Was I being a pushover by letting him assume that I would want to.... to what? Be with him? Date him? Dex didn't seem like the type of man that dated. Or the type of man that had a girlfriend.

Where did that leave us?

If I was smart, as smart as I'd been my entire life, I'd call Sonny and tell him what was happening.

I wasn't though, not today or tomorrow. I could justify not calling by saying that I didn't want to stress him out or piss him off. Right. It wasn't at all because the thought of making Dex hard—like he'd been back at Pins—turned me on more than any time I'd spent with my ex-boyfriend times a hundred. No, siree.

Who am I kidding? I was a total, complete liar.

The idea of not seeing Dex nearly every day made me incredibly unhappy.

I was screwed.

Twenty minutes later, I was out of the bathroom, teeth and hair brushed, clean, and slightly more alert. Dex hadn't made an appearance yet, so I wandered into the kitchen to make something for breakfast.

I had just stuck two frozen waffles into the conventional oven before pouring the coffee Dex had already brewed when I felt what had become an all too familiar heat pierce through the thin material of my long-sleeved t-shirt. This was right before arms caged me against the counter, one on each side, biceps touching my triceps.

I froze.

“Sleep good?” the raspy voice asked against my ear. Warm breath wafted over all the skin within centimeters of it.

The instinct to turn my head in his direction was right there, taunting me, calling for me, and that was a bad, bad thing. I couldn’t step backward because that would bring us flush together, but there wasn’t any space to step forward or to the side either.

“Like your shampoo, babe.” More moist breath against me.

Jesus, I needed to get it together.

Luckily I was facing away from Dex, so I was able to keep my wide, alarmed eyes away from his view. “I did,” I answered his question a little weakly, ignoring his comment about my hair.

He chuckled right up against me. His chest so close to mine I could feel the vibrations radiating from his laughter onto my skin. I wanted to scowl but instinct told me that something so simple would cause more unnecessary physical contact so I tried to pull my best imitation of a statue for longer.

His nose grazed the skin right behind my ear. “Pour me a cup when you get a chance?” His voice still had that rough edge to it. Paired with the heat of his chest and the breath touching a spot that should be an erogenous zone—if it wasn’t already—he was making it so friggin’ hard to stay still.

I was going to need to change my underwear if he didn’t step away in like a second.

So I nodded with more enthusiasm than I needed. I mean, he usually served our coffee, but still. “Sure.”

Then this guy moved the tip of his nose just a little higher, resting it right where skin met my hairline and took a deep, deep inhale. “Goddamn that's good.”

New underwear. Oh crap, I was going to need new underwear. Stat.

Dex didn’t move away. He took another inhale and if I wouldn’t have been floating around in the universe to keep from dissolving into a pool of melted ovaries, I would have noticed that his arms tightened around me.

And I panicked.

When I panic, I either laugh or say things I regret. In this case, it was the latter.

“Is that Rocco guy still alive?”

His chest started to shake with repressed laughter. “You serious?”

"What do you mean am I serious?"

Dex's chest kept shaking. "Babe, you watch too much TV," he snickered.

I tipped my chin to the side so that I could look at him over my shoulder. Yep, he was definitely trying not to laugh but happened to be losing the battle. "What? I didn't see him leave."

The head shake he gave me and little smirk on his face said that he thought I was crazy for making such a question. “Well? I don’t know what you guys were planning on doing to him. On TV they’d probably cut him up to pieces to make a lesson out of him.”

And then he laughed. Loud. “What the fuck, babe? We’ve all been to county at one point or another except your bro. None of us wanna go back. Half the guys got kids they worry about. I already told you most of us aren’t into doin’ real shady shit anymore.”

To be fair, he had told me most of those things before but I guess I hadn’t really believed him. Even Trip, who seemed like the friendliest guy, didn’t give off a friendly neighbor vibe. “Really?” I still asked him a little hesitantly.

“Really. Most of the guys work at the auto parts store or Mayhem, couple of the others work with Lu, and the ones that don’t have nonstop shit on their records, work at other places. We’re watered down now.”

“Oh.” Well, now I felt like a huge jackass. What business did I have stereotyping everyone? “So Rocco’s fine?”

"He walked out on his own after we were done," he explained. "All we did was have a little talk with him."

"Oh yeah?" I raised both my eyebrows in disbelief.

Friggin’ Dex cracked a grin that seemed to crack my chest in half. "We might've told him he wouldn't be intact if we didn't get every single cent back he stole within a week but you know, that's all, babe."

Ahh. Owed money. A story every motorcycle club that I knew of—a whopping two—were familiar with. Well, at least they were giving him a week. "Will you promise me something?"

"Depends."

"If he doesn't pay you guys back, don't do anything to his family," I whispered.

The smile on his face transformed into a stony expression that made his jaw clench. Dex tilted his face downward, reminding me that our position was a terrible idea. Terrible because it made me want to close the distance between us. His forehead touched the edge of mine. "Baby, I won't let anythin' happen to you, you gotta know that." Warm breath wafted over my cheek. "Don't worry about it."

"I know." It was the truth. My bones knew it. "But not everyone has a Sonny or a Dex to keep them safe, Charlie."

He nodded slowly, his eyes understanding. "All right."

Good gracious. Calm, sweet Dex was like a tranquilizer straight to my neck. I shared a little smile with him and dropped my gaze back down to the counter, knowing there was nothing left to tell him. "I wanted to go to the Y before work. Were you planning on going to the bar or should I drive myself?"

I had no idea why I even bothered asking.

His answer was always the same: "I'll take you."

"Okay."

“Finish your food, and then we’ll get going. Yeah?” he asked me from somewhere several feet away.

“Sure.”

Maybe he was onboard with me and the not-bringing-shit-up game. That would work. It would also work if neither one of us spoke to each other, period, to avoid dipping into an awkward conversation that I wasn't sure I was ready to have. Today or ever.

The sound of my cell phone ringing from the living room had me bolting. No one called me. Ever. Ever. I knew who it was.

I sprinted over the back of the coach like a track champion, reaching for my purse as if touching it would save the world. When the “unavailable” popped up on the screen, I shrieked and pressed the answer button with the strength of Hercules.

I panted. “Will?”

“Ris, it’s me,” my brother’s calm, baritone voice came over the receiver.

A weight I shouldered so often I forgot it was there, levitated off of me. It was one thing to know that my brother was off on the other side of the world in a decently safe area, but it was an altogether different experience to box those worries up and try not to deal with them. It made the worries stew beneath my skin, beneath my heart, under all of the fibers and the tissues that protected me.