Hooked (Viking Bastards MC #1)(40)

Guess that’s part of the reason I like having her around so much. Because she sees me in a way that nobody else ever has.

The end of the week looms like a black storm cloud, and I don’t want to spend the holiday on my own, half comatose at the bottom of a bottle.

My chest tightens, and the old familiar sense of drowning engulfs me. Even Jett’s old lady stopped inviting me to share Thanksgiving with them years ago, since I always bailed. The only way to get through it is with an excess of alcohol, porn, and anonymous *.

Not this year. I want Grace to stay so much it hurts my chest, and that’s f*cking sick. But she’s no longer just another girl. She’s the only girl I want, and it’s impossible to find the words.

But if I don’t ask her, she’ll never know. I cradle her face in my hands, and her eyes are so blue and her lips so soft that my brain scrambles and the words come out before I even think about it. “Stay the rest of the week with me.”





Chapter Fifteen


Grace


His demand is rough and I frown at him, not sure what’s suddenly happened. He looks really pissed off, and yet his touch is tender.

I pull back so I’m not distracted by his dark, chocolate-colored eyes, his too-long hair, and the unsmiling face that is now as familiar as my own. It doesn’t make any difference. It’s hard to think clearly when we’re both naked, sitting on the floor of his kitchen, and the scent of our recent lovemaking is all around.

“It’s Thanksgiving on Thursday.” I feel an idiot reminding him of that, but he must’ve forgotten. “My family’s expecting me, and I can’t get out of it.”

“Right.”

I shiver, not sure why that one word sounds so ominous. “Otherwise I’d be happy to stay until the end of the week.” For some reason my words sound fake, as though I don’t mean them.

“Sure you would.”

My face heats, as I have the horrible certainty that he doesn’t believe me. “I’m sure Kat doesn’t want me hanging around over Thanksgiving.”

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze bores into me and goose bumps chase along my arms.

“Kat won’t be here.”

Does he mean he’ll be alone? Is that why he asked me to stay? Warmth floods through me. No one should spend Thanksgiving on their own, and there’s nothing I’d love more than to be with him over the holiday.

“Why don’t you join me at my parents’ house? It won’t be a problem.” Except, as my hasty invitation drops like a stone between us, I doubt that’s true and have the terrible fear he knows it, too.

He laughs, but it’s not friendly. “You don’t really believe that.”

I fold my arms across my breasts, no longer comfortable with the fact I’m naked, and I wish I could take back my stupid invitation. What was I thinking?

Except I’m not prepared to back down. “It’ll be fine.”

“The same way it was fine when your mother turned up on Sunday?”

I know it was awkward, but he’s making it sound as though my mom was deliberately rude to him. “It’ll just take a little while for them to get used to it, that’s all.”

“What, that you enjoy a rough biker f*ck on weekends?”

For a second I’m speechless. Biker f*ck? I know Zach always says what he means, and that’s one of the things I really like about him. But is this really what he thinks about me—about what we have together?

“Of course not. What a stupid thing to say.” Actually hurtful is what I really mean, but if he’s going to be a jerk about it, I don’t want him knowing just how much his comment affects me. Why would he jump to the conclusion I was referring to him, and not the fact my parents need time to realize I’m never going back to Russell?

He links his fingers behind his head and leans back against the refrigerator, as though having excruciating conversations on his kitchen floor, while stark naked, is a common occurrence.

“Not any stupider than you inviting me for Thanksgiving dinner when your prick of an ex is gonna be there. What d’you think we’ll do, princess, fight for your hand over the f*cking pumpkin pie?”

I’d forgotten Russell’s still invited, but that irritation pales into insignificance besides Zach’s derisive remark.

“Fight for my hand?” I inject as much scorn as possible into each word, even though inside I’m reeling at how this entire conversation’s gone to hell in the space of five minutes. “We’re having dinner, not a medieval reenactment.”

He shrugs one shoulder, as though I’m not worth the effort of shrugging both. “Whatever. I won’t be there.”

If I had any sense I’d take this as my cue to leave with my dignity intact. He’s obviously seriously pissed that Russell’s going to be at Thanksgiving, but it doesn’t give him the right to be such a dick about it.

“So it’s okay for me to spend the holiday here with you, but you won’t make the effort to spend one day with my family.”

“Why the f*ck should I?”

His arrogance is breathtaking. He didn’t even try to deny my accusation. “It’s called compromise, Zach. That’s what people do when they’re in a relationship.”