Page 22 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Biker

Her hand found my shoulder. The tattoo that ran down my arm — the ink she'd looked at across a garage more times than she probably thought I'd noticed. She traced it with her fingertip.

I'd spent years not letting myself want this.

I let myself.

I came back up her body. Kissed the underside of her jaw. My beard caught against her skin, and she made a sound low in her throat that I was going to replay in my head for weeks.

"Grim."

"I know."

"I want⁠—"

"I know."

Her fingers tangled in my hair. When I finally moved over her, it was because she'd told me to. She met me halfway and stayed there.

I braced my forearms on either side of her head. Watched her face. Everything I'd been holding down for years and no reason left to hold it.

"I've got you," I said.

"I know."

We didn't say much after that.

Afterward, the room fell quiet.

Hannah’s leg sprawled across my stomach, her breathing evening out. Her hair tickled my jaw. One hand rested on my chest, her fingers spread over my heart.

I stared at the ceiling and let myself think about ordinary things like her toothbrush in my bathroom and her shoes by the door. Coffee for two every morning instead of one.

I wasn't imagining a wedding weekend. I was imagining Tuesday, then Wednesday. I wanted every normal day between now and whatever came next.

Hannah shifted slightly, her breath warm against my neck.

I thought about how much easier it would have been if I'd told her the truth the morning after she drunk-texted me. If I'd been honest instead of playing along.

I'd say more of it out loud. Soon.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I just held her and let myself want something without hiding it.

For the first time in years, that felt like enough.

CHAPTER 7

HANNAH

I woke wrapped in warmth and the scent of cedar mixed with motor oil.

Grim's arm curved around my waist, his breath slow and even against my shoulder. Hank's soft snores drifted from somewhere near the foot of the bed.

I didn't move. Didn't want to disturb the quiet weight of this moment.

Last night had felt inevitable. Like everything leading up to it had been carefully stacked dominoes, and we'd finally let the first one fall. But morning had a way of bringing reality with it.

I eased out from under Grim's arm and found my dress crumpled on the floor.