“So you’ve said.”
“God, were you this laconic in Vegas?” I grumbled. Then took a few sips of the perfect coffee.
“You did that in Vegas too,” he said, leaning back in his seat with that damn charming smile on his stupid, handsome face.
“Did what?”
“Tossed out an SAT word in the middle of a normal conversation. Even drunk.”
“I have two aunts and a cousin who are librarians.”
“Peyton, Reese, and Luna.”
“Have you been stalking me?”
“You told me,” he said, shrugging off my alarm. “Luna is Reese’s daughter. Reese is married to your Uncle Cyrus. Who isn’t your uncle by blood. In fact, none of your family is by blood. It’s by… club?”
He was right about that.
My father was a biker. His club, its members, and their wives and children made up most of my family.
God, how much had I told him about them? Because, well, the biker club wasn’t exactly on the right side of the law. And while I had aunts who were perfectly normal things like librarians and beauticians and housewives, I had others who were hackers and other less-than-legal things.
“Layna,” he said, his voice soft again.
“What?”
“Why are you panicking?”
“I’m not.”
“You’re about to break that cup.”
My hands hurt from clutching it so hard. I forced my fingers to relax.
“Anything I told you about my family—”
“I don’t care what your family does or doesn’t do.”
The way he said that made me think I’d definitely spilled at least some of the beans on them.
Now I really was going to have to tell the whole family about my little mistake.
“Well, if you would just sign the damn papers, you don’t have to worry about my family at all.”
“Are you feeling better?”
“I’m fine,” I snapped.
“You seem stressed.”
“Because I want a divorce, and you won’t give it to me.”
“Have you eaten anything today?”
“Food isn’t going to make me forget that you’re holding my freedom hostage.”
“No, but you do seem to be calmer when you’ve eaten.”
