Nowhere But Here (Thunder Road #1)(87)

She laughs, but it has a bitter edge. “You could say that.”

Emily absently scratches at her arms. I immediately snag her fingers and gently tug until her body drops next to mine. Keeping her fingers, I brush my other hand along the angry welt forming on the inside of her arm. “Do you notice when this happens?”

“Usually not until the hives are huge. I started getting them after, well...after that night.”

Emily blinks several times as she rests her head on my pillow. It’ll absorb her scent and the thought pleases me more than it should. It’s time to let Emily go and roll out of bed.

Because I promised, I’ll stay with her, but it needs to be at a distance of five feet. But I don’t move. Instead, I keep massaging the smooth skin of her inner arm.

“I hate new,” she confesses. “I despise different. I like calm and mundane and routine. Snowflake is none of those things. It’s been chaos and change and unpredictable. This town frightens me, which probably is a huge joke to you. I can’t imagine one thing scaring you.”

You scare me. “I liked both of my jobs.”

“What?” Emily readjusts her head on the pillow and I enjoy the sight of her in my bed so much that space in my jeans becomes an issue.

“You asked what I liked to do. I liked both my jobs. This is my first summer in years not lifeguarding. Even when I start working for the security company, I’ll continue to ref football. Chevy and I are considering coaching a fall team. I know it sounds stupid, but I’d like to do something with disabled kids. It’s a big county, but not large enough for there to be resources for them like there are in Louisville or Nashville. So they sit on the sidelines a lot. Doesn’t seem fair.”

“That doesn’t sound stupid,” she says.

I say nothing and I’m not sure how I feel that I spilled so easily to Emily.

“So you enjoy being around kids?” she presses.

Never thought too much about it. We’re still holding hands and I wonder if Emily notices. Her skin is soft. Warm. I bet she feels this way everywhere and not just the areas I’ve explored: her mouth, her neck, her arms. I also bet she’s a vision with her shirt off.

A shot of lust heats my blood. I focus on answering her question and not acquainting myself with the color of her bra. “Yeah. Kids don’t bother me. Most of the time I like them a hell of a lot more than I like their parents.”

There’s an inch between us. Maybe less. When she moves slightly her legs brush mine. Images of weaving my hand around her back and sliding her body underneath mine torture me.

As if by instinct, I release her fingers and claim the curve of her stomach. Emily’s eyes flash to mine and there’s a hooded look to them that screams she’s sharing the same thoughts. Her hand hovers off the bed. With a deep breath she slowly reaches over and rests it on my bicep. Electricity shoots up my arm with her touch and I blink with the dizzying caress.

“Why’s that?” Emily asks in a hoarse voice. When it’s obvious I lost the conversation, she prompts, “Why do you like the kids better than the parents?”

“Some people around here think the Terror are the shit, but there’re others that treat us like garbage. People see the cut, see the tattoos and earrings on some of the guys, and they assume that we’re a bunch of felons. Both Mom and Dad have lost jobs because they were told to choose between the club and where they worked.”

“Did the club interfere with their jobs?”

“No. It’s a small town and people know that Dad rides with the club and that Mom is a part of the support group, the Terror Gypsies. Guess their bosses thought it was bad for business to have a club member working for them. That’s a huge reason why Cyrus started the security company—to give jobs to brothers who the community shut out.”

Emily bites her bottom lip and over the past few weeks I’ve learned that means she’s analyzing and worrying. “Do people treat you differently?”

“Most years at school I was labeled a disciplinary case before I walked into the classroom. What school never understood is that I didn’t just have to answer to my parents about my grades and behavior at school—I answered to the whole club. The club pushes the ‘it takes a village’ concept to the extreme.”

“I’m sorry,” says Emily.

“Don’t be. It’s what people do. Judge before they bother getting to know someone. Judge before they understand what the club’s about. Their loss as far as I’m concerned.”

“No.” Emily stares into my eyes. “I’m sorry for being the person who judged you.”

Her words are like two slugs to the chest and I sway. Emily’s hand on my arm tightens as if she could carry my burdens. It takes a big person to admit when they’re wrong and it takes an even bigger person to admit that they’re wrong to the party that wounded them.

If she can be honest, then so can I. “I’m sorry the club hasn’t done right by you. All this secret stuff—I don’t get it. You’re Eli’s daughter, Cyrus’s granddaughter. If you grew up around here you would have been the princess. Still could be if you wanted. There’s not a man in the club who wouldn’t do what you asked.”

Ingesting the concept that she’s royalty, Emily fiddles with a loose string on the sleeve of my T-shirt. “As long as whatever I asked for didn’t interfere with what Cyrus or Eli wanted, right?”