I scrambled out of bed and turned the light on, grabbing my purse from the top of my entertainment stand. Dropping back onto the bed, I reached inside and pulled out the stack of envelopes that people had handed me as they left my graduation party.

  It had sucked that we’d had to wait so long after graduation to actually have a party, but I was thankful that my parents had understood. It had taken me weeks to make a schedule where I could take two days off in a row, and I couldn’t describe the relief I felt about the break. The party had been exactly what I wanted—just family and friends, hanging out and having fun. Nothing fancy. Just time together, a little booze, and an epic game of softball.

  There were all kinds of envelopes in the pile and I made myself go through them slowly, one by one. Some of the envelopes were plain white, like something you’d send a letter in and on the outside were short messages.

  Congratulations!

  Way to go, kid!

  Congrats!

  To the college graduate!

  None of those envelopes were signed and none of them had anything inside except cash. I was pretty sure I knew who they were from, though. The bachelors. Our family made up the bulk of the Eugene branch of the Aces MC, but not all of it. There were other men, most of them single, who me and Kara had started calling The Bachelors when we were in high school. They were gruff. Quiet unless they’d been drinking. They didn’t call attention to themselves often, but when they did they were usually hilarious. And I would’ve bet all the cash in those envelopes that they hadn’t signed them because they didn’t want me to thank them. They were more comfortable in the background and didn’t want me to make a big deal out of it.

  Which was incredible, considering the amount of money they’d given me.

  There were cards from my aunts and uncles that my aunts had clearly bought and signed. Cards from my cousins and siblings. My parents. One from Poet and Amy that they’d both signed, with five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills inside.

  Everyone had given me money. Not a single card was empty. Not one. Some of them were smaller amounts, but many of them had at least a few hundred dollars inside. I couldn’t believe it.

  I could take my damn car through the car wash. I could buy a reading lamp for my bed. I could—God, the possibilities were endless.

  I looked at the cash spread out on my lap. I could also put it all toward the business.

  I was running my hands over the bills, letting the paper flutter between my fingertips, when there was a knock on my bedroom door.

  Bishop poked his head inside and his mouth dropped open a little in surprise. “Can’t say I was expectin’ to find you covered in money.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you at all,” I said with a laugh, gathering up the money. “I thought you were headed to bed?”

  “About that,” he replied sheepishly. He came inside and shut the door. “Turns out bailin’ on you in the middle of the night means I can’t fall back asleep.”

  “That’s cute,” I said, my lips twitching. “You know I wasn’t mad, right?”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said, walking toward the bed. “Guess I got used to havin’ you next to me. Now my bed is too cold.”

  “You sound like a country song,” I replied as I stuffed the cards and cash back into my purse. “But I’m not complaining.”

  “You’re not?” he asked, dropping my purse onto the floor.

  “Who will I knee in the balls if you’re not in bed with me?” I asked jokingly, falling back on the bed as he leaned down to kiss me.

  “I must be a fuckin’ masochist,” he muttered against my mouth. “Scoot over.”

  I moved over to make space for him and let him pull the blankets over us.

  “I’m wide awake,” I said with a sigh as he maneuvered us onto our sides, his knees tucked in behind mine.

  “You want me to tire you out?” he asked, kissing the back of my neck.

  “That’s okay,” I replied, lacing my fingers with his. “I am tired. Just wide awake. I can’t turn my mind off.”

  “Downside of bein’ the boss,” he said sympathetically. “You still lovin’ the cart now that you’re in charge of it all?”

  I thought about it for a moment. “Yeah,” I said softly. “I really do. I like seeing the customers and making them something that starts their day off good. I like mixing new drinks and trying new roasters to find the right fit. Making sure the cart looks organized and welcoming and homey. Not a huge fan of the paperwork—” that was an understatement lately. “But even that isn’t all bad.”

  “That’s good,” he replied. “And it’s rare, honey. Most people search their whole lives to find the thing they love to do.”

  “Do you think construction is what you’ll do forever?” I asked. “Wait, hold that thought.”

  I climbed out of bed and hurried to the light switch, blanketing us in darkness again. As soon as I got back, he pulled me right back into the curve of his body.

  “Back to your question,” he said in amusement. “Yeah, I think I’ll stick with it. I like designing shit, but I’m not going back to school to be able to do that.”

  “You could,” I replied.

  “I could,” he agreed. “But I’ve got no interest. I like workin’ with my hands. I like the sense of accomplishment when somethin’ is done right. When the finished product exceeds expectation. I like that no two days are exactly the same.”

  “Maybe one day you’ll be the big boss,” I said, smiling into the darkness.

  “That’s a possibility,” he agreed. “Start my own company. Hell, I think I’d be a damn good foreman if nothin’ else. Gotta pay my dues first.”

  “It’s funny you say that,” I said, his words triggering an unpleasant memory. “One of the women I fired from the cart said I hadn’t paid my dues. She was pissed that I bought the cart because she’d been working there longer than I had. I think she’s a year older than me.”

  “She offer to buy it?”

  “Nope.”

