“So, why aren’t you staying at the club if some dude’s hassling you?” Remy asks.
It burns my ass to talk about this with another stranger but since he’s giving up his day to drive me around, I might as well. “I’m on parole. Not supposed to be around the club.”
One corner of his mouth slides up. “For real? I thought big, bad outlaws would tell the cops to fuck off.”
Is he tryin’ to test me? “This ain’t a TV show, son. This is real life. I just got out of prison. Not interested in going back.”
“I hear you.”
“I should hope so. You’re on the young side to need a hearing aid already.”
His lips twist into a smirk.
“What do you do? Besides play chauffeur for the local MC.”
He taps his chest. “I prefer bodyguard.” The smug smile slides off his face. “My grandparents ran a bar and grill. They left it to my sister and me. I’m trying to keep it going. You know, keep their memory alive.”
“Think you’d have more respect for your elders then,” I mutter. Dick thing to say, sure. But how will he respond?
“Nah, my grandpa taught me respect was earned not blindly given.”
“Smart man.”
“Yeah.” Remy stares straight ahead. “He was.”
“Griff mentioned you take care of your little sister?”
His mouth twists into a smirk. “I’m sure he did.”
“How old is she?”
“Molly is seventeen going on thirty-five.” He laughs.
“He mentioned you run a fight ring, too.”
“Griff was a chatty boy, huh?” he grumbles.
“Dex might’ve mentioned it first.”
“Ah, the mysterious Mr. Dex.” He chuckles. “Yeah, we have a good thing going. You should come check it out one night.”
“I think I’m a little old to dance around the ring.”
“We got a cage.” He glances over. “You look like you could still put a hurtin’ on someone.”
I grunt in response. Damn right. I can kill a man with a fucking toothbrush in eight seconds flat. Prison didn’t leave me with many options.
Once we’re off the highway, I direct him to Serena’s neighborhood. He slows to a crawl, careful of the narrow, poorly plowed city streets with cars parked on both sides.
“What a mess,” he mutters. “City living makes me twitch.”
“They don’t exactly kill themselves cleaning this up.” I point to an open spot a few doors down from Serena’s place. “There.”
We bounce over a heap of snow and ice to slide into the space.
Serena’s car’s still buried under the white, icy mess. I check the time. Good thing I was itching to see her. She’s gonna be late and hasn’t even started her car yet.
“Would you mind giving me a hand cleaning that off?” I nod to her little hatchback.
“Yeah, sure.” He claps his hands together and rubs like he’s eager to get to work.
Serena appears on the front steps of the brownstone. So fuckin’ pretty as she stares at the snow-covered sidewalk and wrinkles her nose.
“There she is.” I grab the cup of coffee I’d brought with me.
“Oh, is that your daughter?” Remy asks with a straight face.
Great. I’d prefer it if he was just fucking with me, but I think he’s serious. “No,” I growl, flinging the door open and stomping onto the sidewalk. “You wanna make use of one of those shovels or are you planning to sit there and look pretty all morning?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He shuts off the truck and steps out. “Respect, man.”
“Serena,” I call.
Like a cornered kitten, her shoulders hunch, her fingers tighten around the handrail, and her eyes nervously scan the area. Shit, I hadn’t meant to startle her.
Her posture relaxes and her lips curve when her gaze lands on me. “Grayson?”
Serena
In a few months, I’ll be grousing about the summer heat. But right now, I’m questioning why I’ve never moved to Florida.
I hate the snow. I hate it so much.
Actually, I just hate driving to work in the snow. And being cold. If I could stay bundled up in my fuzzy jammies and socks, and sip hot chocolate by a crackling fireplace, I’d probably love winter in all its icy glory.
Stepping outside, I take a deep breath. And promptly burst into a coughing fit. Stupid cold, dry air. It should be spring by now.
I tug my hat over my ears.
“Serena?”
I jump and grip the handrail, preparing to run back inside the safety of my apartment building.
Then my eyes land on Grayson walking toward me.
And my heart pounds for different reasons.
“What are you doing here?” I navigate each stone step slowly, careful not to slip on the ice.
He meets me at the bottom of the stairs and holds out his hand for me to grab onto. “No one cleans this?”
“There’s a maintenance guy. He’ll stop by eventually to shovel and salt the steps and sidewalk.”
He grunts and hands me a stainless steel travel mug.
My eyes light up. “You brought me coffee?”
I accept the warm metal into my chilly hands and cautiously take a sip. Someone paid attention to how I like my coffee. Full of cream and a dash of sweetener. “Thank you.”