Outside the Lines (Sons of Templar MC #2.5)(6)

“I’m fine,” I snapped. “I’ve rolled into my place hundreds of times, yet to be peppered with bullet holes or assaulted.” My sarcasm and irritation shocked even me. I wasn’t a grumpy person. Regardless of what shit was swirling in my life, I was happy. I didn’t take shit from people, but I also didn’t feed into shit. The girls around here said something nasty, I usually let it roll off my back. Life’s too short to hold onto venom and let it settle. He seemed to bring it out in me.

Hansen’s face turned to granite. “Do not…” he ground out, “…joke about shit like that.” His voice was so full of ice I tried not to flinch.

“You gonna let me past?” I said finally, breaking our stare off.

He stepped forward, his hand going to gently touch my hair. I froze, barely being able to breathe at the gentle touch that contrasted the hard words he had uttered moments before.

“Your hair suits you,” he murmured, staring at the spiky strands.

I didn’t say anything, just in case I’d strayed into a parallel universe where the Hansen I knew was replaced with someone who actually liked me. Wanted me. I didn’t want to upset the fragile balance.

The spell shattered when he sighed and stepped aside. I walked by him, trying not to inhale his musky scent, trying to ignore the tingles of having his body so close.

He surprised me by following me out to the parking lot, silently. I couldn’t see him but I could feel him. I moved to face him when he mounted his bike, just as I made it to my car. Incidentally, it was parked right next to it.

“What are you doing?” I asked as he sat himself down.

He stared at me. “Making sure you get home all right,” he replied tightly.

My eyes popped out. “You don’t have to—”

“Get in the car, Mace,” he interrupted.

“But seriously,” I tried again.

“In the f*ckin’ car, babe,” he ordered.

I stared at him for a moment. My eyes softened of their own accord. I let myself buy into the fantasy, just for a moment. The fantasy in which the reason for these confusing actions was because he cared for me felt an iota of what I felt for him. That I was his, not just some club property that he was ensuring didn’t get tainted. I let the warmness of that fantasy fill me up.

“Okay, honey,” I said almost without realizing it. My tone had betrayed something, I knew because his framed jolted slightly and something moved in his features.

My face reddened and I quickly hopped in my car, not needing rejection or indifference to freeze the warmth in my belly.

The headlights followed me all the way home. And then, when I got out of my shitty Corolla and walked into my reasonably nice house in my shitty neighborhood, he sat on his bike and I didn’t hear him leave until I was safely inside.

I tried to hold onto the warmth, but it seemed to ride away with him.





“What have you done to your hair? You look like a lesbian.” My grandmother’s body may have been succumbing to old age, but her mouth would be sharp as ever until the day she died.

I sighed and let the comment roll over me. I liked my pixie cut. My hairdresser had cut my chocolate hair into the spiky-doo a couple of weeks ago. I’d been dubious at first, but it suited my small face, made my brown eyes seem bigger and it didn’t need any fuss in the morning, a total plus.

“How are you liking this new place?” I asked, ignoring her. It was the best policy.

She screwed up her perfectly made up face. Despite being in a shoebox room, she’d placed a mirror on each wall and put a vanity cabinet in the room, complete with her brush and makeup set. You almost had to walk sideways to get in, and we were squished sitting on the bed. She didn’t seem to mind, so I didn’t comment.

“They’re imbeciles, every one of them,” she declared loudly, despite the open door.

I sighed. Here we go.

“Why I had to be shoved in this tiny place full of drooling morons, I have no clue. Don’t you care about your grandmother at all?” she shot at me, venom in her tone.

I did. For some insane reason. The woman who’d raised me with insults and bitterness still somehow held a place in my heart.

“You know I care, Grandma, this place is much better than what you could’ve had, we’re lucky your insurance got you this,” I repeated like I did every time I was here.

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t need to be here. You just shoved me away so you can have your loose lifestyle and hang out with drug dealers and miscreants. How I raised such a brazen hussy is beyond me.”

Half an hour. I’d had half an hour without her bringing up what a disappointment I was. A record.

I did my best for the rest of the visit to grit my teeth and smile through the barbs. I’d done it for twelve years, I could do it for fifteen more minutes.

I sucked in a huge breath of air once I got outside.

“Freedom!” I declared, holding my arms out dramatically.

I heard a chuckle from beside me and I moved my head to the source.

An attractive man wearing a dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and casual slacks was smiling at me. His hair was cut and styled within an inch of its life, and his face was classically handsome and clean shaven. His smile was warm and reached his eyes.

“It’s a bit like that in there, isn’t it?” He nodded his head at the double doors of the assisted living facility. “Sucks all the happiness out of you as soon as you walk through those doors.”