Page 3 of Drifter (Redemption Riders #2)

Cookies Are Therapy

Sasha

S ometimes all I need is a good night’s sleep and a fresh perspective, then all the problems disappear.

I wish it were that way this morning, but I know better.

Simon was my protector and buffer last night for the charity dinner, but even my big brother couldn’t stop Dr. Edgar Sutton’s leering glances.

We’d just arrived when our mother spotted us from across the room.

Mom has an image to uphold, and as such, the arrival of her children to a benefit affair, where she’s on the board of directors, is the best way to show off her perfect family.

In her glorious, shimmering ball gown, she glided over to where Simon and I were standing, drawing the attention of many eyes from around the room, including those of Dr. Sutton.

Simon sensed my instinctive movement to stiffen my back and I put a cool smile on my face. I’ve learned to master this expression over the years. After hundreds of parties, balls, and charity affairs, I can manage an exemplary cool facade and casual chitchat to get me through the evening.

Mom’s flamboyant greeting, complete with the fake cheek kisses, drew far too much attention for my liking.

For the next half hour, Mom paraded us through the roomful of guests, showing Simon and me off like prize ponies to her friends.

I could feel Dr. Sutton’s gaze follow me everywhere I went.

Simon did his best to shield me from it and never left my side for even a moment.

Even when our father called him over, Simon pretended not to hear him.

Dad was annoyed but left his perch at the bar and came to sit at our table.

Unfortunately, he brought the good doctor with him. I’m so proud of myself. I smiled and said, “Good evening,” like a pro. Simon was on his game and carried the conversation, allowing me to fade into the background until we could make our escape.

We were so close to leaving, rising from our seats and saying our goodbyes, when it happened. My father was seated next to Dr. Sutton, and out of duty, I dropped a kiss on my father’s cheek. As I moved away, Dr. Sutton clasped my wrist.

“Sasha—” he said in a gravelly voice, but that was as far as he got.

Simon was quick to slap his hand away, forcing the doctor to let go immediately. The older man glared at my brother but did not make a scene. He wouldn’t dare attract attention. In fact, he scoured the room to make sure no one else was watching.

It was a simple touch, but it made me feel sick to my stomach.

Thoughts of his cold, clammy hands bubbled to the surface, and my body went totally numb.

I heard Dr. Sutton call my name, and that was when I disappeared into my own little world, shutting out everything else.

I vaguely recall some murmurs of goodbye, but it wasn’t until we were back in the car and on our way home that my heart began to beat in a regular rhythm.

Simon was furious, but more than that, he was concerned for me.

I hate that it caused him so much angst.

My big brother still feels like he should have been able to protect me, but it’s ridiculous, because it was years before I admitted what happened out loud. Sometimes I wish I had kept quiet. Simon now sees our parents in a different light, and at one time, Simon revered our father and doted on Mom.

It’s a vicious circle. Guilt, remorse, anger, frustration, I feel them all. But most of all, I’m hurt. It’s years later, and the pain and disappointment still cut deep to my very core.

I’ve created a beautiful life for myself.

I love the work I do. Most people think programming is a nerdy, geeky career, but I love it and I’m good at it.

I work remotely from my home, collaborating on awesome projects that I get to see come to life.

My home was bought and paid for by me, and I live in a sweet town with wonderful people.

That’s normally enough. However, today, I need a little more.

I get out of bed and reach for my phone.

Three text messages from Simon, one missed call from my father, which I will ignore, and absolutely nothing from my mother.

I sigh deeply, then text Simon back and let him know I’m fine before moving through my morning routine.

I get to take my time since I’m between projects. I like being an independent contractor. It gives me the freedom to work on what I like, but I also have the freedom to pursue other passions, like gardening, volunteering, and baking. Yeah, I’m proud of what I’ve built!

After yoga, I feel reenergized and calm.

Meditating brings me back into balance. But even with my yoga and meditation, this is a cinnamon-sugar-cookie morning.

I walk to my cozy kitchen, set the oven to preheat, and begin taking out the ingredients for my recipe.

I then set about measuring out what I need.

