Page 7 of Blaze

A shower won’t get rid of the bags under my eyes, but I’ll feel like a human again at least. I don’t let myself linger under the hot spray despite enjoying the steady water pressure, and after a through scrub and a quick shave of my legs and pits, it’s like I’m a whole new person.

Now if only I had clean clothes to put on. My skin crawls at the idea of putting any of my clothes back on. It’s been about a week since I broke down and spent two hours at a laundromat to properly wash them.

Deciding to delay the inevitable, I peek out of the bathroom then pad to the bedroom wrapped in the towel. I stop, my hand still on the door, at the brown, polka dotted peasant dress lying at the end of the bed and a pair of underwear and a bralette with a note on top.

Picking it up, I smile after reading it. Sydney isn’t so bad, after all.

Dropping the towel to my feet, I pull on the clean panties. Sydney and I are close enough in size that they fit fine, even if they show more cheek than they’re supposed to. She’s got more boob than me, though, and I decide to forego the bralette as I pull on the fresh dress with a happy sigh. It’s lavender scented but faint enough that it’s clearly been a long time since she last wore it. Given the outfit she was wearing, this soft style of a dress doesn’t really seem like her.

It has a simple peasant style top with a wide neck and a drawstring in the center, short puffed sleeves, and a narrow ruffle below my hips. Sydney probably fills the top out better, but a quick pull on the drawstring’s bow tie fixes that for me, although no amount of tugging will make the dress fall lower than mid-thigh. It’s the same type of dress I’ve seen on city girls aiming for cowgirl chic. All I need are some cowboy boots and a denim jacket to perfect the look.

Enzo would have had a screaming fit if he saw me in this.

The sounds of motorcycles break the silence of the room. I tug the waist of the dress to sit right as I sneak over to the windows, my heart rate picking up. There’s no reason I should be hiding, but something about looking down on the parking lot feels illicit. Another biker is there, the big tattooed one that I noticed in the corner with the others. I roll my lips, catching them between my teeth when I see Blaze sitting on his bike.

Heat rolls through me and it’s got nothing to do with the sun coming in. Even from this angle, he looks so massive, his thighs like tree trunks hugging the sleek design of his black bike.

A part of me silently prays that he’ll look up and see me watching him.

When he doesn’t, my shoulders drop and I push away from the window, scolding myself. I cup my neck with both hands.

“Get it together, girl,” I say aloud before puffing my cheeks and blowing out a breath. “First, get something to eat. Then see if Sydney will let me use her washer and dryer, then figure out the car situation. Okay? Okay.”

Done talking to myself, I head out to do the tasks I’ve set.

The kitchen is spread along one of the walls, with the sink, oven, and stove all in the same row of cabinets and the fridge tucked in at the end. A long farmhouse dining table with chairs only on one side separates the kitchen from the rest of the living room. Like Sydney warned, there isn’t much but there’s enough to make a simple ham and cheese sandwich, and I grab a Coke after a moment’s hesitation. I sit at the table to eat since I’m not sure what Sydney’s views are on eating at the couch.

When I’m almost done, I hear the door open down below and then hurried footsteps. I swallow my bite just as someone who definitely isn’t Sydney comes up the stairs.

“You must be Claire,” the cheerful and heavily pregnant woman says as she walks over to me. “Do you do hugs? I’m a hugger.”

“Uh, sure?” Before the words are fully out, she’s hugging me tight enough I squeak.

“I’m Lacy,” she introduces herself when she lets me go. “I usually help Sydney downstairs, but I’m supposed to be taking it easy with the baby and all.” She pats her protruding belly.

Where Sydney is all tall hardlines and compact curves with a mean glare, Lacy barely comes up to my chin with the curves of a plus-size model and a cheerful disposition. Her blonde hair is cut in a stylish bob at her chin, and she’s wearing denim shorts with a cleavage-baring bright pink V-neck that stretches snug over her large baby-rounded belly. I instantly like her.

“Mind if I sit?” she asks but she’s already making her way to the large sofa set in the center of the living room. She sits on the beige thing with an oof that makes me smile, then props her feet up on the black coffee table that’s strewn with open mail and a book set upside down to save the place. “My ankles have been swollen since I was nineteen weeks, I tell ya. Sometimes I think letting Cinder knock me up was a mistake, no matter how great his cock is.”

Boy, am I glad I wasn’t drinking anything when she says that.

Lacy pats the cushion next to her and sends me an inviting look over her shoulder. “Come sit! Oh, before you do, can you get me the pint of mango sorbet? I know she’s got one in there, and the baby needs it.” When she sees me hesitate, she laughs, and I swear she sounds like sunshine. “Don’t worry about getting in trouble. She’s okay if I eat it. Just no one else is allowed.”

“Okay,” I say, drawing out the response. It takes me a minute, but I’m able to spot the sorbet hidden in the back of the freezer, then I’m sitting next to the tiny but bossy pregnant woman and handing off the illicit goods.

“So, you’re the one Blaze and Chainz brought in? Bad luck breaking down out there, but it’s good timing. A day earlier or later and the Knights would have missed you.” She pries off the top of the sorbet and tries to dig the spoon into the frozen treat, frowning when it’s still too hard to cooperate. Lacy keeps talking, though. “Don’t worry. Blaze and Brute are ace mechanics. They’ll get you fixed right up, even if it takes a few days.”

I tuck a foot under me and lean back. The couch might be an ugly beige, but it’s definitely comfortable, just like the rest of what I’ve seen of the apartment. The place is clearly owned by someone who takes pride in where they live. An armchair in matching beige sits beside the couch, a green afghan draped over the back of it. On the wall is a decent-sized TV with the cable system set up in a small entertainment center that matches the coffee table. Windows let in the afternoon light through gauzy blue drapes, and there are a few personal framed photos sitting on the built-in bookshelves which stretch along the wall leading towards Sydney’s bedroom. There are books too, but their spines are all facing the wall, so I have no idea what they are since I can only see the cream-colored page ends.

“I’m hoping if they can’t fix it tomorrow that I can trade it in for a new car,” I say when she looks at me expectedly.

Her brows shoot up. “Well, you probably won’t have any luck there,” she tells me.

Disappointment tangles with nerves in my stomach.

Lacy gestures around us with the spoon. “Small town like this, we drive our cars till they die, and if we need a new one, we head to one of the bigger cities.”

“Damn,” I mutter, and she cocks her head.

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