Page 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

COLLINS

Cameron

Can you cover an extra shift this Tuesday? Simon wants to take an extended leave.

Me

For his vacation in Mexico?

Cameron

Yes. He’s put a lot of extra overtime in recently, and I think he could use the break.

With a raised brow, I type out a response to Head Dickface—the name I’d love to use for his contact, but unfortunately, it’s too high risk that he might see it and fire my ass.

Simon has worked multiple double shifts, but so have I, though I don’t see Cameron offering out extended leave to me. Maybe if I was still blowing him, it would be different.

I’d rather never vacation again in my life.

Besides, I could use the additional pay since the inheritance from my grandparents is almost gone and my savings is looking depleted.

Me

All right.

Cameron

Cool. Will need to be a seven a.m. start since we’re stacked the entire day.

Finger poised over my phone, I’m about to tell him I’ll be there at eight and no earlier when my intercom buzzes, and I set my phone down and head for the door.

“Sorry, you likely have the wrong apartment,” I immediately say. I’m not expecting any packages, and I rarely have visitors, aside from Kendra or Jenna.

“That would be impossible since I’ve already tried every other option.”

I’m partway back to my phone when I spin on my heel at the sound of Sawyer’s voice.

I race back over, my pulse kicking up a notch. “What are you doing here?”

There’s a short pause before he speaks again, his voice unsure. “Trust me, I’ve been asking myself the same question for the past ten minutes. Can we talk?”

My best guess is, he’s here about the photo album I caught him looking through when I took Ezra out on the bike or the way he posed as my boyfriend last Wednesday night.

I’m not as pissed about it as he maybe assumes—on both counts, that is. There are far worse pictures he could have found than a few motocross highlights.

And as for last Wednesday night … I push away the feeling that raced through my body and threatens to reappear at the memory of him claiming me in front of that overbearing blond guy.

With a shaky hand, I press the speaker, my heart still beating fast. “Is Ezra with you?”

“No. He’s at school.”

“You know, when I gave you my address, it wasn’t so you could show up at my place, unannounced.”

A heavy breath blows through the speaker. “Can I come in or not?”

On an involuntary grin, I press the button to buzz him in and unlock my door, pulling it open.

A few seconds later, Sawyer appears, dressed in a backward red Blades cap and training gear—which includes gray sweatpants—and white Nike sneakers.

Taking the stairs three at a time, he pauses when he reaches the top and finds me dressed in a long black Metallica T-shirt and sleep shorts, although he probably can’t tell I’m wearing anything since they’re basically hot pants.

Sawyer scratches at his temple. “I … ugh …” He trails off, eyes diverting to the floor.

“Assumed I’d be dressed?” I smirk, feeling exposed despite the fact that he’s literally had his face between my thighs.

With restless eyes and hands, his cheeks pinken, the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose more prominent.

He shifts his weight and scuffs the floor lightly. “I wanted to talk about what happened.”

I take a couple of steps back and hold my door open. “Are we talking about what happened in my garage or at the bar?”

“Both,” he drawls, his Southern accent doing things to me.

“Well, let’s discuss it inside, where half the building can’t hear us and my nipples aren’t in danger of cutting glass from the cold.”

He flushes again.

God, this is way too easy.

Once inside, I guide us toward my simple but more than serviceable kitchen. With a butcher’s block countertop and stainless steel shelving, it’s not your regular kind of kitchen—way different from Sawyer’s luxurious gray marble and polished cabinets.

He stops in the middle of the room and spins around to take my small open-plan space in. A black leather couch and TV sit in the only real living area I have, other than my bedroom and bathroom, which lead off to the left, although the doors to both rooms are closed.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, still unsure of what to do with them. He looks nervous, and I can’t help but wonder if this is really about him snooping through a few photos or saving me from an asshole.

Taking pity on him, I grab my robe from the back of a chair—which is tucked under my small dining table for two—and throw it on. Though I’m not about to break the tension and speak first, I want to hear what he has to say.

After a long moment, his eyes connect with mine, his face a multitude of emotions. I hold my breath, even more curious about what’s going through his mind.