I’m a neat baker. I like my counters organized and clean, and when baking, I have a system.

Some would call it OCD; I call it organized.

As I’m rolling out the dough, my doorbell rings.

My stomach clenches, wondering if Dad has decided that a personal visit to ream me out was in order since I didn’t return his call.

I pluck up my courage, grab a tea towel, and wipe my hands as I move to the front door, bracing for the worst. I look through the peephole, and my heart begins beating erratically, and not for the reason I imagined.

Drifter is standing on my front porch. My mouth goes dry, and my palms get sweaty.

What on earth is Drifter doing at my house?

He hates me! Okay, hate is a strong word, maybe not hate, but he avoids me at every turn.

And since he’s made it clear that he wishes I weren’t around, I’ve made every attempt to stay out of his way.

This has been more difficult since Etain started dating Hawk, the president of Redemption Riders.

Since I’m best friends with Etain, it means our paths cross more often than Drifter would like.

“I know you’re standing at the door, Sasha.

Open up,” Drifter says with a sly grin. I step back to unlock the door, turn the knob, and face the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

All the Redemption Riders are hot, and although Hawk is super handsome, nothing compares to Drifter’s chocolate-brown eyes, tousled sandy-brown hair, and chiseled jaw, his full lips framed by a carefully trimmed beard.

His body is toned and muscular. I know this because I’ve spent time perusing his tight butt in his jeans, and I’ve seen the way his shirts and tees cling to his defined abs.

“Uh, hi.” I sound like a moron. He looks amused by my discomfort. I find that annoying. I stiffen, lifting my chin. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His lips curl upward into a smile. That’s a rarity. His normal expression is that of a broody biker dude. Unfortunately, his smile is even better than his brooding expression.

He reaches out and brushes his strong, calloused fingers over my cheek. “Are you baking?”

I’m too busy trying not to pass out to register what he’s saying. I simply nod. “How—how do you know?” I croak. Oh my God, I sound like a loser!

“You got flour on your face.” Automatically, I move to wipe away the flour, and Drifter chuckles. “It’s cute.”

Cute? Since when am I cute?

“Are you going to ask me in?” he asks, waving his hand, indicating that we’re still in my tiny entryway.

I don’t trust my voice, but I step farther into the living room, leaving Drifter to shut the door and follow. Suddenly, I wonder if something has happened to Etain. I turn sharply, making him stop abruptly so he almost knocks into me. He reaches out and grabs my waist to keep us both from falling.

“Etain—” I gasp.

“Babe, Etain’s fine. She’s probably still in bed.” He watches me carefully. “Honest, sunshine. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

I exhale. “It’s just that she’s my best friend, and she’s been through so much.

” Drifter cocks his head to one side, remaining silent.

I’m not used to silence around other people.

Mostly, my family is never at a loss for words.

Simon carries much of our conversations, but with Simon, it’s a lot easier to be myself, and we do have great talks.

Even Etain is happy to chatter, and I love listening to her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, very aware of his hands on me.

Drifter’s eyes flit from me to my kitchen, where everything is laid out on my counter. “Were you making breakfast?”

“Cookies.”

He watches my mouth, and I swear he wants to kiss me.

If he does, I think I’ll pass out. I’ve dreamt about the feel of his lips on mine.

I dated, but it’s been a long time since I let a man kiss me.

They were nice men, but their kisses did nothing for me.

Never wanting to lead a man on, I made it clear immediately that friendship was all I could offer.

Sometimes I would get a follow-up call, but when it was clear that my position wouldn’t change, the phone calls stopped.

With Drifter, I know his kiss would wreck me. It would be a kiss like no other, and after it was over, I’d relive the memory for years to come. But he doesn’t move, and his smile emerges.

“Can I help? If I do a good job, I might get to eat one or two.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Drifter wants to stay and bake cookies? It’s absurd!

“You want to bake cookies with me?” I squeak.

He lets go of me and saunters toward the kitchen. And it must be said, he saunters better than any other man I’ve ever seen. I pull myself together and move to the bowls I set out earlier for the next batch of cookies I was preparing to make.

“What are we making?” he asks.