“Yeah.” I fill a glass with water and take a sip. “I thought it was all gone, locked away with my paintings, but ever since I met Ray, it keeps spilling out. How can I have a normal relationship if I can’t keep the past in the past?”

Jess wraps her arms around me and gives me a hug. “Maybe hiding it away wasn’t the best thing to do.”

Footsteps thud across the floor. I look up just as Ray walks into the kitchen. His gaze takes in Jess’s arms around me and his face softens. “You want to go home? I’ll take you.”

“Thanks, but I can go with Jess.” I pull away from her embrace but not before she pinches my arm.

“She gonna stay with you tonight?”

Puzzled I shake my head. “She’s working tomorrow. I don’t need anyone to stay with me.”

“Not leaving you alone.” He folds his arms in a “don’t mess with me” pose, and his voice drops husky and low. “You wanna talk about it, we’ll talk. You don’t, that’s cool. We’ll kick back, watch TV. But I’m staying with you.”

Jess makes a noise in her throat, something akin to a choked sob, like people make in the movies when they don’t want anyone to know they are crying at a happy moment. But the feeling I have is deeper, warm, steadying; it curls low in my belly and then it gives my heart a little lick.

Ray looks over at Jess. “You got a way to get home safe? If not, I can drop Sia off and come back for you.”

Jess beams. “So chivalrous. You could teach these fighters a thing or two. But I’m okay, thanks. We came in my car.”

With a smug smile, Jess heads back to the party. Ray disappears and returns with a track suit, running shoes, and a helmet.

“Shayla had these in her gym bag.” He hands me the clothes and shoes. “She said you could return them next time you’re at Redemption. Not safe for you to ride without something to cover you up.”

“Resourceful.” I kick off my shoes and pull the track pants over my legs.

“Gotta get my girl home safe.”

His girl. We’ve only had sex once and suddenly I’m his girl. But how can I set him straight when he’s being so nice?

Once I’m dressed, I grab the helmet and follow Ray out to his bike, my mouth watering at his ass-hugging jeans and the battered leather jacket that clings to him like a second skin. The air is cool, fresh with the hint of an ocean breeze, but when we reach the bike, I shudder. Am I ready to take him home? Am I ready to go home at all? My past is everywhere in my apartment, and right now all I want to do is forget.

“Ray?”

“Yeah.”

“Could we just ride around?”

He holds out his hand and helps me onto the pillion seat. “As long as you need. Just let me know when you want to go home.”

Moments later he slides on in front of me, then reaches back and wraps my arms around his waist. “Hold on.”

And I do. I hold him until the memories are gone and I know nothing but the whisper of the wind, the rumble of the motorcycle between my thighs, and the warmth of Ray’s body in my arms.

For a little while at least, I can put the past behind me and pretend Ray is mine.

Chapter 12

Get out of my cupboards

After two hours driving around the city, with my ass numb and my hands frozen, I finally ask Ray to take me home. He parks outside my building and then follows me up the front walk.

“I’m coming in,” he says, and I am profoundly grateful to be spared the usual awkward good night at the front door, the back and forth in my mind about whether or not I should invite him in, and the perfunctory farewell kiss. Ray always seems to know when I need him to take the lead. How could he not when I wrapped myself around him the second we got on his bike and didn’t let go? Warm. Safe. Solid. I’ve never been so attracted to a man I know so little about.

Or maybe I do. After watching him for a year, I’ve picked up a few things. He’s not a talkative type, keeping to himself before and after a fight. And he’s got a philosophical bent. His fight shorts often have sayings from Nietzsche or Kant, musings about life, or abstract, thought-provoking designs. He keeps himself in tip-top shape, eats healthy, and rarely goes out drinking with the guys. So, basically, the opposite of me with my weekend indulgences on girls’ night out, my weakness for potato chips and hamburgers, and my tendency to exercise only when my jeans get too tight.

When Ray closes the door behind me, all my tension leaves in a sigh. Motionless, I stand in the hallway and try to process the events of the evening without collapsing in a heap on the floor.

“What do you do to relax?” Ray comes up behind me and wraps a strong arm around my waist, pulling me back against his warm body.

“Other than drink too much, indulge in family-size bags of potato chips, and take bubble baths, none of which interest me right now?” I wriggle away and pull off Shayla’s clothes, then toss them in the laundry basket. Hopefully I’ll have time to wash them before work tomorrow. “Usually I call Jess.”

Silence.

I turn around and Ray is gone. “Ray?”

“Hmmm.” Ray grunts as he wanders through my apartment. “Checking your place out.”

“Usually people wait for an invitation.” I lean against the wall and fold my arms. “They don’t wander at will.”

“They aren’t me. Getting to know you. Will report back in a minute.”

For the next five minutes, he inspects my tiny apartment. First the bedroom with its four-poster bed, bright green throw rug and matching bed spread, and the closet where my clothes are all neatly arranged by color. Then he wanders into the tiny bathroom, turns on the taps at the sink for no discernible reason, opens the hall closet, and stares at my coats.