With one hand still shoved down his boxers and wrapped around his hard-on, he wandered out of the bedroom, across the small, open living area and over to the counter where the coffeemaker sat.
With his dick-free hand, he scraped his fingers through his messy hair, not giving a shit if it made it worse. Still half-asleep, he blinked at the almost-full pot of coffee and a second later his brain recognized Shay had parked an empty Harley Davidson mug next to it.
In the past week, she had figured out just how he liked his coffee and made sure to make it that way. Not too weak, not too strong. Just fucking right. The right amount of caffeine to get his brain working and his blood flowing. One mugful of black coffee could successfully take him from being a zombie to almost human. Almost. It took a second mug to finish the job.
He pulled the pot, poured himself a full mug of the necessary fuel and after a long sip and an even longer sigh, he took the few steps to the glass sliders and glanced outside.
Thank fuck.
Every morning he woke up, he expected her to have packed her bags and fled back to Boston.
So far, he hadn’t done anything too stupid to scare her the fuck off.
He still had time.
He stood on the other side of the glass, took another long sip of his morning fuel, reluctantly peeled his hand off his morning wood, and studied the woman with her legs folded under her on a lounge chair with a mug of coffee next to her and a computer in her lap.
Her fingers were moving lightning fast as they typed and swiped.
The woman didn’t know how to rest. At seven fucking in the morning, that was what she should be doing. If she wanted to do something else, she could be doing him right now.
But fuck no…
Instead, she was going full goddamn speed ahead to get the websites done. The problem with that was, as soon as she did everything Trip approved that was listed in her proposal, the sooner she’d hit the road.
The other problem was, she was learning his pattern of distracting her to slow her down. So now she was getting a head start when he was asleep or busy with the motel or club business.
She was fucking smart. He just needed to be smarter.
She told Trip she might have all the websites done within a month.
Only spending a month with her wasn’t going to work for him.
No fucking way.
She had spent the last few days taking photos of the businesses for the websites she was hired to build, along with talking with the people involved with those businesses.
Ozzy had been by her side every one of those days.
On Tuesday, the morning after their meeting with Trip and Deacon, she had put together her proposal and emailed it to both Deacon and Trip. That night, Trip gave her the go-ahead on all of it.
On Wednesday, after he moved her shit upstairs into his apartment—without even the slightest hesitation, thank fuck—and parked her Lexus around back next to his wheels, she took shitloads of photos in and around the motel. Shay then sat down with him, Josie, Ry and a couple of the other office employees. She’d also talked to the head housekeeper.
The woman was thorough when it came to her business, that was for fucking sure.
Thursday morning, he took her over to Tioga Pet Services and she took a few pictures there and discussed with Cassie, Shade and Easy what should be updated on the current website.
It turned out a lot. And, no surprise, Cassie and Shay had gotten along great.
On Thursday afternoon, they headed over to Justice Bail Bonds. She snapped a few pictures and spoke with Jet, Deke and Judge. Along with giving ear scratches and receiving sloppy kisses from the two American Bulldogs, Justice and Jury.
Since tomorrow was Saturday, she set up a meeting with Sig and Trip to go over what she’d need to build the Buck You Recovery website and also the simple contact page she’d create for the Blood Fury itself. They were doing that over at Crazy Pete’s so she could get photos of the bar before it opened. Then tomorrow night the plan was she and Ozzy would go back when it was crowded to get even more photos. Plus a few of Dodge and Stella working behind the bar.
Luckily the bar was high enough to hide Stella’s baby belly, which was starting to show. Trip didn’t want to share his ol’ lady’s pregnancy on the world wide web.
Ozzy didn’t blame him. It could make her a target and Trip was all about protecting his wife and future child.
“Hey,” she called to him. “I want to show you something.”
He had something he wanted to show her, too. Down his damn boxers.