Reaper's Fall (Reapers MC, #5)(125)

It would be better than spending the night watching blood spurt.

Would it ever end?

? ? ?

I woke up in bed, fully clothed under the bedding.

Staring at the ceiling, I blinked, trying to figure out how I’d gotten here. There had been the never-ending, hateful movie marathon. Painter holding me, which was significantly less hateful. London coming home, talking to him in the kitchen and then locking herself in the bedroom.

Had I fallen asleep next to Painter on the couch?

Maybe he carried me upstairs, tucked me in. God, how sexy was that?

Not as sexy as him crawling into bed next to you . . .

A wave of heat spread through me. What would it feel like to sleep with him? Or maybe we wouldn’t sleep at all, just spend the night—

Stop it, I told myself firmly. Stop it right now. If he wanted to make a move, he could’ve. He didn’t. Get over yourself, already.

? ? ?

“Mel, how much longer until I can put you on the schedule again?” asked Kirstie, sounding impatient. She was my manager at the restaurant and I was talking to her on my new phone. She’d been horrified to hear about the explosion and so far hadn’t complained about all the time off, but that wouldn’t last forever. Either I needed to move somewhere I could walk to work, or I needed a car.

At least I could make calls again.

The phone was a gift from Reese. He’d tossed it casually across the table at me over breakfast on Sunday morning, not long after I’d dragged my chainsaw-traumatized ass downstairs. Puck was sitting at the breakfast table, and I looked around, hoping to see Painter.

No such luck.

After we finished eating, I tried to pin Loni down again, but she didn’t want to talk. Neither did Reese. Everyone just seemed to think I should sit quietly in the corner and stay out of their way—but how was I supposed to rebuild my life stuck in a corner?

There was a reality disconnect here, and it felt like I was the only person who could see it.

I spent Sunday sulking, and by Monday—yet another day alone in the house—I was on the edge of losing it. London came home in the late afternoon and started fixing dinner, even more distracted and out of focus than she’d been before. I tried to help her, but I just kept getting in her way so eventually I went upstairs.

By myself.

Again.

I was lying on the bed, reading an old science fiction book I’d found in the closet. It wasn’t really my thing, but seeing as this was my fourth straight day of doing jack shit, I’d decided to expand my horizons.

A crisp knock came at the door.

“It’s open,” I called, and looked up, expecting to see Loni. Instead I found Painter. He gave me that super sexy smile of his, walking toward the bed with long, loose strides. Then he sat down next to me, and I swear to God, my heartbeat doubled.

“Hey, Mel,” he said, reaching over to slowly pull the book out of my hands. “You want to go out for a while tonight?”

“Like, on a date?” I gasped, then could’ve smacked myself, because how desperate was that? Painter didn’t seem bothered, though.

“Yeah, a date,” he said, sounding bemused. “I thought we’d get dinner, maybe go see a movie.”

That sounded amazing, unreal . . . except for the movie part. I couldn’t do it again, I realized. Not even with his arms around me.

“No horror,” I said, hoping it wasn’t a deal breaker. Painter grinned.

“How about this, I’ll let you pick,” he replied. “I want you to have fun. You ready?”

I thought about my hair, which hadn’t been combed all day. Maybe my clothes weren’t great and I didn’t have any makeup, but I still wanted to primp a little before we left. Hell, what I really needed was a moment alone to catch my breath.

Levi “Painter” Brooks was taking me on a date!

“Give me five minutes,” I told him. “Then I’ll be ready to go.”

“Sounds great,” he said, standing up again. He reached down, offering me his hand. I took it, and he pulled me up and into him. We stood there—touching—for an instant, before he stepped back.

“Sorry about that,” he said, but he didn’t really sound sorry. I tried to keep it casual as he turned away, leaving me alone to get ready. It was almost impossible. I wanted to jump and dance and scream like a little girl. That’s how excited I was.

Instead I splashed some cold water on my face and brushed my hair, wishing I could do more to pretty myself up. Unfortunately, the options were limited.

It would have to be good enough.

? ? ?

He took me to a bar and grill in midtown, and to my surprise they didn’t bother carding me when he ordered a beer for each of us. I guess when your date is a six-foot-plus biker who’s simultaneously badass and beautiful, the average waitress isn’t paying attention to anyone’s age.

The first sip was bitter, nothing like the Bud Light kegs at our high school parties. I sucked it down, though, and by the time our pizza arrived I had a nice buzz going. Obviously it was a lot stronger than Bud Light, too.

“I really need to find a place in town, so I can walk to work,” I told him, trying not to gross him out while I ate. The pizza here was good. Really good. They’d brought it hot from the oven, and there was melted cheese running all over the place. It tasted amazing, but it didn’t lend itself to delicate eating.