Duke (The Henchmen MC 5)

"Everyone has a story," he went on, obviously not giving me a chance to back out of talking.

"Really, there's not much to tell. I was born and raised here. My parents are both really into their careers and always were. Which meant I kind of raised myself on weekdays and then I spent weekends with my grandmother."

"She's why you moved back."

"Yeah. She's made of pure grit and firm opinions, but she's getting older. She needs someone around to keep an eye on her. And, after all she did for me growing up, I owed it to her to move back. I really need to call her," I added, guilt swirling around my belly.

"I'll give you a phone," he said without even a pause. "And, as soon as we can find a safe way to do it, I will take you to visit her. Maybe take another day or two for this," he said, his hand moving from my wrist to glide over the skin under my eye, "to heal all the way."

I felt a small shiver work its way through me, starting only on the inside, but moving out. Judging by the way Duke's eyes got intense, he felt it too.

Maybe that was why he pressed on. "Other family? Friends? Boyfriends?"

"We have a small family. Well, I mean, there are cousins and an aunt somewhere off in Tennessee. But I've maybe only seen them a time or two in my life. I had some acquaintances in Florida, but no close friends." I stopped there, feeling awkward discussing the idea of boyfriends in bed with another man. Granted, it was a twin bed in a barracks-style room in a basement and we were fully clothed and only his hand was touching me, settled down where my neck met my shoulder. But still. Weird.

"Boyfriends," he repeated, brow raised.

"No," I said immediately, but rushed to explain. "I mean... I've had boyfriends. Everyone has had boyfriends. But, yeah, um... none recently I guess is what I meant."

The awkward babbling award of the year went to, no surprise, me. For the freaking twenty-somethingth year in a row.

"How's that possible?" he asked, his thumb moving out and stroking across my neck in a way that was really going to become problematic in a minute or two.

"Well, I, y'know," I said, wetting my suddenly very dry lips and watching as his gaze went there for a second before it moved up again. "I just... don't get out much. I'm not social."

"What do you do if you don't go out and don't have friends and don't have boyfriends?"

I smiled at that, shaking my head. "Don't make me answer that."

"Why?"

"Because it will make me sound like I'm eighty."

"In that case, I have to hear it."

"Fine," I said, small-eying him for a second which made his lips tip up. "I don't know. I read. I clean my apartment. I run errands. I knit. I go to..."

"You knit?" he asked, and there was no tipping up, he broke into a big smile at that idea. "Yarn and needles and shit?"

I felt my own smile pull at my lips. "Yeah, yarn and needles and shit."

"What do you make?"

"Well, I have six afghans in a box on the way to a shelter in New York. That's from the past couple of months."

"You do that because you like doing it or you're scared of doing other shit?"

That was a good question. Actually, it was one I had asked myself countless times over the years. Especially because everyone else seemed to have an urge to club, party, travel, make their lives bigger.

I could honestly say that I had never felt that way. I liked my small life. People asking me to go out was pretty much a surefire way to ruin my mood. I didn't need to see Europe or bungie jump off a bridge. And I definitely didn't need to drink until I was stupid every week.

Though that last thing might have had a lot to do with the fact that I was a lightweight and was tanked before things could even get going.

"I know it's lame, but I like my quiet life."

"Not lame," he said, shaking his head. "I like a quiet life too. I've had enough noise." Somewhere after he said 'quiet life', my lips must have turned up because his head tilted. "What?"

"Well, you live in a building full of outlaw bikers who seem to be as loud, if not louder, than any fraternity house. You get shot at. You plan on exacting revenge. What about this is quiet?"

He chuckled at that. "I guess you get used to this and it seems quiet. But it is small. We're close. It's a family. No one is flying off to fucking France to sip coffee at a cafe. We have barbecues and kids birthday parties."