West (The Henchmen MC 19)

It was a long-ass walk back to The Yard, but I guess it gave me a chance to come down from the high of getting another couple doses of Auggie, to decompress, to try to think past the dopamine rush and be rational about the situation.

I guess the problem was, the more that I thought about the situation, the less sense it was making.

Because all I could conclude was that I wanted more.

And, what's more, not just more sex.

Nope.

I wanted more mindless chatter while she cooked dinner. I wanted more commentary on the unrealistic blood splatter in movies. I wanted more of her going all soft and sweet when she was tired. I wanted to see the way her eyes lit up when she told stories about her old people. I wanted to know more of her stories from her "crazy days," which sounded a lot like they went from age fourteen until, say, a few weeks ago.

That was problematic.

It was fine to want friendship.

It was fine to want fucking.

It was not fine to want them both with a woman who I couldn't have a future with.

My life was in Navesink Bank.

Hers was here.

Geographic undesirability.

Didn't that just fucking figure?

I found a woman who had both the friend shit and the sex shit, and she wasn't in my world.

"Jesus," I snapped, jerking backward when I flicked on the light in my apartment, expecting it to be empty, but finding Teddy sitting on my couch instead, finger scrolling through something on his phone.

"I know what you did tonight. And last night," he said, glancing up at me. "Your bike is pretty distinctive," he added, tucking his phone away. "Especially at five a.m. when I am driving through town on my way to work."

Shit.

This was getting out of control.

"McCoy already gave me the speech, Teddy," I told him, shrugging. "But I understand if you feel the need to as well."

"I very much doubt I have the same speech to give you as McCoy did. He's more of the doom-and-gloom and I'll-make-you-suffer sort."

"And what sort are you?" I asked, knowing Teddy had been the hardest for me to get a read on. First, because he didn't work at The Yard, so wasn't around as much. And second, because he didn't volunteer much information about himself even when he was around.

"I guess I am more of a pragmatist," he offered.

"Don't know you well enough to agree or disagree with that."

"Did Huck tell you how we initially met?"

He hadn't actually.

"No."

"Couple years back, when my old man was still alive, he got out of his car to run into the office to grab something he'd left behind. Huck and Che slid into the front seat. I think you can see where this is going."

I could.

Seeing as I knew what Huck's real business was.

"Yeah."

"What they didn't plan on was the fact that my old man had come to pick me up from the club where I had gotten knock-down, drag-out trashed. So, he tossed me in the backseat to let me sleep while he drove me home. And, yeah, they didn't plan on me being there, didn't stop to check the backseat. I woke up demanding my father pull over so I could be sick. Che is a good driver, but he damn near flew off the road, just barely recovering at the last second."

"What'd they end up doing?"

"Bugging out at the next light," he admitted, smiling at the memory. "After I hopped out, puked up my guts, and told my father where the car was since it wasn't one I could drive, I decided to do some looking around. And, I dunno. I liked the crew. Liked their dynamic. Was looking for something exciting. They wanted nothing to do with me, of course. I wasn't from their world."

"You found some way to convince them."

"I started sending them the addresses to parties where they could find the kinds of cars they wanted. Then went ahead and filmed them jacking them."

"You blackmailed your way into their crew," I surmised, feeling my lips curve.

"That I did."

'What do you get out of that, though?"

"This group is never dull. Che still street races on occasion. Remington loses his shit and it is never predictable. My other life, it is the same shit day in and day out. And it has to be. That's how I get to live the life I live. But when I leave the office, I want something different. They give me different."

"You're willing to get involved as they evolve to something else."

"Huck and I have had some conversations about my involvement moving forward. There are obvious reasons why my involvement can't be in the same capacity as everyone else. My business. My semi-public profile. The fact that I can't ride a bike," he added, smirking. "Again, I'm a man who understands things from a more detached perspective. Which is why I won't be telling you that you better not hurt Gus, or I'll beat your ass."