Make Me (KPD Motorcycle Patrol 4)

Not that we blamed him since she had a rocky start as an infant. But Saylor was thriving now. She was an adult with a good head on her shoulders, and he still treated her like a fragile flower.

Needless to say, I didn’t think that I’d want to go home, either.

“I’ll text her and figure out what she wants to do,” I said. “But I’m not going to force her. If she doesn’t want to come, I’m not bringing her.”

“Fair enough,” Dad said. “I’ll see you this weekend. Bring the girl.”

With that parting comment, he hung up.

I took another bite of cake.

And when Royal came back into the room with another smaller bag in her hand, I pointed at the cake with a fork.

“This doesn’t happen to be made by Saylor Spada, does it?” I asked.

I mean, what are the chances that the last time I had a cake this good was when it was made by Saylor…Saylor who just so happened to be in Texas now.

“Actually, yeah.” Royal frowned. “Do you know her?”

I grinned. “You could say that.”

Royal frowned hard, and that was when I realized what she was thinking.

That I fucked her.

Which couldn’t be further from the truth.

But getting into it in more depth would also require me to tell her my entire life story, and I didn’t want to do that either.

People were put off when you said that your father was in a motorcycle club. And it usually invited more questions to be asked.

However, when Royal wouldn’t look at me or speak to me the entire ride to my place, I quickly reconsidered telling her.

One, I didn’t like the way it was making me feel—her not speaking to me.

Two, I didn’t want to live with a woman that was mad at me.

Call me crazy, but I didn’t want to be worried she might lose her shit on me at any moment.

When we pulled into my place ten minutes later and I shut the bike off, the first thing I said was, “I never slept with Saylor.”

She stiffened at my back and got off.

“It’s not any of my business what you do,” she said. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”

My lips twitched as I dismounted, then undid the bungee cords that were holding her bag onto the back of my bike.

She held her hand out for the bags once I was through, but I ignored her outstretched hand and kept walking.

When I got to the door, I started coughing again.

My keys were slipped from my fingers and I was pushed inside moments later.

The alarm started going off, and I quickly punched in the code through watering eyes.

“Nice place,” I heard said through my coughing fit.

By the time I was finished, Royal was standing next to me with a cup of what I assumed was tea.

Taking a healthy swallow, I groaned when it soothed the burn of my throat that was left behind by the coughing.

“You need to do a breathing treatment or something,” she said. “That’s not normal.”

I shrugged.

“I have that available as an option,” I admitted. “And might consider it later. But I’m okay for now.”

She looked at me skeptically and rolled her eyes.

“Saylor and I were childhood friends,” I said. “She used to make cakes like the one you had all the time when I was growing up. I used to be a taste tester when they were shit.”

A half-smile formed on her face, and I gestured for her to follow me into the kitchen.

“I didn’t know that she was in Longview, though,” I admitted. “My parents didn’t tell me.”

She took a seat at the counter where I ate at—I didn’t see the point of owning a kitchen table when there was a perfectly good bar overhang that stools fit under—and stared at me.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I’m full of cake right now.”

I wasn’t, but I’d give it an hour and hope that she got hungry. I didn’t see the point of cooking just for myself. Which was why I lived off of TV dinners half the time.

“You have a nice place,” she said softly, taking a look around.

I took it all in through her eyes.

I lived in a one-bedroom cabin when I wasn’t undercover. It was six hundred and forty square feet.

I’d built it from the studs out.

After looking around and not seeing anything that I wanted, I’d purchased a small cabin from a local retailer and then had finished it out. I’d done the walls, the sheetrock, the paint, and the kitchen all by myself. The wiring I’d intended to do by myself, too, but in the end, I’d thought it would be best to let a professional do it since I really didn’t have any idea what I was doing.

I’d subcontracted out the plumbing and the bathroom, too.