  “She have the money to buy it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Was it surprisin’ that your old boss was sold it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then she was talkin’ out her ass,” he said flatly, making me chuckle. “Sounds like sour grapes to me.”

  “I really didn’t feel bad when I fired her,” I replied with a huff. “She talked shit about everyone—customers, coworkers, her family, strangers. She disliked everyone. The other woman I fired wasn’t much better. She was never on time for her shift and I swear to God she called in sick at least once a week. She was a nightmare.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a recipe for success when you’re dealin’ with the public all day long.”

  “Right?” I asked in exasperation. “I have no idea why Mal kept them on, but I wasn’t about to deal with their shit when I was running the place.”

  “It sounds like you’ve got it all handled,” Bishop said confidently, making my stomach twist. He sounded so sure of me.

  For just a moment, I considered unloading it all on him. The fact that the cart was like a ghost town now, that I was working so much because I couldn’t afford to pay someone else, that I felt in over my head. Instead, I just nodded. I was too embarrassed and frustrated to tell him how it was really going. I just wanted our night to be simple, uncomplicated and fun, easy. Because when I woke up in the morning, it would all be over. I’d be racing around trying to finish laundry and grocery shopping and a thousand other little errands that I hadn’t been able to get to.

  “Tell me about life,” I said. “Anything exciting happen lately?”

  “Not really,” he said with a small huff of laughter. “I work on your parents’ place, come home and shower, eat somethin’, laundry, and pass out. Oh, and I swamp out the truck about once a week—you wanna hear about that?”

  “Swamp it out?” I asked, grinning.

  “Clean it,” he said, brushing my hair away from my neck so he could tuck his face against it. “I don’t pay attention when I’m workin’, so there’s usually coffee cups and fast-food wrappers, that kind of shit. By the end of the week, it’s pretty nasty.”

  “I bet it smells fantastic, too,” I joked.

  “Oh, yeah. The last few bites of a hamburger give off a nice aroma after a day or two in a hot truck.”

  “That’s filthy.”

  “It really is.” He laughed silently. “That’s why I make a point to clean it once a week.”

  “My car is always a little messy,” I confessed. “My dad always forced me to keep it clean or he would take the keys in high school, but once I was out of the house, I kind of let it go. It never stinks or anything, I just never remember to bring everything inside when I get home.”

  “Makes sense since you’re always movin’ about a mile a minute,” he replied. He reached down and gently readjusted my leg, running his fingers over the bandage there.

  “It doesn’t even hurt,” I told him.

  “The word motherfucker has never made me nearly shit my pants before,” he said ruefully, making me smile. “But I knew you were hurt by the way you said it.”

  “It stung!”

  “I bet it fuckin’ did. When you stood up and I could see the blood runnin’ down your leg I wasn’t sure whether to start yellin’ at you or baby you.”

  “You clearly went with the babying.”

  “You’re tough as hell, you know that?”

  “I just have a high pain tolerance,” I countered. “I’m really a big softy.”

  “Well, yeah, I’ve noticed that much,” he said teasingly. “I could not fuckin’ believe you insisted on walkin’ to home plate.”

  “I wasn’t about to let Tommy win,” I replied honestly. “I would’ve crawled to that fucking base.”

  “I’m glad it wasn’t worse than it was,” he said, tightening his arm around me.

  “Me too,” I confessed. “I’ve slid a million times wearing shorts. We all wore shorts when I was playing and it wasn’t a huge deal. I didn’t even think about it when I saw that you were going to tag me out.”

  “Not exactly the same as a manicured softball diamond,” he said dryly.

  “It was grass,” I defended. “How was I supposed to know there was a stick hiding in there?”

  “Common sense?”

  “Ha,” I replied flatly.

  “You’re gonna have a big ass bruise when you wake up,” he said, kissing my shoulder. “And it’s gonna be sore.”

  “Yeah, I’ll deal,” I replied, shifting a little. All the talk about my leg had made me super aware of it and the soreness that was already setting in. I wasn’t about to admit it though.

  “It’s gonna be hell standin’ on it all day.”

  “I’ll be okay,” I said, lifting our hands so I could kiss the back of his. “I have a stool inside the shop that I can rest on. It’s sweet of you to worry, though.”

  “You get a lot of time to rest when you’re workin’?”

  Well, wasn’t that just a minefield of a question?

  “No, not a lot,” I hedged. “We have a lot of regulars that come through in the morning, but there’s usually a lull later in the day.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Speaking of regulars,” I said, anxious to change the subject. “So, do you remember how that cop was practically stalking Kara around the time Draco got out?”

  “I think I remember hearin’ a little about it,” he replied. “Wasn’t he fired or somethin’?”

  “Yeah, he was,” I replied. “He works as a security guard now. Anyway, he comes by the cart at least once a day. Isn’t that weird?”

  “Say what?” Bishop replied, his voice losing the relaxed tone.

  “Yeah, he comes at least once, sometimes twice a day.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “He’s an asshole, but he’s a paying customer,” I replied, shrugging my shoulder. “And I don’t think he stops if Kara is working—she would’ve said something.”

  “But he stops once or twice when you are?”

  “Yep.”

  “Charlie,” he said. It was practically a growl.

