Crave (Bayonet Scars #5.5)

My heart beats frantically and my brain goes all fuzzy, making it hard to think. I take too long to react and rush to the door too late to keep him out. He wedges himself into the doorway and leans against the frame. I flick on the safety and set the gun on a nearby table and let out a huff.

Damn it, he looks good. Too good. He’s all tall, dark, lean muscles, gorgeous brown eyes, and a devious smile. Fuck. Every time I see this man he looks more and more attractive, and I’ve been seeing a lot of him the past few months. First time he showed up, telling me he wouldn’t be going away any time soon, I think I hated him a little. Grady had sent him, he said. Grady—who spent the better part of a decade fucking me and forgetting me—sent him to keep an eye on me because he’s worried I’m going to get myself into some trouble. The asshole thinks that just because I have a vagina that I need safe-keeping. Still, I guess it wasn’t the worst thing Grady’s ever done since Diesel makes a good partner, he’s hot as hell, and he doesn’t treat me like I’m a delicate flower. I’ve even started to look forward to his twice-a-week visits. I’ll take my last breath before I tell anyone I like the man’s company, though.

“How in the hell did you get a key to my place?” My mom is the only person who has a key to my apartment, and I like it that way. I wouldn’t even let her have one, but she made an excellent point about dying alone and stinking the place up. Seeing Diesel welcoming himself into my modest apartment is uncomfortable at best and embarrassing at worst.

“Lona’s a nice lady. You should stop by and see her sometime,” he says.

My eyes widen and I have to work to keep my jaw from the floor. “My mom gave it to you? Are you serious?” Diesel smirks despite my obvious displeasure. Mom and I are going to have a serious freaking talk the next time I see her.

“She thinks I’m cute.” He shrugs his shoulders and flashes me a smile that makes my face heat. I don’t want to like him or think he’s cute, but I can’t help it, and I’m starting to worry that the asshole knows it.

“Of course she does.” I move through the room, picking up my mess. I make it halfway to the kitchen with the empty ice cream tub when I hear the front door shut behind me. I haven’t collected enough good karma for the closing door to mean Diesel’s left.

“This is how we spend our days off?”

I try to ignore the comment, but it does little good. God only knows what he’s referring to. It could be my pajamas or the state of my apartment. Not that it ever looks that good, but even I can admit that I’ve slipped on my cleaning skills the last several weeks.

“Thanks for the judgment, D,” I say and look down at myself. Okay, I’m kind of ripe. I admit it. My face scrunches up in disgust. I just hope this doesn’t make it back to his brothers, or I might never live it down. Nobody ever sees me like this—so off my game and careless with my appearance. Even in all the years Grady and I were hooking up, he never saw this side of me. He didn’t want me like this.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I fail miserably at keeping the bitterness that seeps through me out of my voice.

“Please, calm yourself, woman.” He’s teasing me. I can even hear the smile in his voice. “I know you love me, but damn.”

I don’t turn around so he won’t see the stupid smile on my face.

“Figured something’s wrong with your bike since I don’t see it out there and you’re not at Izzy’s party.”

“Nothing wrong with the bike. I’ve got a job that I need Louis’s truck for. My bike’s at Mom’s place, but you’ve been by there, so I’m sure you already know that. I can’t be riding a couple hours in the wrong direction when I have to be ready to work.”

I’m standing at the kitchen sink and filling it up with hot soapy water when I feel him behind me. He cages me in and turns the water off, then places his hands on the edge of the sink on the outside of mine. We’re not touching, but I feel him. It’s a kind of torture to be this close. We’ve been doing this for over a month now—dancing around one another, coming close to something more—but it never goes beyond this. It gives me belly flips and shortened breaths and ideas that make me feel like a stupid teenage girl who’s falling in love for the first time.

“I need you to trust me, so I’m going to pretend I believe your bullshit excuse,” he whispers.