I wonder if Saint will take me to my graduation next weekend. I know mom tried to make him promise he would. I also know he wouldn’t make that promise; he just said he’d try.
The more I think about it, the less I actually care about it. Do I really want to see any of those people again? But mom so wants a picture of me in my cap and gown, and after everything she’s been through, can I really begrudge her that?
At 10 p.m. I check the time, and decide to call it a night. I flip the locks, feeling really weird here all alone. Its scary being in a strange place. Every sound creeps me out. The branches scrape against the siding and it sounds like someone running a blade along the wood. I’m suddenly remembering every slasher movie I ever watched, and I’m terrified someone is outside determined to break in and kill me.
My phone lights up and vibrates, and I about jump out of my skin.
Saint: You okay?
Me: Yes.
Saint: Headed back home.
Me: Okay, be careful.
I could kick myself for adding that last part. It just slipped out naturally. God, I’m starting to sound like a wife. Ugh.
Saint: You worried about me, babe?
Damn it.
Me: Nope. Not at all.
Saint: Right. See ya soon, shortcake.
Twenty minutes later, I’m between the new sheets when I hear the low rhythmic sound of a motorcycle rolling slowly up the gravel drive. It sounds strangely like the word po-ta-to, po-ta-to po-ta-to. The sound cuts off, and I throw the covers back and walk to the back door in my bare feet. I flip the lock and open the door just as Saint is trudging up the stairs looking tired. He comes through the door, and his gaze sweeps over the black yoga pants and the pink racer back tank I’m wearing. It’s loose fitting, and I have no bra underneath.
His eyes stall on my breasts.
I cross my arms over them, and his gaze lifts to my eyes. He closes the door and locks it.
I stand there awkwardly, not sure if I’m allowed to ask about where he’s been or what he’s been doing. Finally, I have to say something. “So, how was your night?”
“Long. Tiring. I’m beat.” He moves to the fridge, and grabs a bottle of beer, twisting off the cap and tossing it toward the trash. He lifts it to his lips and guzzles a portion down. I can’t help watching his throat work as he drinks.
He lowers the bottle, and his eyes hit the new coffee maker, then scan across to the cute floral dishtowel I have hanging off the oven handle, then over to the matching oven mitt I left on the counter when I took the pizza out.
He opens the fridge again and does a double take, eyeing the items I bought at the grocery store. Milk, eggs, cheese, bacon, jelly, etc.
He closes it. “Where’d you get the money for all this?”
“I had a little.”
“I’ll give you some. I don’t want you spending what you have on this place, hear me?”
“Fine.”
“How much did you spend?” He pulls out his wallet.
“Almost three hundred.”
His brows lift at my response. “Three hundred? For what?”
“I bought a few essentials.”
He counts out five bills and passes them to me. “You think the extra two hundred will hold you off for awhile? I’m not rollin’ in dough this month.”
I can’t imagine he’s ever rollin’ in dough but I actually have no clue what he does for money. I’m guessing if he gets it from working for the club, it must be illegal. Do I really want to know? Yes, I actually find that I do. “How do you earn your money?” It’s a brazen question, but I feel this ring earns me some rights, besides I’m living in his house.
“That’s between me and the club. You don’t get to know club business.”
“Is it illegal?”
“Most of it, yeah.”
“And you don’t even care, do you?”
“Maybe someday I’ll have the time and energy to have a discussion with you about morals and things that get you put in prison, but right now I’m too tired.”
That was a crack at my stepfather and the things that got him and my mother put in prison. I lift my chin. I didn’t think he was capable of hitting that low. “Fine. I put a pillow and blanket on the couch for you.”
He doesn’t even acknowledge my gesture, just walks past me and into the bathroom, closing the door. I retreat to the bedroom, and crawl under the covers, hearing the shower come on.
Now, all I can think of is Saint stripping his clothes off and stepping under the hot stream of water. Images of it sluicing over his muscular tattooed body fill my head.
I roll to my back and stare at the ceiling, the sound of the water running continuing to torment me.
Eventually the water shuts off. A minute later, the door opens and he comes in the room with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. The lights are off but I can still see him in the gray light from the moon outside.
He moves to the dresser, and pulls open a drawer. I wince because I moved his things to the bottom drawer, and filled that one with my bras and panties.
“What the fuck?” he murmurs, his hand coming up with satin and lace, then whirls on me. “Where’d you put my clothes?”
“I moved them to the bottom drawer.”
He digs out a pair of sweatpants, and slams the drawer. Then before I realize what he’s about to do, he drops the towel, and slips into the sweatpants. They hang low on his hips showing off that delicious v men have that drive women crazy. My gaze trails up over his flat abs and muscled chest until I hit his eyes. They’re drilled into mine.
“See something you like, wife?”
I turn over towards the wall, my face burning.
I hear him chuckle behind me. “We’re gonna be spending the summer together, so you better lose that shy act.”
“Maybe it’s not an act.”
“You a virgin, Kam?”
“Of course not.”
“Sorry to hear that. How’d you lose it?”
I lift up on my elbows to glare back at him, and find he’s moved closer. Some of my steam goes out at that, but I swallow and murmur. “That’s none of your business.”
He takes my hand and holds it up, the diamond flashing in the dim moonlight. “This says otherwise.”
I hate that he throws my words from earlier back at me. I pull my hand free. “Go away.”
He tousles my hair, grinning, and then he notices the new sheets. “New shower curtain, new sheets, you really went all out.”
“Hardly.”
“Sweet dreams, babe.” He saunters out, and I can’t keep my eyes from dropping to his phenomenal ass. Really, how can a man have such a cute butt? It’s not fair.
“I’m not your babe!”
I hear him chuckle from the other room, and I drop back to the bed and punch a fist in my pillow. “God, he’s infuriating.”
“I heard that.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kami—
The following Saturday, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Saint’s truck in a simple blue eyelet dress. He pulls into a parking spot, and I stare over at my high school. The graduation ceremony is in the gymnasium so there’ll be enough room. I see other students in their caps and gowns, along with their families, moving toward the building.