Speed King (Men of Action 1)

“I take offense to that. What have I done?” Jewls scoffs.

“Give it time. It’s only Monday.”

“If I remember correctly, we both gave up our Sunday nights to help you out. I’m due to have a bad day once in a while without you accusing me of being a headache.” I cock an eyebrow.

“I know all about your damn bad day. Six foot six, powerhouse of muscle, that looks like he’ll rip someone apart if they glance your way.”

I want to argue that he’s exaggerating, but today is proof Achilles has an overprotective streak that I never knew about. “Moving on.” I unpack the bottles from the boxes.

“Hey.” He lays a hand on my arm, his tone softer. “I’ve known you since you were a kid and watched you grow up. I’m not blind. Jewls is right. Stand your ground, but don’t write him off. That boy has a lot to work through.”

It’s almost hilarious to hear him refer to Achilles as a boy, but I bite my tongue and nod. Thankfully, a group of men walks in, heading directly to the bar. Glen’s in the group, and his eyes go straight to my chest when he gets closer.

“Pissant,” Tom growls, aiming his snarl at Glen, then steals the bottle out of my hand and takes it to the far drink station.

Guess that’s the end of his unconventional wisdom.

Tom calling Glen a Pissant is too kind. Something comes over me, and I smile openly, ready for anything that he throws my way.

Because tonight is not the night to piss me off.

I’m at your door.

I snatch my phone off the counter and stare at the message in horror.

“Shit!” I scream, grabbing a handful of bobby pins. Once my hair is secure in a bun, I apply minimal make-up and slide my maxi dress over my head.

It’s been two days since my argument with Achilles, and I’ve spent the time miserable but determined.

Yesterday, I broke down and called my mom at lunch, hoping that hearing her voice would help. The second she answered, it was obvious she was waiting for the call. It took little coaxing for me to unload what was on my mind. She listened to what happened patiently and reiterated what Jewls and Tom said, but told me to go gentle on him.

It was my decision to keep some distance from Achilles. He hasn’t called, and his few texts have been generic, asking how I am. Which always gets him the same response.

I’m fine.

I questioned this every second of every day. But it was important for me to figure out exactly what to say. Then the self-doubt crept in. The one scenario no one mentioned was the one that scared me the most. Achilles has always been low-key and no-nonsense. What if my tantrum turned him off? Regardless of his macho-man attitude, my departure from his truck was overly dramatic.

And maybe a little mortifying.

I run through my apartment and cringe at the blankets and pillow balled up on the sofa. “Shit!” I cuss again.

“Take your time. I’ll wait for as long as it takes,” his gravelly voice calls through the door.

Of course, he heard me. I decide the sofa is the least of my worries and take a deep breath to calm my racing nerves.

“You’re an adult, Harley. Act like it. Be natural, not too eager, not too distant. No matter what happens.” I pep myself up on the way to answer.

“Good mor—” The rest of the word lodges in my throat when I come face to face with what can only be described as anguish.

He tugs me gently into his arms, crushing me to his hard body, lifting me off the ground, and stepping inside. There is no choice but to hold tight as I hear the door shut. “I know you told me not to show up unannounced, but I couldn’t stay away. I’m an asshole. I shouldn’t have said the things I did.” He buries his face in my neck. His voice is a combination of desperation and regret that pierces me so deep my eyes sting.

“Achilles.” My arms circle his shoulders, and my face tilts to his. Once again, words fail me at his tortured expression.

“If you need me to apologize, I will,” he offers unconvincingly.

“Are you sorry?”

“I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

“What about the rest?”

He glances over my shoulder, the answer easy to read. I place my hand to his jaw, bringing his gaze back to mine. “Are you sorry?”

His eyes slowly close, and when they open, they’re filled with guilt, telling me all I need to know.

“You can’t dictate my life. If you care about me, trust and know I can take care of myself. This isn’t only about working at Tom’s; this is with everything.”

“When it comes to you, I’m fiercely protective. That will never change. I’ve seen the way men look at you, the way they crave your attention, thinking they have a shot. Knowing that they go home with a fucking hard on and jack off to the image of you is enough to set me on edge. I can’t promise to back off.”