Not so much.
Swift mostly stayed outside on the porch.
Watching.
Waiting.
Once my mom left for work, he’d come inside to check on me, then he’d head back to the porch after making me breakfast.
Throughout the day he checked in periodically.
At night he camped out on the couch.
Then he was back outside again when the sun came up like some kind of extremely handsome guard dog.
“Call me if you need anything, okay?”Mom said.
I nodded.“I will.”Then I paused.“But I won’t.”
She laughed.“You are too much like me, honey.”She walked toward the door.“I’ll see you when I get home.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”Then she disappeared down the hallway.
I listened as she moved through the house.Her footsteps and the jingle of her keys.The front door opening and closing.The quiet that followed felt different.
Two minutes later, the front door opened again.
Heavy footsteps crossed the hardwood floor, slow, confident, and familiar.
Swift appeared in the doorway of my bedroom and leaned against the frame like he owned the place.His arms crossed over his chest.“Morning.”
“Morning,” I replied.My eyes drifted over him before I could stop them.
Swift looked exactly like the kind of man you expected to see in a motorcycle club.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
All lean muscle and quiet strength.
He had the kind of body that looked like it had been carved by years on the road rather than hours in a gym.
Dark blond hair that was a little longer on top, light stubble along his jaw, sharp cheekbones, and eyes.
God, his eyes.
Steel-blue with this constant calculating edge to them like he was always ten steps ahead of whatever was happening around him.
He was handsome, but not the polished kind.
The rough kind.
The kind that looked like he’d punch someone in the face if they crossed the wrong line.
Which, considering the club he belonged to, was probably accurate.
