lauren,” I whispered to my reflection.
Gage was downstairs, waiting for me so he could take me to work on his motorcycle. And I couldn’t change that. He wasn’t going to let me change that.
I didn’t freaking want to.
So I quickly braided my hair into a single low plait, thinking about the helmet he’d pointed to. There was no way to really avoid helmet head—not that I’d ever had it, it was just an educated guess—but I hoped the short ride wouldn’t do too much damage.
The smell of coffee filtered into my small bathroom at the end of my living room. It had a high window that was slightly frosted for privacy, but still gave a glimpse of the ocean and the horizon beyond. A vintage claw-footed tub took up a lot of the space. I’d had to knock down a wall that had once been a utility closet in order to get a shower cubicle put in. Not necessary, since I could’ve just replaced the bath with a shower, but I loved baths.
Evidenced by my huge collection of bath salts, bath bombs, and candles surrounding the small shelves around the tub.
My sink was also an extravagance I didn’t need but loved regardless.
The surface was reclaimed driftwood that my dad had shaped and polished so it worked as a sort of countertop with matte-black legs and shelving underneath. It ran longer on the right side, where I had fresh flowers and an array of my modest cosmetics collection on a silver tray.
The sink was polished gray ceramic, set above the counter like a mini tub with a white tile backsplash that melded into the painted white brick of the wall. Mounted on which was my antique mirror. Dad had polished that for me too.
I took one more look in the mirror, then rushed to the kitchen.
It took me two seconds to pour the coffee, run down the stairs—carefully so as not to spill the hot liquid—and thrust a mug at Gage, who was leaning against my doorframe.
And he could lean.
His long legs were encased in black jeans, which were tucked into black combat boots crossed over each other.
His arms were folded over his chest, over his cut.
But then they were outstretched, taking the coffee I darn near threw at him in the midst of my drooling.
“Coffee,” I explained, as if the black liquid in the mug needed explaining. “I didn’t put in cream or sugar, because I suppose such condiments might totally wreck your street cred and you’ll get kicked out of the club and then have to get a job at Best Buy and scare all the customers so bad the entire store will shut down, and I can’t be responsible for that,” I blurted, uneasy with his entire presence and my reaction to him freaking leaning.
He stared at me.
Then at the coffee.
Then he threw his head back.
And laughed.
I had been worried about my reaction to him leaning. It was nothing compared to watching him laugh. Really laugh. Something I sensed didn’t happen often. Because those eyes, or more accurately what was behind those eyes, didn’t let him. So it was something else entirely, watching the man in front of me laugh.
Beautiful because it didn’t happen often.
Painful because it didn’t happen often.
When he stopped, I was still staring at him in absolute wonder.
His eyes were light as his gaze went to where my hair was tucked over my shoulder. He leaned forward, grasping the bottom of my braid between his thumb and forefinger.
“You’ve officially saved the local Best Buy, baby,” he murmured. “And the local biker club. So how about you get that ass up the stairs again and finish gettin’ your shit before I make good on that promise of you not gettin’ to work at all.” He gave me a meaningful look that would’ve drenched my panties had they not already been soaked. “For the next week.”