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Why was he on the other side of her door? Why was he going out of his way to see her, shouldn’t he be happy that he didn’t have to see her?
Sasha’s voice sneered in her ear, “…he saw her coming, and cringed. Like he wanted to run the fuck the other way and hide.”
The last freaking thing she wanted to do after last night’s revelations and soul-crushing truths was to open the door to him, especially while wearing her cozy clothes, with her hair in a messy bun, and cookie crumbs on her boobs.
Her eye glued to the peephole, she watched as Patriot stuffed his hands into his pockets and gazed at the door, his sharp features enhanced by the shadows of the awning over her tiny porch. His striking green eyes flicked from the door to the peephole, and for a moment she thought he could see her.
That he could see how cowardly and pathetic she was.
He knocked one last time, and she held her breath, praying that he would just leave. That he would think she wasn’t home…and that he would leave her alone.
Yes, he came to the diner often, but she didn’t have to engage with him. She would just go about her job, taking his order, and filling the time he was sitting and eating with busy work. He’d be more than happy to not have to deal with her awkward, disgusting presence anyway. He could eat in peace, and she’d try to ignore him.
She’d have to get used to seeing him around…without feeling like her heart was being ripped out of her chest.
Her front and palms plastered to the door, she watched as Patriot heaved a sigh, cast one last glance at the peephole, then turned and walked down the short flagstone path to the driveway.
When he started his bike, she dropped to her heels and pressed her forehead to the door. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she sniffed them back.
She had no idea why he’d come, but one thing she knew for sure, she couldn’t avoid him forever.
But, hell, I’m going to try!
The first step to healing her devastated heart was putting up high, unscalable walls. The second step was putting space between herself…and the man who unknowingly broke her heart.
FOUR
After the shitty end to his night, and wondering how he got himself into the situation he was in, he spent several hours in his lonely bed, fantasizing about lush curves and a gorgeous smile, then another fifteen minutes jacking his dick to the memory of her—he hadn’t come that fast in years! Now that the morning had arrived, Patriot was eager to see a certain brunette. Rolling out of bed as soon as the sunlight breached his window, he dressed in a hurry, throwing on a pair of jeans, his club branded tee, his boots, and finally his kutte.
The text tone sounded on his cell and when he looked at who’d texted him, his stomach twisted, and his mood plunged deeper down.
What the fuck did Jaime want so fucking early?
Not even bothering to check, he slipped the phone into his back pocket and headed toward the door.
His night had been fucked, his sleep had been fucked, so far, his morning had been fucked, and now he was desperate to feel something other than fucked.
Mounting his bike, he pointed his wheels toward Millie’s, where Cilla usually worked mornings. Tense, sick to his stomach with anxiety and unspent frustration, he wanted—no, needed!—to see Cilla. To stand in her presence and feel the tension leave his body, to see her smile, and feel the warmth of her beauty—inside and out—fill him. Cilla was peace. She was goodness and light. No matter how fucked his day was, or how shitty his mood, being with her, seeing her, just knowing her, always took that anger, that frustration, that darkness and…lifted it.
She lifted him when life just got too heavy. And right then, he was a shouldering a goddamn blue whale.
He parked in his usual spot and wasn’t surprised to see the parking lot mostly empty. It was just coming up on 6:30, and not many people hit the diner so early on Saturdays, so it was the perfect time to come in and spend time with Cilla. Last night, he’d really enjoyed seeing her—holy fuck, it had taken superhuman self-control to keep his dick from getting hard at the sight of her in that dress, looking all kinds of fuckable—and speaking with her, and after his conversation and confrontation with Jaime, he’d been looking forward to returning to the party and seeing her again, to forgetting the fuckery Jaime had wrought in his life for just a few hours. Unfortunately, by the time he’d left Jaime smirking in his room, Cilla was gone. To say he’d been disappointed was an understatement.
Whipping the diner door open so fast it nearly collided with the plate glass window behind it, Patriot trudged through the doorway, ignoring the shrill tinkling of the bell over the door, and scoured the interior of the diner, looking for Cilla.
He could still salvage the day that had started like shit…all he needed was Cilla’s smile, the sight of her lush, sensual body, and a black coffee.
At first scouring, he didn’t see her, but that didn’t mean anything. She often ran back to the kitchen to help the cook when there weren’t many people in the dining room. Walking toward the counter, he took a seat on a tall, round stool, leaned forward onto his elbows, planting his forehead into the the heels of his palms, and let out a slow breath.
Only a few moments longer, and his day would get a million times better. It always did when Cilla was around.
And you could have her…morning, noon, and night….
It was true…and it wasn’t. Her attraction to him was about as obvious as the color orange, so he could have her…if it were his choice. But he really couldn’t do that to her. God, how easy would it be to just take her, make her his, and treat her like the queen she was? But he wasn’t the kind of man who kept women. He crooked his finger, fucked them, then showed them the door. He didn’t invite them to stay over, offer them drinks or snacks, and he sure as fuck never wanted to do any of that. After his time in the desert, killing men, and losing brothers, he wasn’t worth what Cilla offered. He wasn’t a whole man, let alone a king worthy of a queen.
Cilla didn’t need his brand of crazy and dark in her life.
He grunted, rubbing his fists into his eyes to push away the creeping headache invading his skull.
