He has singular focus, cleaning the cuts with rubbing alcohol and applying cream to the smaller cuts and Band-Aids to the larger ones. His touch is tender, his concern obvious, and it’s doing funny things to my insides. Saint watches us as he cuts sandwiches in half, placing them on a large plate. I tilt my head up and look at the ceiling, anything to avoid looking at either guy.
Electricity crackles in the air again, and my mind wanders to the gutter.
Images flit across my mind’s eye, of dual touches and caresses as they both worship my body, and I squirm on the counter while my core throbs with need. I wonder what it would be like to be ravaged by the Lennox cousins at the same time, and I thank my lucky stars that neither of them is mind readers, because there’s no way I want them privy to my present fantasy.
Yet, when I look at Saint, he has a knowing expression on his face, and I hate how keen his observational skills are.
“What?” I snap.
He walks toward me and brushes my hair to one side as Galen lowers one leg and raises the other one. Saint presses his lips to that sensitive spot just under my ear. “What were you thinking about just now?” he rasps, his warm breath fanning over my sensitive skin.
“Nothing.” A shiver overtakes me, and I close my eyes as his lips trail up and down my neck.
“Liar,” he whispers. “Were you imagining both of us with our hands on you?” He nips at my earlobe. “Both of us fucking you at the same time?”
Screw him and his ability to delve into my head. There’s little point denying it now. “What if I was?”
“That can be arranged.” He slides his hand under my sweater, running his fingers up my tummy and over my rib cage.
“You’ve forgotten one very important thing,” I pant.
Galen is pretending not to listen, diligently attending to the cuts on my leg, but from the rigid way he’s holding his shoulders, I know he’s hearing every word.
“You two should fuck your way to forgiveness,” Saint says. “It’s the perfect solution.”
I slap his hand away as his fingers brush the side of my breast. “Sex is not the solution to everything.”
“Says who?” Saint smirks, and I cock my head to the side.
“I use sex for a whole heap of reasons,” I admit, “but this is one occasion where sex is not enough. Fucking me is not going to magically make me forget how he tried to have me killed.”
“Then, what will?” Galen asks, gently placing my leg back down and standing. “Because I’m at a loss here.”
I jump down off the counter. “Me telling you how to fix it isn’t the fucking solution, that’s for sure. You’re a smart guy, Galen. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“I’ve got something,” Theo calls out, and it’s the perfect moment to break up the sudden heavy atmosphere.
We all crowd around him, watching the film roll across the screen on his tablet. We see the white van with missing plates pull up to the curb across from the diner, the two assholes jumping out and immediately opening fire. It’s as the guys said: they are wearing indistinguishable clothing, and there is nothing that confirms their identity.
“That’s him,” I say, pointing at the guy with the camera a couple minutes later when he appears on the screen.
“Can you zoom in on the plates?” Saint asks.
“Not from this angle,” Theo says.
“He doesn’t look like crew,” Galen says.
“He doesn’t look like a cop either,” Caz adds.
Saint and I share a look. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” I ask.
“Only one way to find out,” he replies. “Message Diesel, and ask for a meet.”
Diesel messages a short while later to say he’s out of the country and he can’t meet for a couple days. I have to reassure him I’m fine to stop him from sending a colleague to check up on me. This conversation needs to happen with Diesel and only Diesel. I tell him it can wait until he returns, and we make alternative plans.
The guys leave just before dark to stake out The Bulls’ clubhouse. They already have Parker’s charred remains wrapped up in the trunk of Saint’s Land Rover, so it’s a matter of watching and waiting for the right moment to plant them on the enemy.
Theo agrees to come along with me. I’m stopping by Ashley Shaw’s house on the off chance I might catch her at home. She’s head cheerleader at Lowell Academy, and her palatial home functions as party central for the crème de la crème of academy society most weekends, because her parents are absentee rents and rarely at home. We were never friends, but we weren’t enemies either. So, I’m hoping she won’t slam the door in my face when I rock up uninvited.
We make a quick stop at my house so I can ditch the sweats I borrowed from Theo, and I change into a new pair of ripped jeans, a lacy black tank, and a clean hoodie before we head out.
An hour later, Theo and I leave Ashley’s home with an invitation to her party Friday night. Having Theo with me helped, and making the request on behalf of The Sainthood worked like a charm. I’m sure the guys won’t have to do much to take over the supply chain at my former school.
“The guys won’t be back for hours,” Theo confirms. “You want to have that talk?”
I swivel in the passenger seat and look at him. “Yeah. I think we need to have it.”
“The park is too risky with someone gunning for your ass. Are you okay to talk at our place?”
“That’s cool.”
We stop at a local store in Prestwick on our way to stock up on beer, chips, and some other supplies before heading to the barn. Thank fuck for fake ID and a bored cashier who ignored the obvious fact we’re underage, because I really need alcohol for this conversation.
“How is it so warm in here?” I ask as we step inside and a blast of heat hits me in the face.
“We replaced the heating system with a remote-controlled system,” Theo explains. “It’s hooked up to all our cells. I switched the heating on when we were at the store. This place can get hella chilly with the high ceilings.”
“You were always thoughtful,” I admit, opening the door to nostalgia.
“Until I wasn’t.” His lips pinch tight.
Our eyes connect across the kitchen counter. “It almost killed me when you cut me out of your life,” I admit.
“It almost killed me too.”
I believe him. I see the honesty written all over his face. I just don’t understand it.
“I want to get out of these clothes,” he says, backing up toward the stairs.
“Take your time. I’ll grab us some beers.” It’s past dinnertime, and we should probably eat, but I’m not hungry for food. Only answers.
I grab some cold beers from the refrigerator and slide the twelve-pack we just bought on a shelf to cool. Then, I pad into the sitting room, kick off my boots, and sit cross-legged on the couch, sipping from my beer as I wait for Theo.
He arrives downstairs a couple minutes later wearing gray sweats and a long-sleeved white Henley that clings to his lean muscles. His feet are bare, his hair is hanging loose around his neck, and he has never looked more gorgeous to me.
But my attraction to Theo is more than skin deep.