Nobody gave me a damn thing, and maybe that’s why Josie got under my skin because she was building something too after somebody had spent years convincing her she couldn’t.
I took another sip of coffee.
The kiss.
Jesus.
That woman kissed exactly like she lived.
Carefully.
Like she wanted something but wasn’t convinced she deserved it.
And I... I had wanted to tell her she did.
I wasn’t anybody’s savior and didn’t want to be.
Josie didn’t need saving anyway.
She’d divorced the asshole. Opened her shop. Built a life. The woman was stronger than she gave herself credit for.
I wasn’t about to screw that up by turning into some possessive idiot because we kissed once.
All morning I kept remembering little things. The feel of her wrist in my hand and the way she’d looked at me when I asked if she trusted me. The soft sound she’d made against my mouth.
I set my coffee down harder than necessary. “Jesus Christ.”
The empty kitchen offered no opinions which was probably for the best.
I stood and carried my mug to the sink. I glanced at the clock.
Seven thirty and I didn’t have to be at Bad Habit until ten. Usually I’d spend the extra time sketching designs or doing paperwork. Today my thoughts drifted across Main Street again.
I wondered if Josie was awake. If she’d looked at her tattoo ten times already. If she’d regretted kissing me.
That last thought sat badly in my chest.
Because, hell, I didn’t regret it.
My phone buzzed on the kitchen table. Saved by the damn bell from going down the rabbit hole of figuring out just what the hell was going on with Josie and me.
I walked over and picked it up.
The screen lit up. Prez
The Slayers MC president had been in my phone as Prez for years. His real name was Marcus, but nobody called him that unless they wanted to get punched.
The text was short. Party Saturday. Better show your ugly face.
I huffed out a laugh. Typical.
I typed back. Thought you were trying to keep attendance down.
The response came immediately. Funny. You coming?
I looked down at the phone.
Normally? Maybe.
