“If you love me, let me get out there.”
Everything in me screamednoat the idea. What would’ve happened if we’d taken him tonight? Realistically, probably nothing, exactly like I’d walked back through that door unscathed. Of course, I could’ve died.
After a few seconds, I nodded.
“Good, get me the fucking good stuff. My ribs hurt.” He draped his arm across his eyes.
My heart ached, but I nodded again, even though he couldn’t see me, and shot off to get him what he needed.
9
ROOK
When I woke the next morning, PD was still sleeping. His arm pillowed my head and his chest was flush against my back, face buried in the middle of my shoulders. Having him so close and being able to sleep in the same bed was nice, but it didn’t stop me from waking up at all hours of the night. Pain and discomfort burned inside me. Having the man Ilovedon the mattress beside me didn’t suddenly fix all my problems.
I groaned and shuffled out of bed. I paused as I sat on the edge and rubbed my side, sighing. Finally, I managed to push myself up and walked over to the dresser. When I had on jeans and a simple black T-shirt, I gave the sleeping PD a small smile before I left the room and headed downstairs.
The clubhouse was quiet, but that wasn’t surprising after the night they’d had. Celebrating usually came with sleeping till noon or longer the next day.
The smell of food reached my nose. I sniffed and followed the scent into the large kitchen that we rarely used unless someone volunteered to cook dinner—which wasn’t a common occurrence. I paused at the doorway and cocked my head atQuain, who sat on a seat at the table with one leg crossed under him and the other dangling. His attention was on a brochure, his mouth popped in thought.
He lookedsoft, with dark messy bedhead and loose clothing. The man was pretty with fine features, an unusual thing around the clubhouse. His cheekbones made me want to sketch and his dark brown eyes were almost hypnotic. Right now, he seemed more approachable than usual.
I didn’t know a lot about Quain, other than he wasn’t just a hairdresser. I had a feeling Barber, King, and a few others knew more about him, but I hadn’t bothered to ask. From what I’d gathered, he wasn’t the type of person I should piss off.
Over on the stove was a large frying pan, where bacon sizzled. I couldn’t help but raise my nose and sniff.
“You can have some if you want.”
Quain’s voice startled me, and I glanced at him, stunned to see him smiling genuinely.
“I’m making enough for everyone. Hoping to rouse the drunkards.” His grin widened. “And my mischievous boyfriend. Food usually works.”
“Why are you dating him?” There wasn’t anythingwrongwith Barber—actually, there was a lot wrong with him. Sometimes I wondered if he ever passed the teen stage mentally.
Quain chuckled. “He’s fun to be around. He’s different at home. Still a comedian, but he’s kinder. Loving.” He paused and his eyes softened. “And he’s good to my kid. Luke takes care of KC, and KC trusts him, which doesn’t happen often.”
I nodded and made my way to the stove. Picking up a plate, I glanced over my shoulder at him. “He gets into a lot of trouble. You save his ass a lot. Isn’t that annoying?” I grabbed the tongs and snatched a couple of pieces of bacon, laying them on my plate. Next, I went to the toaster and slipped in two pieces of bread.
“I want to say yes, but no. It’s entertaining.” He pointed at the fridge. “There’s OJ in there. I went out and bought some this morning. Or you can have coffee. I also got some heavy cream.”
I nodded in thanks and focused on getting my breakfast together. He also had scrambled eggs, which were staying warm in the oven, so I grabbed some of those, too. By the time I was seated at the table, I had a plate full of food and a glass of orange juice.
He’d returned his attention to his brochure, and I snuck a look at it. The pictures were of artwork from a local gallery. My interest piqued. “What’s that?”
“Hmm?” He glanced at me, then back at the brochure in front of him. “Oh, I need new artwork for my salons. I’ve had the same pieces for more than a few years now and it’s time for a change.”
“Do you know much about art?” I laid my bacon over my toast before I picked up the food and took a bite.
He laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Nope. Not a thing.”
I swallowed. “I can help. I’m an artist.”
He frowned at me. “You are? Since when?”
I winced. While it wasn’t an accusation of me lying, it certainly felt like it. “Since I went to college for an art degree. It’s where I met PD.”
“I didn’t know that.” Quain closed the brochure and turned toward me, placing both of his feet on the floor.
