Cary (Henchmen MC Next Generation 5)

“I just ate,” I said, even as my mouth salivated at the idea of something so sweet.

“What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?” he asked, making a strange laugh bubble up and burst out of me.

“What?”

“I dunno. Something some older lady said to me once. Stuck with me. I just eat all the time. Still manage to eat a donut or six after.”

So then he gave me a donut. And I pretended to eat it demurely. But Dezi must have been onto me, because he barely paused after I finished before handing me another one. And then another.

My stomach screamed at the too-full feeling after so many years of surviving on the bare minimum. And all the sugar had me feeling like I was buzzing.

But, God, alive. I felt alive for the first time in far too long.

“I’m going to get some more coffee,” I told him, even though I didn’t need any more sugar or caffeine in my system right then. But it was too novel to be able to get my own food and drinks to turn down the opportunity to do so. “Can I get you some?” I asked.

“That sounds good. Wash down all this sugar with more sugar,” he added, giving me a wink.

This Dezi guy was, arguably, really attractive. But in a way that I guess had never been my type. He was a rough and dirty sort of handsome with his long hair, his tattoos, his scruff that looked more careless than cultivated, and his abundance of scars.

Still, though, I felt absolutely nothing at that little wink of his, or the warm look in his eyes.

Nothing like the gut-kick sensation I’d felt when I’d finally seen Cary in person.

No.

I couldn’t let my mind go there.

There was how all my problems in my life started.

Besides, he wanted to help me. I couldn’t let my complicated feelings get in the way of the original plan.

To get away.

To get safe.

To, eventually, be able to start my life over again. This time, on my own terms.

I didn’t even know what that would look like. I’d never really had any say in how my life turned out.

There were a few things I knew. Like I would need a job. What kind, I had no idea. I had no work history. I had no skills. But I would find something somewhere.

Then I would need to figure out how to get my own place.

That idea was both scary and thrilling. A whole place, all my own. To decorate how I wanted. To exist within in any way that made me happy.

I knew I was getting away with myself, but in my head, I was picturing paint swatches and what sorts of furniture I would want.

Not Kian’s style. Which I guess I could call “football fanatic.” Everything was overstuffed recliners in dark brown shades, giant TVs, sound systems, and not a single piece of art on the walls.

And it went without saying that Raúl’s style was out too. At least he’d actually had some. I would give him that. His house had been stunningly beautiful, but in a cold, stark way. It was massive, so it seemed almost under furnished. But all the accents were black and gold. He’d even had a giant gold leopard statue in the living room. There was art on the walls, but black, gray, and gold abstracts that didn’t really interest me.

The one thing both places had in common was the complete and utter lack of anything even remotely feminine. You would never know a woman lived there if you stepped inside either of their houses.

I wanted my future place to reflect me for once in my life.

Outside of work and a home, I had no real vision for the rest of my life. Biological children weren’t an option. And I wasn’t sure I could ever trust my taste in men again.

But some friends would be nice. A sort of chosen family. People to spend holidays and birthdays with.

Yeah, that sounded nice.

I was just finishing mixing the mugs of coffee when I heard male voices in the living room.

I knew I shouldn’t have, but it seemed like eavesdropping was how I was wired now. You could call it a survival tactic. It was always better to know what the men around me were saying when they didn’t know I was listening.

I moved closer to the doorway, but kept my body away from the opening, leaning as close as I dared, and making out both of the voices.

Dezi.

And Cary.

“Your lady friend looks like a strong wind would blow her over,” Dezi said, as though Cary hadn’t seen me himself.

“I know,” Cary said, voice concerned.

“I fed her donuts,” Dezi volunteered.

“Good.”

“She has no opinions on mini-cows.”

“Ah, good to know,” Cary said, sounding as confused as I had been about the topic.