“First, I wanted to say I’m sorry for going behind your back and looking through those pictures. I’m normally not the kind of person to …” He pulls off his cap, pushing a firm hand through his obviously unwashed hair before replacing it back on his head.

Why is that simple action so damn sexy?

Stop it, Collins.

“I’m not the type of guy to invade someone’s privacy,” he finishes. “Also, I wanted to thank you in person for the way you’d been with Ezra. I get you wanted us to keep our distance, and I genuinely didn’t think he’d ever meet you, let alone become obsessed with you and your bikes.” He laughs and pulls at the back of his neck, wincing. “When I say obsessed, I mean more curious and …” He releases his neck, and his hand slaps against his thigh.

I’d laugh if I didn’t have secondhand cringe on his behalf. The guy can barely string three words together right now.

“Don’t worry about the photos,” I say, and his face immediately eases. “As for Ezra, I meant what I said—he can come around to my garage anytime he wants. I think it’s great that he’s so passionate about something.”

Heat warms my chest at the memory of his excitement. He rode on the back of my bike like a pro, laughing and giggling with the wind whipping at his face.

Sawyer nods once. “I think that’s why I’m shocked at the way he’s rapidly developed an interest in, er … the bikes, not necessarily you. I mean, you’re nice.”

He huffs out a laugh and, honestly, I want the ground to open up and swallow us both.

“I get what you’re saying,” I offer.

Sawyer smiles, hands returning to his pockets. “You’re nice to him anyway.”

I quirk a brow and spin around to the coffee machine, pulling two cups from the shelf situated above it. “Since you showed up at the ass crack of dawn, how about a coffee?”

“It’s nine thirty, not exactly early. I stopped by on my way back from morning skate.”

I turn back over my shoulder. “Do you want one or not?”

“Yes, please,” he replies, walking toward me.

I turn back away, the tingles I frequently fight to suppress showing up once more.

“I wasn’t finished with what I came to say.”

His hot breath tickles the back of my neck, and I pause on making the coffee.

“Go ahead,” I breathe, hitting Start on the machine.

A coffee aroma filters into the space around us.

“Look at me, Collins,” he says.

My pulse kicks up another notch, tingles invading all of me—from my fingertips to my toes.

A strong hand wraps around my hip. Through my robe and shirt, I shouldn’t be able to feel the warmth of his palm or remember so clearly the last time it was there, holding me in place while he asked me to leave with him.

But I do.

“Look at me, Collins,” his gruff voice repeats.

The coffee machine cuts off, and with his grip firmer, he turns me toward him.

We’re close, our bodies inches apart. The tingles turn to an ache, settling between my thighs, and I hate that he has this effect on me. To the onlooker, I might be a little wild, but underneath, I’m always in control. Every guy I touch is safe, uncomplicated, and poses zero threat to the way I live my life. And consequently, my fleeting presence in theirs doesn’t leave anyone hurt. I don’t want to hurt this man—or his son.

Like he’s pulling me in, my eyes lock with his, and we both breathe rapidly.

“What did you want to say?” I barely recognize my own voice, which sounds way higher than usual.

Sawyer’s eyes flash to my lips and then back to mine. If he tried to kiss me, I’m not sure I’d be able to stop him. Though, since he thinks I don’t kiss, I doubt he will.

The truth is, what I said that night was bullshit. I do kiss, and I’ve kissed a lot of guys over the years. It wasn’t too personal because there were no feelings involved. Even after one or two dates and some sex, kissing them was just another act.

But kissing Sawyer, I know that would be different.

The kind of different that would make me wonder when he’d do it again.

The kind of different that made me back away at the bar.

“Let me take you out, Collins. I saw the conflict in you last Wednesday. You wanted to leave with me again, and I know, deep down, you want to explore whatever this is.” His voice doesn’t waver on a single word—a sharp contrast to the man who was falling over his sentences a few minutes before.

My head’s spinning the second the request leaves his mouth. “I’m sorry, what?”

A tender smile traces his full lips. “You heard me, Collins. Let me take you out. For food, a movie, a motorcycle show, even for a walk somewhere. All I’m asking is for your undivided attention to be on me, just for a little while.”