McKelle’s knee excitedly bumped against mine—and then stayed there—connected under the table. The simple touch sent a chemical message to my brain. I was getting bricked up beneath the sunflower tablecloth. My sweats weren’t going to contain the effect her body touching mine had on my dick.
But fuck if I’d move. I gripped my fork, trying to focus on her dad, but I couldn’t help sneaking a quick glance in her direction.
She met my stare and nodded, her enthusiasm palpable. Mine was surging hot through my veins, intomy cock, tightening my muscles, and ratcheting my heartrate into the red zone.
“You need to pull up a little quicker when you’re exiting,” her dad continued. “Just a few adjustments and you’ll feel the difference.”
“Sounds great.”
“Cruz watched your laps,” Cece said.
McKelle furrowed her brows as she sat up straighter. I missed the feeling of her knee pressing into mine.
“He watched Ryatt?”
She rolled her eyes. “Probably, but not on the track. He watched your first session,” she said to McKelle. “And then he left.”
“Cece,” Linda cautioned with a tone. “Eat your dinner.” She stood, went to the counter, and added more dinner rolls to the basket on the table.
“He finally got his Heller Raiders patch.” Cece rolled right over the warning. “It’s wicked. He’s going to try and get me one.”
McKelle picked up her fork and pushed her peas around on her plate. “I talked to him.”
She more than talked. He had her cornered, kissing the fuck out of her. Everything about him intimidated me. Not only did he have the brotherhood, but he had the girl. He had the confidence to take what he wanted. Fuck the consequences because there didn’t seem to be any.
She’d broken up with him, but with the way his tongue was down her throat, they weren’t over.
“I did, too,” her dad said. “If he wants to volunteer, he needs to be on time.” He smiled at me. “I appreciate you coming out today. We needed you.”
Linda stood to gather dishes.
“Can I help?” I grabbed my plate and smiled down at McKelle as I grabbed hers, hoping she didn’t notice the outline of my cock. I’m glad the sweats were black, not gray. I followed Linda to the large farmhouse sink.
“Just set those here.” She took the plates from my hand. “I got this.” She smiled, a warm, mothering smile. The kind you dream about when you’re ten, listening to your foster mom bitch to her asshole husband because you ate a piece of bread when there was nothing else, and the pains ripping through your stomach were worse than the belt you’d get for sneaking food.
McKelle stood and kissed her mom on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom. We’re going out to the garage.”
We headed out, the screen door clanging shut behind us. “My mom is an equine vet. She rehabs horses.”
Goats maahed as we passed by.
“They’re all assholes,” she said and smiled. “Jasper is my mom’s favorite. She’s the only one who loves him.” A small goat was separated from the rest in a private enclosure. “She has to keep him away from the others for a couple of days. He can’t take a hit.” She chuckled. “He tried to pick a fight and lost.”
“That sucks. No friends for you, buddy,” I said to the little goat.
McKelle swung open the massive garage door. When we’d come back from the track, I’d helped unload the trailer. My bike rested next to hers. They looked good side by side.
I followed her up the open steps to the loft. She flipped on the recessed lighting and grabbed the remote to the television.
“This is sick,” I said, taking in the open room. The TV was bigger than my room at the halfway house.Bookshelves with books, family photos, and trophies lined the far wall. And there was a vintage pool table that had to be from an old bar in the corner. It had intricately carved woodwork, and dark green felt.
Large windows opened out to the horse paddocks in the east and the main house to the west. The sun had slipped behind the horizon, the last rays breaking through the leaves of the huge trees around the property.
“Mom has her goats.” She plopped down on the sofa. “Dad has the garage.”
I sat down next to her. The leather couch was deep and comfortable. The kind of couch you napped on or lounged away a Sunday afternoon watching football.
She toed off her sneakers, grabbed the country quilt draped over the padded arm, and spread it over her legs. She still wore the leggings she’d had on earlier and the thin base layer shirt.
