Page 4 of A Season Of Sin

He rips off a piece of donut and pops it into his mouth. “You’re still stayin’ in that secret cabin in this weather?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You do know tonight’s ice storm is gonna be a bitch.”

I shrug. “It’s fine.” The cabin held up last night.

“It’s not. From what you told me, that place is a shack. You can’t stay there in this weather. The summer is one thing. What if you get stuck and can’t call out, ‘cause you ain’t got cell service? You could end up with fuckin’ frostbite, or worse, dead.”

Picking up my muffin, I wave off his concern. “It’s fine. I’ve stayed in worse.”

Ignoring me, Jace pulls his cell from his pocket and makes a call.

“Hey, babe…”

“No. Everything’s fine. You won’t believe who I ran into…”

He laughs. “Yes. Wolf. He’s in town…”

“Yes. I already invited him over for dinner. But how do you feel about him staying with us ‘til the storm passes?”

“Sweet. Okay. Thanks, babe...”

“Yep. Love you too. See you in a few hours.”

Disconnecting the call, Jace turns to find me scowling at him, jaw clenched. I don’t need his charity. The cabin is fine. If I was worried all that much about where I was stayin’, I could easily afford a hotel, but I don’t want one. Sleeping on beds that hundreds of others have slept on doesn’t sit right with me. I avoid them at all costs. Down south, I usually sleep in a tent when I’m livin’ on my bike. It’s easier. If I’ve got the van, I blow up a mattress in the back.

Jace kicks my foot under the table. “Don’t look at me like that, asshole. You’re staying with us. At least until the storm moves through. It’s safer that way. We’ve got a spare room. Gracie loves guests.”

I grunt and sip my coffee, still glaring at the kid.

A cocky grin splits his full lips, knowing damn well I won’t turn him down. Jace is right. If the storm front is genuinely gonna be that bad, it will be safer at his place. But I don’t like charity. Nothing in life is free. That includes a warm place to rest my head.

“I’ll pay you,” I offer.

Rolling his eyes, he waves me off. “No, you fuckin’ won’t.”

Grumbling at his stubbornness, I cross my arms and sit back in the booth.

Jace huffs a laugh. “You’re lucky you’re even hotter when you’re surly,” he jokes, and his cheeks turn pink while I’m still stuck on the hotter when… I’m what?

He said I’m hotter.

Wait.

What the hell does that mean?

“Stop overthinking, asshole,” he teases, somehow knowing my internal crisis.

That’s easy for him to say.

Stop overthinking.

Ha. Nope. That’s not happening.

I couldn’t tell you the last time anyone called me hot, let alone a man doing it. A man who’s more than a decade younger than me, who looks like him. His wife must be a smokeshow. I’m guessing blonde, blue-eyed, lean, with slight curves, and a cute, round ass. Not my type, but it would suit him.

We finish our coffee and food without saying much. When we’re done, we throw away our trash and zip our hoodies before we brave the frigid outdoors. He follows me over to my van again and puts his hand out as the wind beats the shit out of us. “Give me your phone.”