T.A. (Biker Bitches 6)

Out of the blue, he found himself beginning to be irritated that she hadn’t said his name.

“King.” Triumphantly, she turned her book around to show her puzzle was finished. “I win.”

“Wait. Who’s King.”

“Too late. You can save the question for the next time we play.”

Victorious, she leaned forward on the couch cushion, snatching the truffles off the coffee table. Daintily, she unwrapped the flimsy ribbon to open the plastic box. Taking one out, she peeled the wrapper off and popped the truffle into her mouth.

Quickly raising his knees, he pulled more of the blanket toward him to hide the hard-on that was grinding his vows of celibacy to ashes.

“That was fun.” Climbing off the couch, he could only watch as she padded out of the living room, returning a minute later with a pillow and sheets. Dumping them on his lap, she picked up their cups and carried them to the sink. “I have to get to bed. I’m exhausted, and I have an early day tomorrow. If you need anything, help yourself from the fridge or the cabinets. Make yourself at home.”

Bending down, she retrieved the box containing the truffles.

His mouth dropped open. “You’re not going to share?” He didn’t know why he cared; he didn’t fucking like truffles. But damn, he had worked hard to get them.

“No. What’s the fun of winning if I have to share the prize?”

“What about southern hospitality?”

“My southern hospitality stops when it concerns prizes I win. Especially chocolate prizes. The TV remote is on the coffee table. And turn the lights off when you’re ready. I’m trying to watch my electric bill.” She unwrapped another truffle as she talked. “Good night.”

When she popped it into her mouth, Dalton gaped as she padded away. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Standing, he made the couch into a bed, then turned the lights out before lying back down to cover himself with the blanket, shoving a pillow behind his head. Yawning, he realized that T.A. wasn’t the only one exhausted.

“When I get back to St. Louis, I’ll buy a whole box of truffles,” he muttered, falling asleep for the first time since he had lost Oceane before talking to her first. Shivering under the blanket, he curled into the couch to seek more warmth than the blanket was providing.

The cold started to wake him. About to get out of bed to grab his coat, he heard T.A.’s door opening then the blissful warmth of a thick blanket being laid over him.

His lips opened to thank her when under his lashes he saw her place something on the coffee table by his head, then heard the scurrying of her feet as she left. Dalton didn’t raise his head until he heard her door close. Using his cell phone, he flashed the light at what she left.

A single truffle sat within his reach. Taking a hand out from under the cover, he unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth. A second later, he was almost gagging as he forced the tequila-flavored truffle down his protesting throat.

Finally forcing it down, Dalton lay back down. He was about to doze off again when he realized that not only his kids hadn’t called him the entire evening, but he hadn’t spent the whole night grieving about Oceane.

One had him relieved; the other had guilt settling in like a ton of weight on his heart. He didn’t want to move on from Oceane; he wanted his heart to stay right where it belonged. He learned to survive the pain of her loss. It was the only part of her he had left that he could feel every second of the day and night. He had sworn to Oceane that he would never let her go. This life may have separated them for now, but when he was reunited with her, he would go to her with a whole heart.

“Oceane,” he whispered out to the dark room. “Pour toujours, mon amour, mon cheri. Pour toujours."

15

Dalton woke to the sound of someone knocking on the front door. Struggling out of the blankets, he went to stare out the peephole. A gray-bearded older man was smiling at him from the other side of the door.

He turned when he heard the stranger knock again, expecting T.A. to come out of her bedroom, but when he saw her door was open and that she wasn’t lying in the bed, Dalton assumed she was in the bathroom and couldn’t hear that someone was there knocking.

When he opened the door, the unknown man’s smile disappeared into his whiskers.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Dalton folded his arms across his chest as he leaned against the doorjamb.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Al. Where’s Trudy?”

“She’s in the bathroom. Can I help you?”

“I’ll wait and talk to her.”

“Help yourself.”

Moving away from the doorjamb, he started to close the door.

“I meant inside.”