She was prepared.
That meant she had thought about him in the time they’d spent apart. Had she spent just as much reliving those stolen moments behind the shed as she had his reading lesson?
Instead of going right to the table, Chelle veered off and went to the fridge instead. “Water?”
“Beer?”
She smiled. “Afterward, not during.” She grabbed two bottles of water and brought them over to the table. “I could make coffee instead. I don’t drink caffeine this late, but if you do...”
“Water’s good.”
She put the bottles down and pointed to one of the two chairs pushed together along the long side of the wood table. “Sit.”
If they were going to be sitting that close to each other, he wouldn’t be able to pay attention to her lesson. Instead, he’d be fighting the urge to touch and taste her. Maybe throw her on the table, spread her legs and eat her like a meal.
Fuck.
“Is something wrong? You just groaned like you’re in pain.”
Of course he fucking did. “I’m good.”
He wasn’t good.
He yanked a chair out and waited for her to settle in it before pulling out the other one and sinking his bones into it. “Gonna put on your glasses?”
“You have a thing with glasses?”
He grinned. “Just on you. If you’re gonna act like my teacher, should look the part.”
“I figured I looked like the librarian I am when wearing them, not a teacher. Tell me, what do I look like without them?” Amusement tipped up the corner of her lips.
Last night while he fisted his dick, he imagined those lips around it. “Hot as fuck with or without them.”
“But you prefer the glasses.”
“Prefer you spread naked on this table so I can see how pink and shiny your pussy is right before I devour it.”
The air hissed from her.
“Girls here?” He should have asked that first before telling her his fantasy. Too late.
“I... uh... no.” She swallowed and stared down into her lap for a moment. If she was as worked up as he was right now, she was probably trying to collect herself. “I picked tonight since they both work until after nine. I figured you’d be more comfortable without my daughters here. And maybe without them knowing you can’t read. I wasn’t sure if you wanted anyone else to know.”
The reason he was here smacked him right in the face again. He should be grateful that she wanted to help him. Not act like a horny fucking asshole.
“Sorry.”
She shook her head. “For what?”
“Tryin’ to help and I’m bein’ a dick.” He normally didn’t let shit like that fly from his mouth. He usually kept tight control on his thoughts and words. “Don’t deserve that.”
“I can’t stop thinking about the other night, either,” she whispered.
He twisted his head and stared at her. “We got time?”
Her hesitation gave him a little hope. Her next words shot that hope to hell. “Not if we want to get this first lesson done before Josie and Maddie get home.”
Fuck.
He didn’t know what he wanted more. To be inside Chelle or to have her try to teach him to read.
He wanted fucking both. He wanted both badly.
But she was right. They had to do these lessons when her daughters were gone. He didn’t want anyone else knowing about his inability to read even the simplest sentence.
Even his own fucking name.
As if reading his mind, she said, “We’ll start with your name. The only problem is, your name has a lot of variations, so I’m not sure how it’s spelled. Is it correct on your driver’s license?”
Fuck, he had a fake driver’s license. And the name Shawn certainly wasn’t on it. He should clear up that misunderstanding. Especially since Daisy spouted out his road name in front of Chelle yesterday.
“Name ain’t Shawn.”
“Daisy called you Shade, the name I saw on your vest. That can’t be your real name, right?”
“Cut.”
“Cut?”
“My colors. The vest.”
“Cut,” she repeated, tasting it like a piece of hard candy. “Your cut said Shade.”
“Road name.”
“Do all bikers have road names?” She was as curious as Cassie’s girl.
“Some do. Some don’t. Personal choice.” That choice was only given once you became a fully-patched member, but he wasn’t getting into that with her right now. Most likely, not ever.
“If your name isn’t Shawn, why did Cassie introduce you as that?”
He formed all the words in his head first before releasing them and only hoped he got them all right. “To keep the knowledge that the crematorium is owned by an MC limited. Afraid it’ll scare off customers.” So far, the business had made a fuckton of scratch but they weren’t sure if it was because most people weren’t aware the Fury owned it or if because people simply didn’t care. They were the only business within a two hour radius from Manning Grove that provided home euthanasia plus cremation.
It also helped that Cassie kicked ass when dealing with customers, especially when they were wrecked emotionally because they had to put their pet down. Like Chelle had to do with her cat.
But it was smart business to not flaunt it was MC owned. They didn’t hide it about Crazy Pete’s but the bar wasn’t considered a biker bar exclusively. Anyone was welcome as long as they didn’t make trouble.
The town’s folk didn’t care the MC owned The Grove Inn, either, since it had been a rat trap before Trip bought the motel. The town approved of all of the renovations. It went from an eyesore and sketchy to a decent place to stay for tourists, visiting family and business folks alike.
“Makes sense, but why Shawn?”
Yeah, she asked as many fucking questions as Daisy. Only her questions weren’t a demand and not yelled at an ear-piercing level.
He shrugged. “Guessin’ ‘cause it’s close to Shade and she don’t know my real name.”
“Which is?”
“Julian.”
Shade felt her stare rather than saw it. If she had a reaction to his real first name, he missed it because he was too busy picking at the label on his water bottle. She was starting to ask too many fucking questions and his spine was getting tight.
“Does anybody call you that?”
“No.”
“And none of the other guys in your club know your real name?”
“The other guys in my club are my brothers. Know of only one who knows. Judge ran my sheet when I first became a prospect.”
He waited for her to ask what a sheet was but she surprised him when she skipped right over it. His rap sheet was pretty damn clean because he’d always stayed off the grid. Without a real ID and an unknown social security number, law enforcement had a difficult time identifying him when he did get caught. But once his prints were in the system, those minor charges began to build on the fake name he gave the pigs the first time. The same name he gave Judge. Julian Jones.
In truth, he should’ve used a fake first name, too. But his real first name was easy to remember. He just didn’t know how to spell it. Or even sign it.