I hit the bed and collapsed onto it, careful of my shoulder out of habit more than anything else.
And before I could even think about anything else, I was out.
Chapter Eight
Swift
Britta was curled into the far corner of the couch like she had no business being anything but comfortable.
One leg tucked under her, the other stretched out carefully, and a blanket thrown over her lap even though the apartment wasn’t cold.The TV was on low, some local morning news anchor smiling way too hard while talking about traffic backups and a charity 5K like the world hadn’t gone to shit for plenty of people already.
In Britta’s hand was one of those fancy coffees of hers.Not the sweet milk foam thing she’d tried to pass off on me the day before.This one looked darker, richer, still had some stupid little swirl on the top of it that I was pretty sure required effort no coffee should require.
Mine was in a plain black mug.
Black coffee.Just the way I liked it.
And somehow, the woman with the syrup collection and espresso shrine made the best damn black coffee I’d ever had.I didn’t know how.
I stood near the kitchen counter with the mug in my hand, watching the news without listening to it while watching Britta without making it obvious.
She looked better today.
Still tired and moving carefully, but better.There was more color in her face and more alertness in her eyes and life.
That should’ve made me feel better.Instead, it just made me aware that she’d start pushing harder now.
She was pushing to go back to work and soon probably pushing to be left alone.
And I wasn’t sure how much pushing I was going to let happen.
A knock hit the door.Three sharp raps.
Britta looked over at me from the couch, mug paused halfway to her mouth.
I set my coffee down on the counter and put my hand on the butt of my gun.
“Expecting anyone?”I asked.
She shook her head.“Nope.Tempi is my only friend, and she’s busy with the bar today.”
My whole body tightened.I moved to the door and looked through the peephole.
Tyson.
Of course, it was Tyson.
I let out a slow breath and unlocked the door, opening it just enough to glare at him first.
“Your brother always come over this much?”I asked over my shoulder.Then I looked back at Tyson.“Don’t you have a girlfriend or something, man?”
Tyson flipped me off immediately and stepped around me into the apartment like he paid rent there.“Thought you could use a break from babysitting for the morning,” he said.He headed straight into the kitchen, opened the fridge like he lived there too, and pulled out an energy drink.“Go circle jerk with your biker buddies or something.”
“Tyson!”Britta snapped from the couch.“Who the hell peed in your Cheerios this morning?”
I couldn’t help it and a laugh slipped out.
This wasn’t the first time someone had been an ass because I was in a motorcycle club.Wouldn’t be the last either.Most of the time, it came down to people assuming patched meant stupid or violent or both.Usually from men who wished they had the balls to live any kind of life outside whatever boring box they’d locked themselves into.
