CHAPTER EIGHT

LINDY

I'm not sure how much time passes before my eyes open again, but the heavy weight of Timber is gone, bringing a surprising amount of regret with the realization.

"I'd take it easy if I were you. You had a rough night." A low voice calls from the kitchen as I sit up. Timber fills a glass with water before finding a bottle of pills in one of the drawers.

"Take these." He quickly drops the items on the floor by my head then shuffles away.

"Thanks. Where am I?" I wince at the rough sound of my voice. I never want to throw up again.

"In an apartment the club owns. We keep it on hand for when someone needs to be in Everton for a prolonged amount of time, or if they're too tired to make the drive back to Suitor's Crossing. Snow decided it was a good idea after Caroline's accident."

He leans against the kitchen counter and crosses his arms, causing his tattoos to ripple over the firm muscles. An expression of concern furrows his brows. "Do you remember anything about last night?"

"Only feeling awful. Did I pass out?"

Nodding his head, he gestures toward my phone on the carpet.

Why is this bed missing a frame?

"Your phone's been blowing up with messages since I let Snow and Caroline know what happened." There's a pause. "No judgment, but how much did you drink?"

"Half a beer, so not enough to warrant my body's reaction. Is it possible to get a bad batch?" I ask, remembering the local label on the bottle. My knowledge of breweries is basically zero, but I can't think of any other explanation for feeling sick. Stomach bugs don't usually appear then vanish within such a limited timespan.

After downing the ibuprofen, I skim my most recent texts and type out quick replies. Caroline and the rest of the girls can get the full story in-person when I'm not so groggy.

"I'm not sure. Maybe you were sensitive to one of the ingredients. But you're feeling better now?"

"Yeah, and the medicine should get rid of the remnants of a headache…" I trail off as I study the small apartment. There isn't much to it. Besides the kitchen table and chairs, the mattress lies on the floor, while a futon and a TV sitting on an overturned milk crate reside in the living room.

This really is just a pitstop for the MC guys.

Timber clears his throat. "I'm going to shower real quick, then we can hit the road. If you need anything, it'll be here." His hand waves around the kitchen then he leaves.

Not much of a talker.

But I knew that already.

"I'm going to lay back down. See if anything comes to mind about last night."

Crawling back under the blanket, I consciously avoid watching Timber head to the bathroom for a shower. He's going to be naked just on the other side of that thin door, and not for the first time, I wonder how far his tattoos extend.

Forget it. Now's not the time to salivate over Timber.

You're not looking for a relationship anytime soon, remember?

There's no harm in looking.

As my brain wages an internal war with my hormones, I punch the lumpy pillow and try to get comfortable. I must have really been out of it last night because, normally, I could never sleep with one measly pillow and a not-thick-at-all cover.

I like to be buried beneath as many pillows and heavy blankets as possible.

Guess Timber was a worthy substitute.