CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Layla
God, it feels good to drive my own car again.
Even though it was way over the top as a gesture, my heart warms all the same with the idea of Sean having only known me for a couple days before getting my car towed to his mechanic and getting it fixed for me.
Sean may not even realize it, but he hasn’t just given me back my freedom from taking the bus.
He’s given me back a piece of my mother.
I settle with the reality that this is just what he does, and protesting these big acts of service won’t stop them.
I can try to pretend I’m in control of this situation, but I’m just not.
At this point, when it comes to me and Sean, I’m just along for the ride—and damn it feels good to just give in.
After my conversation with Dell this morning, I’ve realized there’s no one else on earth I care to impress or explain myself to. This is my life, and if anyone wants to judge me for jumping in too fast with the biker who has the biggest heart of any man I’ve ever known, so be it.
I turn the volume up and sing along with Dolly Parton as I drive home from The Palm with the windows down and the warm summer breeze blowing in. Even the inside of my car has never been so clean. It smells like vanilla.
It was the typical Saturday afternoon crowd during my shift today. Shoppers, tourists and couples getting out for a day date. Amber and Chantel were texting back and forth nonstop in our group chat about what each of them is wearing tonight.
The odd thing was that I missed the steady presence of Sean at the bar, though I know he has club business to tend to today.
I think of the past week and try to come to terms with Sean and me, and everything that’s happened as I pull into my driveway, dreaming about a hot shower and imagining the look in his eyes when he sees me after being apart all day.
It hits me then that I’m starting to crave that look. The one that tells me I’m the only woman on earth for him—and I already know I don’t want to let it go.
My house is quiet as I walk in and eat quickly, then shower, taking my time to blowdry and style my hair.
My phone rests on my bathroom counter playing Eric Church while I carefully apply my makeup and then select a lacy black thong and bra, and another set of the exact same style but in red.
I know both of them will drive Sean half mad when he sees them.
I snap a photo of them on my bed and send him the picture, asking him which one he prefers.
Even my house doesn’t seem lonely anymore as I lay out my clothes while I wait for his answer, knowing that very soon he’ll be with me, replacing the ghosts with new life and joy.
YOUR BOSS
Always red.
Christ, now I’m half hard while I’m working.
I smile down at my phone as I put on the red set and snap another photo blowing him a kiss, and hit send. My light jean shorts will be comfortable and cool for tonight in the warm clubhouse when it’s packed with people, and I toss on a black tank that fits me perfectly and makes my tits look great.
YOUR BOSS
Tell the girls not to bother, I’m coming to get you.
It’s a photo of his face in a scowl outside the clubhouse.
I laugh as I realize what he means: he’s coming here to have me first and he isn’t waiting for me to arrive at the club with Chantel and Amber.
I set my phone down on my dresser and fluff my hair in the mirror, then expertly apply my lipstick.
I’m mid-press of my lips when I hear the familiar creak of the back door.
I freeze, knowing Sean can’t be here yet, and knowing Dell is out with Mandy tonight.
I wait, looking around my room, not knowing what to do.
Didn’t I lock the door behind me when I came in? I can’t remember.
Then I hear footsteps. My heart rate skyrockets as I realize I have nothing here in my bedroom to protect myself with and no way out.
So I do the only thing I can think of and dial Sean’s number, put it on speaker and slide it under the pillow on the bed.
I turn as the footsteps get closer, and make to dart behind my heavy bedroom door as my heart pounds in my chest. I decide to slam the door against anyone who tries to come through it, but I’m not fast enough.
Before I can even get behind it, I’m faced with a man standing in the doorway.
He’s tall, thick. His hair is black; his eyes are piercing and dark. My eyes flit to the tattoo on his neck of a joker card. He’s a real person, but he’s also the sketch I’ve had memorized for almost two years and I’d know this face anywhere.