Waylon (Ruthless MC 2)

As strange as this whole situation is, I feel myself relaxing for the first time since I woke up two days ago.

“Can I make you anything?” she asks. “Coffee? Tea? Got the Brita all filled up if you want a glass of water."

I smile at her kind offer, and some more of the tension from my argument with Waylon flows out of me. “I guess I'll take a glass of water. Thank you…”

I trail off, realizing I don't know her name. “Um, sorry Waylon didn’t introduce me. I’m Amira. What should I call you?”

“Oh, you can call me Meemaw,” she answers, bustling over to the refrigerator. “Just like Waylon.”

I widen my eyes. “You’re Waylon's grandmother?"

“Oh, I was never blessed with children or grands related by blood.” Meemaw shakes her head regretfully over the glass of water she’s pouring. “So I'm everybody's Meemaw. That's what we all decided when we set up the new town—by the way, there’s another bathroom off that upstairs bedroom. The boys plumbed it special for me. You can take a nice hot shower before you go to bed if you’re wanting one.”

Bless her heart. She was basically saying I stink without outright declaring that. But I just about weep when the warm water hits my overtired body a few minutes later. There wasn't another pain killer in the world that could compare with a nice hot shower after two days on the road.

And when I come back into the room, wrapped in a towel, I find a cup of tea waiting for me as if Meemaw knew I’d be ready for one after I finally got clean.

So this is Waylon’s idea of the hard way? I wonder what he was thinking in bringing me here as I sip on the cup of hot tea I didn't know I needed. Meemaw’s guest room is honestly the only place in this unnamed Iowa town I would’ve felt comfortable resting in after the last two days.

And it just might be the perfect place to gather my thoughts and figure out a way out of the situation. One thing is for sure, there’s no way in hell I should have ever considered—even for a few heated moments—doing things the so-called “easy way” with Waylon.

You’d think I'd have trouble falling asleep in the house of a woman I only met an hour ago, no matter how nice she seems. But I’m out after I pull the covers over my clean body and lay my head on the pillow. And, I don't wake up until the next day when I open my eyes to the sight of morning sunshine pouring through a sparkling clean window and the smell of bacon cooking downstairs.

Meemaw could keep her potato and tuna fish casserole, but bacon I can do! I jump out of bed, excited to start the day with a good breakfast.

Unfortunately, I don’t have anything to wear, though. Even if the scrubs Doc loaned me weren’t dirty, they’ve mysteriously disappeared from where I left them on the floor last night.

There are a few clothing items in the dresser drawers, but the jeans are all men's sizes—too big in the waist and way too long. One of the tops works, though. I opt for a baggy Griffin Latham concert tee with SECURITY written across the back. It’s long enough to fall to my knees like a t-shirt dress. So, I don't feel too self-conscious when I walk down the stairs toward the smell of Meemaw’s bacon.

At least I don't feel too self-conscious before reaching the front room.

Meemaw is at the stove frying bacon all right, but a guest is sitting at her half-dining room table.

Waylon.

He’s dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans and looking more handsome than anyone should after two days on the road. Like he got an even better night of sleep than me.

His eyes laser in on me as soon as I stop at the end of the short hallway, a challenging smirk finding its way to his lips.

I think about reversing out of the kitchen like Homer Simpson easing back into a bush in an internet meme.

But Meemaw looks up and sees me before I can. “There you are. I was just about to come and get you. Waylon’s here for your first breakfast date!”

CHAPTER 7

Breakfast date?

My heart lurches. What did she mean by breakfast date?

“And, look at you dressed in one of Waylon’s T-shirts!” Meemaw claps her hands together. “He stayed with me for a few weeks after he got back from Delaware while he was waiting for his trailer to get here. I was meaning to bring the clothes he left behind over to him, but I never got around to it. And now here you are, wearing it for your first breakfast date!”

“Meemaw.” The sweet nickname becomes a dire warning the way Waylon grits it out between his teeth.