Page 16 of Fallen Dove (Fallen Lords MC 2nd Gen #1)

Mason

Adley was in front of me with her hands on the cart, sunglasses propped on her head, and I watched her hips sway to the beat of the eighties song playing on the store radio.

Two sacks of russets rode in the basket with a tub of sour cream big enough to spackle a house. Somewhere between produce and dairy we’d added a watermelon, a bag of grapes, a family-sized bag of kettle chips, and a box of Popsicles.

“You sure that’s enough potatoes?”

I asked as I leaned into her to look into the cart, just to have a reason to stay close.

She glanced over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth tugging up.

“Carnie could cook for an army with half a sack. We’re golden.”

I nodded like I believed it. Truth was, I wasn’t thinking about potatoes. I was thinking about the kiss I’d stolen in the parking lot. Quick, hungry, and both of us half-laughing like we were getting away with something. I had pulled back because the Spencer’s were loading paper towels into their minivan two spots over and I didn’t need that phone call from Slayer.

We took the corner at the end of the aisle and there it was: neon script humming above a swinging glass door. The kind of convenience-store holiness that makes every man believe in cold beer and second chances. The beer cooler.

“I think we need beer,”

I said, deadpan.

Adley rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t go anywhere.

“I’m pretty sure you guys never run out of beer.”

I met her eyes and nudged the cart a foot to the side to park it by the cooler door.

“Let’s just look. There might be something we need in there.”

She huffed a laugh.

“Uh-huh. Like what?”

I didn’t answer. I just tugged the door open and held it until she slipped past me into the cool. The cold hit us first that raised goosebumps along her arms. The door sighed shut, cutting the store’s bright chatter into a distant muffle. Rows of glass bottles and aluminum cans stacked up like stained glass. The air smelled like cold metal and hops.

Before she could turn and ask what the hell we were doing, I stepped in close, wrapped my hands around her waist, and guided her back against the shelf.

“Mason,”

she gasped, not mad, not surprised, just breathless. She turned, and her back hit the racking.

“Told you there was something we both need in here,”

I growled, and covered her mouth with mine.

The kiss wasn’t careful. It wasn’t measured. It was everything I’d been holding back since the long ride and the longer night: relief, ache, hunger. Her hands slid up my chest, and her fingers spread like she needed to feel me under her palms. I pressed closer. The beer bottles clinked once in protest, then settled as I held her there.

She made a small sound against my mouth, and I felt it all the way down to my feet. I angled her chin, deepened the kiss, and took what she gave and more. The cooler’s hum filled my ears, loud and close. The world outside thinned to nothing.

My fingers found the warm skin of her waist under her shirt. She shivered and leaned in as her hips pressed against my thighs. I swallowed the sound she made like it was oxygen. When she kissed me back, she did it like she had something to prove and I was the only one she wanted to prove it to.

“Adley,”

I breathed against her lips.

She caught my bottom lip between her teeth, gentle and wicked, and then her fingers were at my belt, fumbling the button of my jeans with a confidence that made my pulse kick.

“I need you, Mason,”

she whispered, low enough that it throbbed in my chest.

My body said yes so loud it drowned out everything else, but something older and wiser spoke up. We didn’t need our first time to be under fluorescent lights with a price scanner two aisles away.

I caught her hands, lacing my fingers through hers, and kept my mouth on hers because I wasn’t that strong.

“We gotta slow this down, gorgeous.”

She made a sound that was half-whimper, half-frustrated laugh, and stilled her fingers under mine.

“I finally convinced you to kiss me,”

she murmured, lips brushing mine.

“and now we can’t.”

“You didn’t have to convince me of anything.”

I kissed the corner of her mouth.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time. I just…I knew I wasn’t good for you.”

She leaned her head back against a case of beer.

“I’m thirty-one, Mason. ‘Good for me’ is my call.”

“Yeah,”

I said, and felt the word land heavy. “I know.”

She tugged at our joined hands, not to pull away but to lift them higher.

She wanted me touching her, wanted me knowing.

I slid my palms up, memorizing the line of her ribs, the dip of her waist, and the way her breath hitched when I traced just under the edge of her bra.

She arched, the smallest sound escaping her, and my vision went white around the edges.

If I didn’t stop, I wasn’t going to.

And a beer cooler at the Piggly Wiggly was not where I was going to take her for the first time.

I pressed one last kiss to her mouth and forced myself to step back a half-inch.

Enough to think.

Not enough to lose her heat.

The cooler door latch clicked.

We sprang apart like guilty kids, both of us ducking for cover. Adley’s hand flew to the nearest six-pack. I pivoted toward a shelf like I was deeply fascinated by craft IPA from a brewery I didn’t recognize.

“Oh, it’s a party in here,”

an elderly woman chirped as she pushed the door open with her hip and shuffled inside. She peered at us over bifocals, then at the shelves.

“I hope you didn’t grab the last case of hard lemonade.”

Adley let out a laugh that was mostly relief and just the right amount of polite.

“Nope, they’re all yours, Mrs. Spangler.”

Mrs. Spangler brightened.

“Oh, Adley. So good to see you back in town, sweetheart. Your mother was telling me the other day how excited she was to have you back.”

Of course, Adley knew her. Of course, this town knew everybody and their preferred alcohol by the case.

“It’s good to be home,”

she said warmly, then cut me a quick look that said do not laugh.

“We’d better get going, though. Carnie needs the potatoes we’ve got in the cart. I was just wanting to try this,”

she looked at the six-pack she had grabbed.

“Purple Monkey Dishwasher.”

Her eyes bugged out.

“Uh, I’ve always wanted to try a chocolate peanut butter porter.”

“Well, say hi to your mother and her sister for me,”

Mrs. Spangler said, already bending for her hard lemonade.

“Will do,”

Adley said, and we sidestepped out, the door whispering shut behind us.

Outside the cooler, the air felt warmer and too bright. Adley slid the six-pack she had randomly picked and moved behind the cart. She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath since the door opened.

“Are you even going to drink that?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“Someone at the clubhouse will. I can’t go back in there and put it back. Mrs. Spangler is still in there.”

She shook her head.

“Good lord,”

she muttered under it, just for me.

“Of course my Sunday School teacher would walk in when I’m five seconds away from pulling your pants down.”

I choked and patted my chest, which only made her bite back a grin.

“We’re gonna have to be more careful,”

I managed, my voice rougher than I wanted it to be.

She angled the cart and shot me a look from the corner of her eye.

“I hope careful doesn’t mean never again.”

I shook my head.

“Just more careful.”

I just got Adley. I wasn’t about to give her up.