I wasn’t ready to forgive him, though. Not yet.

“And take your fucking arm out from under my head. Cuddling is for closers.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

PAINTER

The ride back to town took forever, every minute torture because Mel was wrapped tight around my body, totally fuckable and completely off-limits.

Sometimes I wished I didn’t know myself so well. It would be easy to lie, to pretend that she’d be different from the others. But she wouldn’t be, and hating myself for who I was wouldn’t change the endgame here. If I wanted her in my life longer than a few weeks, I couldn’t fuck her. This was my reality.

By the time we reached town, I was still utterly resolved to keep my hands off her . . . but Taz was at her place, and I didn’t trust that asshole for shit. That’s why I took her back to my apartment instead . . . and you can shut right the fuck up about that.

I already know I’m a douche.

• • •

“Figured you wouldn’t want to be alone tonight,” I said, cutting the engine. Mel slowly unpeeled herself from my body, sliding off the bike. I waited for her to protest, maybe tear into me because I hadn’t taken her home. Instead she surprised me with a tentative smile. Guess she’d had enough thinking time on the ride back to get over her snit.

“Thanks. I wasn’t looking forward to dealing with Jess and Taz crawling all over each other. I don’t know about him, but she’s a screamer.”

The words fell between us like a brick, because I would know, wouldn’t I? Except I didn’t, because Jess’s mouth had been full the entire time we’d . . . Oh fuck. This wasn’t good.

“Look—”

“I know—”

I coughed as Mel gave a nervous laugh, looking anywhere but at me.

“Let’s get it out there, once and for all,” I said, deciding it was inevitable. I swung my leg off the Harley and started toward the garage’s side door, reaching for my keys.

“Get what ‘out there’?” she asked. I turned to look at her, raising a brow. It was hard to tell in the dim glow of the porch light, but I think she was embarrassed. Whatever. We had enough shit to figure out already, we didn’t need London’s niece coming between us, too.

“You know—me and Jess. I’ll tell you what happened, because you’re obviously wondering. Didn’t she tell you the details?”

“Um, not really,” she admitted, frowning. I opened the door, reaching for the cord next to it to turn on the lights. I found the switch and the room flooded from the six work lights I’d hung along the ceiling. “I know part of it, but I’m not sure that I want to know the rest. It’s kind of—oh, wow . . .”

She stepped inside, looking around my studio space. Lining the walls were narrow workbenches, one side covered with motorcycle parts and the other with my art supplies. There was the mural I’d started for the Armory there, but I’d forgotten about another half-done painting I’d leaned against the wall. I’d been working on it when I got arrested. It wasn’t in the greatest condition (the girls had done their best, but they hadn’t known how to handle it), and I was trying to decide whether to toss it or not.

Now I watched as Mel walked over to study it, eyes wide. I came up behind her and she glanced back at me.

“You’re good.”

I laughed. “Don’t sound so surprised. I do this shit for a living, you know.”

She gave a rueful smile.

“Sorry. I guess I thought you painted flames on bikes and stuff like that, but this is real art. How did you learn how to do it?”

“I picked things up here and there,” I said. “Although for the record, depending on the design, what you see on motorcycles is real art, too. Not just anyone can do that.”

“Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to insult anyone.”

“No worries, I understand. Just wanted to clarify,” I said, wondering what she’d look like naked and covered in paint. Pretty fuckin’ good, probably. “So I took a bunch of art classes when I was in juvie. They were pretty basic, but the teachers always seemed to reach out to me—I learned a lot from them. Then I took some more classes when I got out. I mostly just sketched down in Cali. They didn’t have art classes or anything.”

“Well I really like them,” she said, and I felt my pride swell. Okay, something was swollen—no need to get into specifics.

“Thanks,” I told her, heading toward the stairs. “My place is up here. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s quiet.”

I hadn’t had the apartment long enough to get it truly dirty, thank fuck. Not that I worried too much about impressing anyone, but for some reason I didn’t want her thinking I was a total pig.

“So, this is it,” I said, flipping on the light. Mel looked around, and I wondered what she thought. It wasn’t big—just a small living room and kitchenette under the eaves. There was a separate bedroom and bathroom behind us, too, but considering I’d been living in an eight-by-ten cell for the last year with two other guys, it felt like a palace to me. “The studio space below is what really sold me . . .”

“It’s great,” she said, turning back toward me with that shy smile that went straight to my cock. “I mean, it’s a dump, but it’s yours and I like it.”

I burst out laughing and she joined me, wandering over to sit down on the couch.