Page 9

Dice

Lainey blinked at me, slow and warm-eyed, like the wine had smoothed all the edges of her thoughts. “I think I did that when I texted you.”

A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Well, then let’s keep that up. How about we refill your glass and watch a movie or something? I doubt you’ll regret that in the morning.”

“You’re just going to watch a movie with me?” she asked, suspicious.

I nodded. “Yup.”

I wasn’t an idiot. As much as I wanted to lean in, press my mouth to hers, and see if she still tasted like cinnamon and innocence like she used to, I knew better. Lainey wasn’t the kind of woman you rushed. Not now. Probably not ever.

“C’mon,” I said, and turned toward the living room. I reached back and caught her hand in mine. Her fingers were cool against my palm, and I gave them a gentle squeeze. “You grab the wine, and I’ll see what I can find to watch.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, and I dropped down onto her couch. It was softer than the ones we had at the clubhouse, not nearly as stained, and it smelled like her—like lemon and linen and just the faintest hint of coconut. I grabbed the remote and started flipping through the channels. Nothing caught my eye right away until I landed on an episode of Highway Through Hell . I didn’t even hesitate. Click.

It was already playing by the time Lainey returned, balancing the bottle of wine, her glass, and a cold beer. She handed me the beer. “I know you’re not into wine,” she said.

I took the bottle with a grin. “Yeah, some things don’t change, babe.”

I twisted off the cap and took a long drink. I watched her perched on the edge of the couch like she was ready to spring up and bolt at any second.

“Relax, babe,” I said, and kicked my boots up onto the coffee table, leaning back.

She poured half a glass of wine, cradled it in both hands, and looked at the TV, still on the edge of her seat. “What are we watching?”

“ Highway Through Hell .”

She wrinkled her nose. “Is that a tow truck?”

“Yup. It’s about tow truck drivers up in Canada.”

She gave me a look like I’d lost my mind. “This is what you thought we should watch? I thought you said we were going to watch a movie.”

I shrugged. “This looked entertaining.”

Truth was, I’d seen it a handful of times when the guys had the remote at the clubhouse. Usually, we ended up yelling at the screen and making bets on whether or not the trucks would tip.

We watched in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t awkward, though. Just quiet. She sipped her wine. I sipped my beer.

“I mean, it’s not what I would have picked,” she finally said, her voice softer now. She shifted slightly and leaned back into the cushions. “But it’s interesting.”

The longer the show played, the more she eased into the couch. We didn’t touch—not even close—but somehow, it still felt like we were wrapped in something warm.

The episode ended, and I looked over at her. “Want to watch the next one?”

She shrugged, lips curled slightly. “Sure, why not? Do you want anything to eat? I have some stuff left from the farmers market.”

“I could always eat, babe.”

She got up and disappeared into the kitchen again. I leaned back, finished off the beer, and listened to the sounds of cabinet doors opening and closing. A few minutes passed, then she returned with a wooden tray piled high with more food than I expected.

I leaned forward and looked at the spread. “This is more than a snack, babe.”

There were cut-up cake donuts—chocolate, cinnamon, powdered. Cubes of sourdough bread with a big scoop of soft butter next to them. Carrots and sugar snap peas nestled next to a small bowl of what looked like ranch or something. Bright red strawberries, fat green grapes, and a pile of salty-looking mixed nuts rounded it all out.

“It’s just what I had,” she said, and set the tray between us.

I raised my eyebrows. “You keep your fridge stocked as well as Adalee does.” I grabbed a grape and popped it in my mouth.

“Who’s Adalee?” she asked, and curled back into her spot on the couch. She didn’t take anything off the tray, just pulled her glass of wine close and tucked her legs underneath her.

“Fade’s ol’ lady,” I said.

“You really call her ‘ol’ lady’?”

I nodded and snagged a chunk of a chocolate donut. “That’s what she is.”

“Pretty sure she’s more than just being Fade’s… ol’ lady.”

I chuckled and took another drink of my beer to wash down the sweet. “Yeah, she is, babe. She can bake and cook anything. She’s opening up a bakery with Fallon.”

“Fallon is?”

“Compass’ ol’ lady.”

She took another sip of wine and studied me over the rim of her glass. “Do you have an ol’ lady?”

I shook my head. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here, babe. I’ve never had an ol’ lady.”

She didn’t look like she bought it. “Bullshit. You’ve never had a girlfriend?”

I sat back and looked her straight in the eyes. “Had one girlfriend in my life, and I’m looking at her.”

“Again, bullshit. You’re telling me you haven’t dated since we broke up?”

“I dated. But none of them ever stuck around.”

And that was the truth. I sure as hell hadn’t been a monk since Lainey and I broke up, but not a single woman had made me think about sticking. Not one made me wonder what color to paint my walls. Not one made me want to sit and watch tow truck drivers pull eighteen-wheelers out of ditches just to be near her.

“That is… surprising,” she said slowly.

I shrugged and pointed the remote at the TV. “It is what it is, babe.”

The next episode started up. Snow-covered roads, a truck jackknifed in a ditch, a driver cussing and flailing his arms around like a wild man. I grabbed more from the tray—bread, a carrot, one of those perfect strawberries. The whole thing was better than I expected.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lainey pull a blanket off the back of the couch and drape it across her lap.

“Want some?” she offered.

“I’m good, babe.”

She snuggled deeper into the blanket and, after a few minutes, inched closer to me. Not touching, but damn close. I could feel her warmth even through the space between us.

About twenty minutes into the episode, I noticed her wine glass tipping to the side. I glanced over.

She was out.

Head tilted slightly, hair falling across her cheek, and lips parted just the smallest bit as she breathed slow and steady. Her legs were still tucked under her, but she had leaned slightly toward me, like gravity couldn’t help itself. I took her wine glass out of her hand, and she didn’t budge.

I grabbed the tray and set it on the coffee table, careful not to jostle her.

This wasn’t how I thought the night would go. I’d expected her to either tell me to get lost or maybe toss some insults my way before booting me out.

Instead, she’d shared her wine, her space, and—hell—even her couch blanket.

I wasn’t going to complain.

Sitting next to a sleeping Lainey was a hell of a lot better than hanging around the clubhouse tonight. I loved my brothers. I loved the club. But being here, in this quiet little house, with a tray of food and Lainey breathing softly beside me?

It made me realize something.

Maybe there was more I’d been missing.