Why did it have to be Stone that found me?
Why did he have to be so nice even after I made things awkward enough for him to disappear—something I knew happened regardless of what he said—over a year ago?
Why did he have to be so darn observant?
I tried to think up a lie quickly—a skill I was not particularly gifted at—and said, “I was—”
But he didn’t give me a chance to stumble over whatever story I would invent because he cut me off with a firm, “Don’t feed me a line of shit.”
Well, that was rude.
“That was rude.”
“You were about to lie your ass off and we both know it.”
I mean, he wasn’t wrong, but still.
“It was still rude.”
“It’s rude to avoid people’s questions. I’m not exactly Ms.-fuckin’-manners, but probably more rude to make someone stand outside in the middle of the night hearing it instead of giving them the truth so we can stop hanging out on the side of the road.”
Since I’d been raised by a veritable Ms. Manners herself, I could say pretty assuredly he was also not wrong about that. Not that my mother ever covered this specific situation in any of her diatribes about proper etiquette, but I could assume.
I was tempted to point out again that he was still being rude, but that was obviously not getting me anywhere. Stone was a biker. Heck, around this area, he was the head biker unless something had changed since I last saw him. On that thought, my eyes dropped to the patches on his chest that read “Stone” and “President,” verifying my assumption that he was still in charge. Perhaps it was fair to assume that manners weren’t the paramount of the biker lifestyle. Maybe, in a situation like this, getting answers was more important.
With a sigh, I decided to stop fighting. “I was going to find a motel.”
“A motel,” he parroted.
“Preferably, a cheap one.”
“A cheap motel.”
Was he just going to keep quasi-repeating what I said?
“Yes. I need a place to stay, but I can’t blow a bunch of money right now, so—”
“Why do you need a place to stay?” he cut me off, again.
And, just to say, the fact that he kept doing that was also rude.
“I just had an issue with my apartment,” I evaded.
He didn’t even bother with a response. He just looked at me like he was contemplating whether I needed a psychological evaluation.
For the first time since he stopped, lights shone around him with an oncoming car in the other lane. I watched as it passed, even keeping my eyes trained on it as the taillights grew distant. It really hit me again with that sight that we were still on the side of the road. In the time since my car broke down, only two people had even passed. The second didn’t even stop. Granted, that might have been because Stone was standing there, looking markedly frustrated with me.
If only that look made him any less gorgeous.
I sighed.
“Evie, you gotta talk to me here,” he pressed.
“I got evicted,” I admitted. Then, because the wave of embarrassment at saying that overwhelmed me more than I anticipated, I continued, “It wasn’t my fault. No, that’s not right. It was. But it wasn’t me that didn’t pay the rent. I have been. My roommate didn’t, and she hid all the notices. So tonight it was just…too late. And then I had to clean out my savings just to get my stuff out, so I can’t even look for a new place until I get paid again, or maybe even a couple times.”
After I managed to cap the verbal vomit, I looked up at Stone whose face was like thunder.
“Let’s go.”
“What?”
He stepped around me, leaned into the car for my keys, then slammed the door shut. Without a word, he grabbed my wrist and started pulling me toward his motorcycle.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting you out of here,” he groused.
Oh, okay then. That was good. At least once he got me to a motel, I could go to sleep and call this day over.
“But what about my stuff?”
He stopped beside the front end, turning around to look at me. “Can’t take it right now on the bike, but I’ll come back for it.”
“Wow. That’s really nice of you.”
Which was incredible and just more evidence that my life sucked. He’d always been nice when he came into the diner, it was part of why I’d developed such a huge crush on him. Now, he was proving that I’d only scratched the surface. After he’d turned me down, I didn’t need this to prove exactly why that torch I’d been carrying for him hadn’t ever gone out.
“Not a problem. We get back to the house, I’ve got a truck there. I’ll come back here to get your stuff while you settle in.”
Wait…what?
“I’m sorry?”
“We’ll go back to my place. You can relax because, honey, you look dead on your fuckin’ feet. I’ll get in the truck, come here, and get your shit.”
I was dead on my feet, absolutely. I’d been dead on my feet hours ago when I’d gotten back to my former apartment. Now, I was something even passed that. However, that was not the part of his previous statement that I wasn’t understanding.
“Your place?”
His brows rose a touch, and I knew he was with me.
“Yeah. My place,” he confirmed but did not elaborate.
Maybe I’d recolored the memories I had of him over the last year, but I didn’t remember him being so impossible.
