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“She’s moving to Georgia?” Holly whispers. “What did you do, Isaac?”
“It’s none of your fucking business,” I grit out before I take off toward my Harley.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Holly
Lyla barely responded to any of my texts with a word or two, basically just telling me she would tell me everything later after her job situation was resolved. I had no idea what was going on with her. All I knew was that right when I thought I had my best friend back, she took off to Georgia, thanks to Isaac.
A tiny part of me is relieved and hoping Lyla gets the job so I won’t have to keep lying to her face. Lying by text or video chat is easier. I still haven’t told her I’m pregnant because I barely saw her before she left, thanks to her new man.
I’m happy for her. I am.
But I’m also lonely as hell, missing her. Missing Isaac.
In fact, Brooke and I have a bet going. She thinks that with Lyla still out of the state, he’ll come crawling back, but I disagreed. The winner gets out of dishwashing duty for a month.
So, two weeks after Lyla left, when the doorbell rings at nine o’clock at night, Brooke sings, “I’ll get it! Dishes are all yours now!” as she hurries downstairs.
I’m right behind her. “You don’t know that. It could be…it could be anyone.”
“Since I don’t have any late-night booty calls, this is definitely for you,” she calls over her shoulder. When she reaches for the lock, she looks to me. “Verdict?”
Biting my lip in thought, I finally shake my head.
Giving me a small smile, she says, “I’ll handle it.” Yanking open the door, she barks a snippy, “What do you want?”
Oh crap. She was right. It is Isaac.
I lean my butt on the arm of the chair to listen, the same arm Isaac bent me over the first time we had the type of sex that got me pregnant.
“I need to talk to Holly,” he says, sounding just as grumpy and bossy as usual. And I hate the effect just hearing his voice has on my body, making my nipples perk up and my core tighten with need.
“She’s not home.”
“That’s her car right there,” he replies, and I can practically see Isaac’s finger pointing at my BMW, the car he got back to me after it was stolen.
Brook crosses her arms in front of her chest, ready to get tough with him. “Maybe she walked.”
“I’m coming in whether you like it or not,” he says coolly.
“It’s not about what I like. Holly said she doesn’t want to see or talk to you.”
A moment later, his big palm slams against the door to push it open, shoving it wide so he can bust in.
“You asshole!” Brooke calls after him.
But he doesn’t seem to notice or care as his boots come to an abrupt halt. His eyes devour me from the top of my messy bun to my bare feet. I hate that I’m wearing that stupid comedy club hoodie again. At least I have shorts on this time, even if they’re too short to see.
“Hey,” Isaac finally says, sounding nervous, unsure, nothing like the usual dominating, aggressive, jackass MC president.
“Please leave without making a scene,” I ask him softly.
“I’m sorry,” he says, apparently not caring that Brooke is still holding the front door open, refusing to budge behind him. “I’m sorry about how I spoke to you, how I treated you. It was just…everything going on with Lyla, I had just got her back, and then I fucked up, and I lost her again. She found out what I had been lying about…”
“You fucked up with me too,” I remind him.
“I know. And I wish you would give me another chance.”
