CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

LINDY

An opportunity to chat with Gideon arrives the next night when the club celebrates MC VP Fox's birthday and his work to solidify the deal with McCoy Security, a local firm who will handle the majority of the Reaper's Wolves security needs from now on.

Gideon is on the sidelines with a few club prospects, a beer in hand, and I swear I feel his eyes on me every so often, but whenever I check, he's focused on the conversation happening around him rather than me.

"No time like the present," Amelie says, staring pointedly at the man in question. Caroline and Faith follow her sightline and nod in encouragement.

Time to woman up.

Blowing out a hard exhale, I swallow the last of my water bottle—alcohol is off-limits for the time being considering what went down at Rust—and head toward the other side of the room. Rock music blares in the background as I weave through groups of Reaper's Wolves members, biker bunnies, and townie friends of each.

When Gideon is within hearing distance, my chin tips to the side, gesturing down the hall. "Can we talk in private for a minute?"

The wary expression on his face morphs into surprise, before he nods and follows me away from the loud party to an empty room dominated by a large conference table and chairs.

This must be where they hold club meetings.

"I'm sorry for how I reacted the other night," I blurt out the moment we're alone. No preamble. Straight to the point.

He jerks as if I tasered him with a volt of electricity. Maybe I did. It's obvious he expected something other than an apology.

"You don't have to apologize…"

"Yes, I do. It wasn't fair to freak out on you like that." I take a deep breath. Time to lay it on the line. "I could give you a lot of excuses for what happened. You're the first man I've been interested in since Dean. I didn't expect things to get hot and heavy so fast when that's never been my M.O. But it all boils down to being overwhelmed and not knowing how to handle the crash of emotions."

Timber shifts to take a step forward then stops himself, remaining stationed out of arm's reach. "Again, you don't have to apologize. Whatever the reason, it's valid. I never intended to push you too hard or too fast into something you didn't want. I can't tell you how much I regret—"

"No." I close the gap between us, and my fingertips cover his bottom lip. "No regrets. That's not what I'm saying. I've had a lot of time to think since that night. Long conversations with my therapist, too. And I'd like to try again, if that's okay. I totally understand if I've got too much baggage or—"

This time, Gideon is the one to stop me, his callused palm cupping my cheek. "I'm in. However you want me. However slow you need. I'm in. I've been in since that first day I saw you drive onto the compound—brave and beautiful."

"Yeah?" It's hard to believe he took one look at me, especially on a day where frazzled nerves were my norm, and thought I was beautiful or brave, but the truth is in his eyes.

And when he confirms it with a decisive nod then a hesitant kiss on my forehead, I melt into his strong arms, a little less worried about our future.

Maybe there's something behind that legend of heart sparks , after all.

***

Over the next couple of weeks, Gideon and I hang out almost everyday. Grabbing coffee at Crossing's Cups & Cakes. Splurging on games and Miss Patty's Rose Lemonades at Apple Fest. He even took me on the prettiest ride on his motorcycle through the mountains, where autumn colors reigned supreme.

True to his word, the physical aspect of our relationship moved at a glacial pace—never exceeding chaste hand holding and kisses on the cheek or forehead.

I have no right to be disappointed. It's exactly what I said I wanted.

But sexual frustration builds each time we're together and nothing happens.

Hypocrite , I chastise myself for being so fickle.

I can't freak out that first night then wish it would happen again so soon, but it's getting harder and harder to ignore my body's needs amongst all the talking and being near him ninety-percent of the time.

My cabin comes into view after a day at the zoo, and Gideon slows to a stop. "Don't forget your monkey!" He opens the black container attached to his motorcycle and removes the inflatable monkey he bought me.

"How could I forget Martin?" I laugh at his silliness. All I did was play with the little primate for a minute, and the next thing I knew, Gideon bought it for me.

The green monkey sits in one arm as I pull my purse over my shoulder, smiling at today's events. Our dates have focused on getting to know each other, despite being friends for a year already.

He told me about his life growing up with an uncle who sounds awful, and it hurts to know he suffered through that kind of abuse. I shared my family background and some more about Dean, which wasn't as difficult as I thought it'd be.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Gideon asks as he walks me to the front door. I nod my head, accept an innocent kiss to my cheek, then wave goodbye before entering the cabin. He waits to make sure I'm safe inside—listening for the locks to engage—then straddles his bike and turns toward the clubhouse.

Damn, he looks good on that thing. All that hard muscle and gleaming metal creating a picture-perfect image for a Hotties of the MC World calendar.

That should definitely be a thing. I'd buy a dozen.

Imagining twelve months full of Gideon in various states of undress with his motorcycle as a prop, I drop my things off on the kitchen table. The refrigerator opens with a sticky crackling sound as I survey the options for dinner then deflate at the threadbare contents.

"Dammit," I mutter under my breath.

I was supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday but got caught up in the romance novel our club is reading. One about an uptight billionaire who becomes obsessed with his pregnant assistant.

Some readers might hate the pregnancy/baby tropes but not me. I fucking love to see a man take care of his woman and child—even if the kid may not be biologically his.

The clock on the stove shows that it's still early enough for the local grocery store to be open, so I reluctantly close the fridge and snag my purse, leaving Martin the Monkey behind.