  “What?” I turned my head to look at him.

  “Have you told anyone?”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” I replied defensively. “He stops for coffee and then goes on his way, usually with a couple of asshole comments thrown in. No big deal. I’ve been tempted to accidentally spill his hot coffee when I’m handing it over, but I’m not turning down the sale.”

  “He needs to stay the fuck away from you,” Bishop said firmly.

  “I own a coffee shop that’s centrally located. The chances of running into him are pretty high. Why are you getting all riled up about it?”

  “If he’s not stoppin’ when Kara works there then he must know when she’s not workin’ and when you are.”

  “Well, yeah,” I replied. “He probably knows what cars we drive.”

  “And you’re not seein’ why this is a problem?”

  “No.” I shrugged. “I mean he’s annoying and an asshole, but it’s not like he’s done anything to me. I hate the guy for the shit he put Kara through, but he stays in his car and orders his coffee and pays for it. There’s no reason not to serve him.”

  “You see any other customers twice a day?”

  “Well,” I said, drawing out the word. “No. But like I said, it’s a sale.”

  “That’s because it’s fuckin’ weird that he’s comin’ through more than once. People grab a cup on their way to work, or on their way into town for whatever reason. They don’t keep comin’ back all day.”

  “It’s not unheard of,” I hedged.

  “Just keep an eye out,” Bishop said, his tone dark. “Men like that, the bullies, they always escalate. You don’t give him the attention he wants, he’s gonna take it anyway he can.”

  “He can fucking try me,” I replied, unconcerned. “I’ll put that little douche in his place.”

  Bishop burst out laughing.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “Honey, you’re adorable—”

  “I don’t think I like where this is going,” I cut in.

  “—but you’re tiny,” he continued. “You goin’ up against a full-grown man ain’t gonna go well for you.”

  “I grew up in an outlaw motorcycle club,” I replied slowly. “I know how to even the odds.”

  “I bet you do,” he said, reaching out to cup my cheek. “But you need to keep your eyes open anyway, Charlie. All it takes is one time catchin’ you off guard and you’re in a world of trouble.”

  “I know.”

  “Alright, then.”

  “Okay.”

  “You gonna keep sayin’ somethin’ so you get the last word?”

  “Yep.”

  “Alright.”

  “Cool.”

  I flipped back around and lay my head down on the pillow, letting him pull me in close against his chest.

  While I was irritated that he’d pointed out how much of a disadvantage I’d be in if Officer Asshole decided to do anything physical—it also made me pause. I’d never given the douche much thought because he hadn’t done anything aggressive. Once he’d stopped fucking with Kara and Draco, I’d kind of just put him in the annoying category and went on my way. Yes, I saw him more than anyone else, and no, it wasn’t the best part of my day—but it wasn’t as if he made me nervous. If anything, he just pissed me off most of the time. He was a creep—but I’d dealt with a lot of creeps.

  “I know you can take care of yourself, honey,” Bishop said, on the edge of sleep. “Just keep your eyes open, yeah?”

  “I will,” I replied quietly.

  I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of his breathing, letting it lull me, finally, back to sleep.

  Chapter 12

  Bishop

  Monday morning was a shit show. I woke up late for work, didn’t have time to stop for coffee and see Charlie at work, and realized that I’d put my t-shirt on backwards after I’d already gotten to the job site.

  I hadn’t seen Charlie again since Sunday morning when I’d left her bed. When she’d given me a kiss good morning and told me she had shit to do, I’d taken her at her word. I wasn’t going to get all bent out of shape again, thinking she was avoiding me or putting me off. From the comments I’d heard at her party and the amount of time she’d spent away from the house—I knew she actually was just really fucking busy.

  I hadn’t had a chance to talk to her again in the light of day about the cop that had been showing up at the coffee cart, which bothered me. She’d seemed pretty unconcerned with the whole thing, which made the back of my neck tingle. Something was off, even if she wasn’t seeing it.

  I fucking hated that there wasn’t anything I could do for her. I knew that if the guy pulled something, there wouldn’t be a punishment in the world that would stop me from going after him—but he hadn’t done anything. Yet. And that meant that there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot I could do. Keeping my nose clean in all respects was fucking important. I was still meeting with my parole officer every week, proving that I was doing just that.

  Having my hands tied drove me out of my goddamn mind. That was the only excuse I had when I waved Casper down when I saw him out on the gravel driveway to the house.

  “Hey man, you got a minute?” I asked, jogging over to him.

  “Sure, kid,” he said, swinging his leg off his bike. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “I was talkin’ to Charlie this weekend—”

  “Any sentence starts that way makes me automatically brace,” he joked.

  “She said somethin’ about that guy—the cop that was hasslin’ Kara—showin’ up at her work a couple times a day.”

  “What?” Casper replied, his entire body shifting from the relaxed way he’d been leaning on his bike.

  “She said he comes by every day, sometimes twice a day.”

  “The fuck?” Casper said quietly.

  “I don’t know,” I said, lifting my hands in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger gesture. “She seemed pretty unconcerned, but it fucked with me. Don’t know why he’d be showing up all the time when she clearly wants nothin’ to do with him.”