Page 25 of The Lies We Tell

And for as long as I don’t go back, I can pretend it didn’t happen while adjusting to the fact it did.

The air is cooler when I sit back outside thirty minutes later, but I don’t move, even when I hear the throaty roar of a bike approaching and then the silence after the engine’s cut.

“Briar,” he shouts as he comes through the front door.

“Out here,” I yell.

He steps out, then stops. “What did you do?”

I shrug. “I couldn’t just sit inside all day. Hap loaned me some tools.”

“Hap?”

“Your neighbor.”

Saint sits next to me on the plank of wood, and it wobbles back and forth a little while as he gets comfortable. “My neighbor is called Hap?”

“How can you not know your neighbor’s name?”

He glances over the fence. “Guess it never really came up.”

“Have you even spoken to him?”

Saint shakes his head. “In all honesty, no. I’m usually at the club.”

“Is the club your job?” I ask. “How does it work?”

Saint pulls out a packet of cigarettes and offers me one. I shake my head, and he puts one to his lips and lights it up.

I try to remind myself that smoking is not sexy. It smells, which might even be worse than the fact that it’s killing you. Nobody has to put up with your scent when you’re six feet under.

But I feel a flicker of attraction for the very masculine way he does it. If I’m honest with myself, it’s the masculine way he does everything.

He rests his elbows on his knees as he looks around the garden. “I manage our strip club. Was there today.”

“Oh.” It’s all I can think to say. I’m never gonna judge a woman for the way she chooses to make a living. In fact, I wish I had their confidence. It’s more that I feel a sting that I have no business feeling, that Saint has been around naked women all day.

“I thought about you,” he says gruffly, glancing in my direction.

Shit. I shouldn’t be feeling the spark of excitement that he thought about me either. “You did?”

I lick my dry lips and notice he follows the action before looking away.

“Yeah. I was thinking about the women who work for me. If they feel safe reporting customers of the club. I wondered if they knew I’d take their concerns seriously and shit. So I placed an order for panic alarms in the private rooms and spent the afternoon making some policies to make sure they’re all safe.”

I throw my arms around his neck and hug him. The action catches him off guard, and he fumbles to move the cigarette out of the way before catching me with one arm.

“Thank you,” I say into the warm crook of his neck. He smells good. Leather. Soap. Fresh air.

He palms my back, rubbing circles gently. “You’re welcome.” His words whisper against my ear, his tone rough.

It feels comfortable, having his hands on me. Neither of us move.

I thought I’d be scared.

But I’m not.

I’m comforted.