The words tasted bitter on my tongue.
Because that wasn’t the entire story.
It was only part of it.
“And you just got out of prison?” he asked, no sign of pity in his eyes, which was what enabled me not to shut down like I so often did when it came to talking about this particular subject.
“Yep,” I confirmed. “Working as a private physician, sans medical license, with a man out of Souls Chapel. I’m part of an MC, too. I’m renting a house off of Knotting Pines Road.”
Why was I telling him my life story?
Because you feel like he’s a kindred spirit. He knows how it feels. It feels like you’re talking to yourself.
“Ahh,” he said. “That’s where my granddaughter lives, too.”
Wonderful.
Like I needed her any closer.
“Nice area?” I asked, hoping to hide my reaction to his news.
“The best,” he confirmed. “I live in the back of the store still. Been there for going on thirty years now. But Knotting Pines is where all the rich bitches live. I bought Crockett a house when her parents kicked her out. Bought her one right next door to them that was bigger.”
My lips quirked.
“She was kicked out?” I asked.
He nodded, not elaborating on that one. Obviously, it was a more sensitive subject than the one we’d been talking about earlier. Noted.
“So what’s the condition that requires her to eat regularly?” I found myself asking the old man, unable to help my curiosity.
He grinned. “She gets all hangry. All that runnin’ and racin’ she does is my guess. Trust me when I say, she needs to eat regularly, or the girl literally will make your life a living hell and not even mean to.”
My lips twitched.
“Damn.” I shook my head. “That’s mean.”
“It’s the truth.” He shrugged. “I’m telling you what. When she was a kid, she was literally so fucking pissed off. Her sister touching her made her scream bloody murder. We were in the car for an hour. Her brother was beside her, trying to stay really far away from her so he didn’t get screamed at like her sister. And she was in just this really shit mood. I’m talking, look at her and she’s growling and biting your hand off. And then I see this great little Mexican food place called Nicky’s, and I’m like… this is good. She likes Mexican food. That’s the one food she’ll eat. So, I pull off, hoping that when I feed her, she’ll at least not go all asshole on her siblings for the entire trip home. We pull in, they put a bowl of queso in front of her, and she goes from growling and snapping to excited and dancing within the span of a few chips.”
My lips were twitching hard.
“Yeah?” I grinned. “That’s fucking great.”
He held out his hand to me and I reached forward and shook it. “Name’s Murphy Archer,” he said. “I used to own this place before I sold it to my granddaughter, Crockett. Crockett’s the brunette who went to start making you that burger.”
I introduced myself also.
“Zachariah Caruso. Call me Zach.” I shook his hand one more time.
“Order up!”
I looked over to see Crockett holding my burger and a bag of chips at the end of the counter.
I walked toward her and took my plate.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
She smiled at me, “No problem.”
I went and sat down, then had the best damn burger that I’d had in years.
Hell, it might’ve been the best one I’d had in my life.
• • •
CROCKETT
“What the hell was that?” I breathed as the sexiest man I’d ever seen in my life walked back to his table after refilling his drink.
In my sweats.
That he hadn’t paid for.
That I’d willingly give to him, over and over again, as long as he graced me with his eyes.
Jesus, those eyes were to die for.
“That was us doing a favor to a man that could use it right now,” my grandfather said carefully.
I looked over at him.
“And you told him your story,” I said. “And you also told him I was a hangry person.”
He grinned. “You are a hangry person.”
“Still, you don’t tell the hot guy that!” I cried.
“Well, all it took for your attention to be grabbed was for a tall, dark and handsome ex-con to walk through the door?” he teased.
I rolled my eyes.
The man wasn’t just ‘tall, dark, and handsome.’ He was tall, sure. Way over my five-foot-four-inch frame. He had to be at least six-foot-three, if not more. Because my grandfather was six-foot-three. I knew what six-foot-three looked like. I’d been staring at it for most of my life.
But that was the least of what attracted me to him.
Because holy God, was I really attracted.
The man was sex personified.
If one of my book boyfriends had come out of the pages and stood before me, this was exactly what I would picture.