Reaper's Stand (Reapers MC, #4)(37)

It could never be more than random sex anyway. Nothing underscores the temporary nature of a booty call like seeing your intended booty calling on someone else.

You’re here to work. What he does is his business.

I turned off my van, grabbed the groceries, and started toward the door. Balancing the bags gracelessly, I punched in the code and pushed through to find myself face-to-ass with the owner of the Miata.

She straddled Reese on the couch, her miniskirt pushed up around her waist, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination—my own personal porno, front and center. Holy. Shit. I couldn’t breathe. His gaze met mine over her head, and I managed to clear my throat. She froze, twisting around to see me.

Awkward.

“Thought you were coming later,” Reese drawled, wrapping his big hands around her waist and holding her steady. His eyes were cold and hostile, although a mocking smile graced his face. He was still angry. Fair enough. We hadn’t exactly ended things on a positive note back at my place. Miss Miata buried her head in his shoulder, obviously trying to hold back a fit of giggles. God, had he told her about me? Did they laugh together at how stupid I’d been, getting drunk and throwing myself at him?

Don’t panic. DON’T PANIC.

I panicked. I felt the grocery bags starting to slip, so I tightened my grip and forced myself to inhale slowly. Exhale.

Think of calm things. Oceans. Clean ovens. Don’t let him see how this hurts you.

Wait. Why should this hurt me? So I had the hots for him, but that didn’t mean I cared about Reese Hayes. Had I been celibate so long that I’d forgotten what mindless lust felt like? I’d kicked him out of my bed, not the other way around.

I coughed, and realized I had to take control of the situation. Break the tension. Make a joke.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, wondering if my voice sounded as shaky as it felt. “Do you want me to reschedule, or can you move to your bedroom? I generally frown on cleaning around people while they’re having sex. All sorts of potential OSHA violations.”

Hayes’s eyes widened and his smile shifted from mocking to genuine. He shook his head slowly.

“You know, I want to stay pissed at you, but you’re just too cute sometimes,” he said finally. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, London.”

I’d never met anyone like him, either, I thought somewhat hysterically. Maybe I’d led a sheltered life, but most of my friends liked to have sex in private. I decided now wasn’t the time to discuss our cultural differences, all things considered. I’d go right ahead and keep focusing on breathing, because somewhere deep inside it felt like I’d been stabbed in the gut, which wasn’t right on about a thousand different levels.

“Um, still here,” Miss Miata said, lifting a hand and waving it in front of his face. “Unless she’s joining us, I think we should relocate. I only get off on performing for appreciative audiences, and I think we’re scaring this one.”

“I’m not joining you,” I stuttered.

Her eyes swept up my figure.

“Too bad.”

That was my signal for full, unconditional retreat.

“I’ll just put away the food,” I said, walking quickly past them into the kitchen. I dropped the bags on the counter. Then I leaned forward and forced myself to inhale and exhale some more, counting to ten each time. What the hell was going on with me? So it was weird walking in on people having sex. Yes. Definitely weird. But not full meltdown weird.

Shit.

This was all about my stupid crush on Reese, which was apparently even stronger than I’d realized. I didn’t have the right to feel hurt or possessive, yet here I was, trying not to hyperventilate in his kitchen. Not me at all. Desperate times . . .

I opened a cabinet and pulled out a mug. Then I opened the freezer and grabbed some vodka. I poured myself a nice shot, drank it, then quickly disposed of the evidence. Cold fire slid down my throat, clarifying things.

So I had a problem—Reese was beautiful, I had a crush on him, and he was currently f*cking another woman in the living room. His living room. A place he had every right to use for sex or anything else he felt like using it for. Kind of shitty that I walked in on it, but I’d come out to his place early, too. Time to face some hard facts:

1) Reese slept with lots of women.

2) He wasn’t betraying me, and so far as he knew, I was in a relationship with another man.

3) I wanted to curl up into a ball and die.

Curling up in a ball and dying seemed a little extreme, so I’d just have to pull up my big girl panties and f*cking deal with this shit. First up—I had frozen food melting in the van, and it needed to be put away. Because I’m only human, I ducked out the back door to grab the rest of the bags, avoiding the spectacle out front. By the time I came back, they’d left the living room. More giggling and sex noises drifted out from his bedroom and I winced. Maybe I’d just go upstairs for a while. Vacuum. That should drown them out.

Forty minutes later there wasn’t a speck of dirt or dust anywhere to be found upstairs. This wasn’t a huge surprise, given how clean it was from the last time I’d been there and the fact that the rooms weren’t being used. There was no getting around my unfortunate reality—I had to go back downstairs.

My feet wouldn’t move, though.

I just couldn’t do it. Instead I sat down on the top step, leaning forward on my knees to think. This cleaning gig wasn’t going to work out after all. I couldn’t handle seeing him with another woman, because no matter how I colored my hair, I wasn’t sophisticated and modern enough for booty calls. I would just have to tell Reese I couldn’t clean for him and let it go. Preferably by text. I really didn’t need a new car or that sweet contract out at The Line.