None of those people who used to be family were worth one more fucking moment of his time or effort.
Unlike the woman pinned to his side.
He turned her in his arms and tipped his head down to her. “Fuckin’ love you, woman.”
Whoa.
He blinked and his heart began to thump.
What the fuck did he just say? Was he that drunk already? Did that really come out of his mouth?
For a moment, he thought—and hoped—she would act like he never said it. That she would ignore how fucking asinine that unexpected declaration was.
Unfortunately, she didn’t ignore it. Instead, she sighed softly, patted his stomach in a patronizing way, and said, “That’s just the whiskey and messed-up emotions talking, Rev. You don’t mean that.”
Fuck him, she didn’t ignore it but blew it off, instead.
As she headed back into the room, he stood frozen on the spot and watched her disappear inside.
It hit him right then and there like a two-by-four across his forehead that she was wrong.
So fucking wrong.
What he said wasn’t because of the whiskey or his fucked-up head.
It wasn’t because of that at all.
Holy.
Fuckin’.
Shit.
Chapter Fifteen
He didn’t mean it.
He couldn’t.
They’d only spent five days in the same room, in the same bed. They’ve known each other and worked together for a year, but still…
It had to be the whiskey talking.
For the rest of the night, they both managed to ignore the words he spilled by accident and pretend it never happened.
Instead, they both shared a bowl, pigged out on delivered take-out and spent half the night naked, sweaty and writhing in the sheets. And on the sheets. And on the desk chair, that miraculously managed not to break.
During all of that, the L-word wasn’t mentioned again. By accident or on purpose.
Because it wasn’t love.
Was it?
Alcohol could act as a truth serum. When drinking heavily, sometimes things could be blurted out when least expected. Or when the timing was bad or awkward.
Maybe…
No.
Could he…
No.
It didn’t make sense.
Yes, they’d been attracted to each other for the past year and flirted on occasion—okay, more than on occasion—but she flirted with him no more than any of the rest of the guys. Right?
She was an equal opportunity flirt. They all knew that. They were all used to it.
None of them took it seriously since she was planted firmly on the “do not touch or you die” list…
Flirting and ball-busting were one thing, but love?
Nah.
The sex had been great and she would miss it, for sure, now that they were driving through Manning Grove and would soon be parting ways.
If she was being honest with herself, she wouldn’t only miss his cock but the man attached to it.
Of course she would see him regularly at work, but it wasn’t the same. Working with someone and rolling around naked in the sheets with that person were two different things.
And, yes, she had noticed the difference during the sex last night from the previous nights. Something had changed. It wasn’t just two people having sex, it was more.
Damn it, could those words actually be true?
No, he had been in emotional turmoil. For good reason, of course. That was all it had been.
Even if he did mean them, what could they do about it?
Perhaps she could have a serious sit-down with Deacon and Reese and explain to them that she would do what she wanted to do with anyone she wanted to do it with and they’d have no say in the matter. None. Done. And all that crap.
Then demand the club take her off the “no fly” list.
Suuuure.
Simple.
Just like everything always was when it came to dealing with Reese. The older sister who morphed into an overprotective mother-figure whenever she thought her baby sister might get hurt or make a bad decision.
Reilly got it. She understood her sister’s attitude, especially after Reese witnessed Reilly bed-bound and battered in the hospital, plus dealing with all the shit afterward.
However, she didn’t like it. She didn’t like not having one hundred percent control over her own life. Not only because of Reese, but also by being under the club’s protection.
She was considered Fury property.
Yes, property.
She snuck a glance at Rev’s profile as he drove. Today, he looked older than his twenty-eight years. He looked mentally and physically exhausted.
Not just from a lack of sleep.
She reached over, squeezed his thigh and he planted his hand on top of hers for only a couple of seconds before he had to use it to downshift when he pulled onto her street and then backed into her assigned spot in front of her studio apartment.
It was late afternoon since they hadn’t rushed back from Coatesville after taking their time having sex again this morning and stopping at a diner on the way home for breakfast. The problem with it being late afternoon was he could be spotted with her at her place. Even worse, with his Bronco stuffed full of her storage unit contents.
How would they explain that one?
Unfortunately, her apartment was on the second floor with stairs that ran along the outside of the building. It would take some time for them to unload his Ford and carry everything up those steps. The only good thing about where her apartment was located was it faced an alley rarely traveled by anyone but residents who lived along it.
If they hurried, they might avoid getting caught.
However, neither of them was in good enough shape to quickly haul boxes up a whole story for what she swore was fifty times. Both were out of breath, sweating and hurting by the time they were through.
Her heart was still sprinting in her chest after dropping the last box on a stack of them filling up a complete corner in her studio apartment. “Holy shit,” she breathed, wiping away the beads of sweat from her forehead and temple with her palm.
“No fuckin’ shit,” he muttered, also breathing hard and glancing around her small apartment.
She realized he’d never seen it before. None of the guys, except for Deacon and Judge, had. Like her, she was sure her place had been declared off-limits.
She sighed. “Nothing like climbing those steps over and over to prove how out of shape we are.”
He came over and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. His body was boiling hot—not the sexy kind of hot—and normally she’d pull free since she was a bit overheated, too, but she didn’t want to let him go.
Not yet.
Instead, she settled her chin on his pumping chest.
“We’re both sweaty already and that bed over there’s empty. Should take advantage of it,” he suggested.
“Do you really want your Bronco parked out front for that long? It’s a custom classic and unique,” she reminded him. “Everyone in town knows who it belongs to.”
His mouth went tight and the spark left his eyes. “Yeah. Right.” He released her. “Still gotta drop you off at the motel to get your cage.”
This was it. Once he dropped her off at The Grove Inn, they would go their separate ways and have to pretend the last five days never happened.
They’d already made a pact to forget Rev and Saylor’s real parentage. That info would be locked away in an invisible box and the key thrown away, hopefully never to resurface again.