Rowe (Henchmen MC Next Generation 4)

If Billie didn’t sell that shit, she needed to be doing it.

People would pay a fortune for the relief it could give them. Even if it was short-lived.

The brace, too, was doing some good things for me. The jury was still out on the physical therapy since I’d only gone to two appointments and because my fractures were still so new, there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot we could do aside from slight abdominal strengthening exercises.

But I was doing it.

Because I told Billie I would.

Because it was the one stipulation she made about helping me. And, really, could I even think of denying her that? When she was going out of her way to make me salves and teas?

“So, does Billie cook?” Dezi asked, undeterred by my silence. In fact, next to nothing deterred Dezi from anything.

“How would I know?”

“You’ve been over twice.”

“To get more of her tonics and shit.”

“I’m thinking that if she can brew up a tonic, she probably can cook.” That was Dezi, thinking with his stomach.

“If she cooks, it’s probably vegetarian.”

“But, you know, rice and beans can be good if she spices it up right.”

“You ate on the way to therapy,” I reminded him. He’d made us leave twenty minutes early so he could pop by Fallon and Malc’s diner to grab some danishes from the bakery inside.

“It’s been a couple hours,” he insisted, patting his stomach as he pulled into Billie’s apartment lot and parking beside her bright green hippie van. She had some sort of talisman hanging from the rearview full of feathers—likely ones she’d found—crystals, a tiny jar stuffed with herbs, and some weird eye bead. She probably got tickets about it all the time. But that wasn’t going to stop Billie.

“Want the chair?” Dezi asked as he hopped out.

I honestly did. My back was screaming again. There was just this irrational urge for me not to be in the chair again when I saw her. I felt weak enough when I needed her to help me in and out of my damn brace.

“Nah,” I said, turning toward my door.

I could have sworn I heard him mumble something about being stubborn, but he didn’t press it. Hell, the guy didn’t even slow down as he made his way through the lot. Luckily enough for me, Dezi walked at a slow swagger unless motivated by one of his favorite things. Since he wasn’t sure Billie had anything in her cupboards aside from dried herbs and oils, he was taking shit at a gingerly pace.

“It’s open!” Billie called when Dezi knocked.

“Of course it is,” I grumbled as Dezi opened the door, moving into Billie’s place.

“This looks like her. Smells like her too,” he added, and I hoped to hell he didn’t hear the growl that moved through me at the idea of him knowing what Billie smelled like. It was something I’d spent way too much time noticing myself. It wasn’t like that chemical shit that they put in lotions or perfumes. She had a very natural, herbal scent to her. But I was never able to figure out what it was.

“Sorry, sorry,” Billie called, breezing out of the bathroom in a pair of cutoff shorts and some sort of bra masquerading as a shirt, with just some fringe hanging down to create a peekaboo effect with her stomach.

I’d seen Billie a lot over the years. And I’d heard the infamous rumors about how free she was with her body. The girls constantly quipped about Billie stripping naked for yoga meditation or just because.

But I’d always seen her fully clothed somehow.

This was the first time I’d even seen a sliver of her stomach.

And the first time I saw the little crescent moon belly ring she had. Or the tattoo that half-disappeared into the bra-shirt.

“Oh, hey Dezi,” she said, giving him the warm smile she no longer ever gave to me, and I had to remind myself that I couldn’t be upset about it. I’d been the one to make that smile stop coming in my direction. “Looking like your usual sexy, unkempt self,” she added, and I swear my fucking stomach twisted at the words.

“Billie, the prettiest girl I’ve seen in…”

“Five minutes because you say that to all the girls?” Billie asked, smile going devilish.

“Well, I am a connoisseur of all women,” Dezi agreed, pressing a hand to his chest.

“Frequent eater at the Y, huh?” she asked. “Good for you. We ladies appreciate men like you,” she added.

“Give me a pair of nice, thick thighs to suffocate under, and I’d die a happy man,” Dezi declared. “Speaking of eating, though…”

“Help yourself,” Billie said, waving at the kitchen. “There’s a big batch of the best minestrone soup you will ever have in there,” she added.

And me?

I was fucking jealous of Dezi.

For getting to make sexual innuendos with Billie.