“That’s not necessary,” I declined, not certain how I would even handle being in his house with him. Especially not under the current circumstances. “I really just need to find a motel. Preferably a decent one, so long as the price isn’t too high. Do you know any?”
His hand came up to rub at his eyes like I was exasperating him. I had to bite back the urge to scoff at the action since I was not the one here acting ridiculous.
“You aren’t staying at a fuckin’ motel.”
Oh, no. Nope. I was not going to be ordered around. I’d had enough of that in my life.
“I am,” I insisted.
He leveled me with a stare that communicated much more clearly that he was getting frustrated, but I held his gaze unflinchingly. He wasn’t the only one here getting ticked.
“All right, I’ll lay this out for you,” he started, and I opened my mouth to cut in—despite the fact that it was rude, because I wasn’t sure I cared anymore—but he spoke before I could, and louder to make a point that he wasn’t going to let me. “You’re a woman, alone, and fucking gorgeous to boot. You’re small, and I’m thinking I’m not wrong in my guess that you could barely take down someone your own size, let alone a grown man with fifty pounds or more on you. I’m also thinking it’s a safe bet that you don’t have shit on you or in that car to help you in that effort. No weapons, no taser, or even fuckin’ pepper spray—which, babe, you really should fuckin’ have. I know every inch of this fucking town, and I can tell you there are four motels. Every one of those is a place you do not need to be in at all, much less when you’ve got no way to fucking look out for yourself if things went wrong. Further, even a cheap motel is going to cost money. You’re dropping that every night to stay there, plus eating out because none of those places is going to have a kitchen, it’s going to take you a fuck of a lot longer to get the cash together to put a deposit down on a new apartment.
“So I’m offering you a better option. I got a place for you to stay. It’s not even mine if that really makes you feel better. The house belongs to the whole club, and it’s big. I’m also not the only one staying there. Got at least one of the other brothers living there, plus a woman a couple years older than you and her five-year-old son. Then there’s another brother and his woman that go back and forth between her place and the house. Even with that, we’ve got rooms no one is using, and one of those can be yours for a bit. It’s not cool you got screwed by your roommate. It fuckin’ sucks that you’re in this shit situation when you were doing everything you were supposed to just because you trusted the wrong person. Way I see it, me finding you and having space to offer is the good karma I know you got coming to you. You just have to stop getting in your own way and accept it.”
He was right about all of it.
I’d been worried myself about what sort of place any motel that would fit in my budget would be. I might have grown up sheltered in a lot of ways, but I wasn’t an idiot. I knew the kind of things that went on at seedy motels. If I ended up in a situation, he was right in his estimation that I had no means to get out of it.
He was also right in his point about saving my money. And he hadn’t even really gone for the gusto and pointed out the other financial burden sitting right behind me. When my next paycheck came in, it might be enough for a deposit on an apartment if I could find one in my price range, but it wouldn’t be enough to also pay the first month’s rent. Particularly not with carving it up bit by bit to pay for a motel room. But I would be hard-pressed to even earn another paycheck after that if I didn’t get my car fixed. Hoffman didn’t have much of a bus system to rely on.
I could do it all, and I would if I had to. I’d have to scrape out every penny I could, maybe ask around for more hours at the diner, but I could make it happen. Still, there was no denying that it would happen much easier and much faster if I took him up on his offer.
Doing so might be putting my heart on the line, but I’d just have to set that aside.
I focused on Stone, on his rough, handsome face that was not even marred a bit by the irritation it held as he waited for me to respond—and probably braced for more argument.
Then, even though the shame still clawed at me, I said, “Thank you.”
He took me in for a beat, reading all that was in that gratitude, seeing that I was accepting his overly generous offer, and his lips tipped up slightly. Then, one of his hands came up. I noticed—as I had before when he came to the diner—how large it was before it moved from my line of sight to hook around the back of my neck. Before I could process what he was doing or react, he pulled me toward him a bit and leaned down to press a kiss on the crown of my head.
The simple affection of it choked me up. I couldn’t recall the last time someone had treated me that way. It had been years. And coming from Stone, it was all the better.
“Come on,” he said, holding out that hand to me, “let’s get you home.”
And I knew, with just that, that I was already in trouble. I should have been more focused on steeling myself from the minute I saw him. I should have had the wherewithal to maintain that guard when he touched me, but I hadn’t. Now, it was too late. Not just because he was so passionate about helping, not because of the kiss. No, it was the way he said “home” like I might finally have one. It was the way my heart foolishly wanted that more than I could put into words, and it wanted it with him.
Oh, yes. I was absolutely in trouble.