Page 7 of Blade
Despite my control, one side of my mouth rose in a half grin that I was damn sure made me fit every stereotype of a dirty biker, but I couldn’t help it.
I didn’t hide it when I adjusted myself in my jeans, either.
“Put some clothes on if you want to have a conversation, because from where I’m standing, I won’t hear afuckingword you say. Pun intended.”
Then I winked at her.
“UGH!” She ran from the room as Grams stepped into the kitchen.
“Blade.” Grams raised her eyebrow, giving me a knowing look that left me feeling suitably chastised.
“I couldn’t help it, Grams. I didn’t think she would be up yet. The Becca I knew wouldn’t be up before noon without a fire alarm.”
“You’re right, she isn’t the Becca you knew. She’s Beck now.”
“True.” I sighed. “Which reminds me, I wanted to talk to you about something, but we need to hurry before she comes back downstairs. She can’t know who I am. I need to keep my distance. She doesn’t deserve anymore heartbreak.”
“You don’t think she will be more heartbroken when she learns the truth?”
“That’s my point. I don’t want her to learn the truth.”
Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, I poured myself some coffee before heading out to mow the lawn. Kissing Grams on the cheek, I turned to reiterate my stance.
“I won’t be stopping back in after I’m done. I’ll come back after I shower to take you to the store though. Please be ready because I won’t come in then either. I’ll honk when I get back.”
“You can’t avoid her forever.”
Grams’ words followed me out the door.
I knew she spoke the truth, but like hell if I wouldn’t try for as long as I could.
Chapter Three
Beck
Oh my God, the nerve of him!
A few days ago, he couldn’t bear to sit at a table with me, and today he walked in like he owned the place and stood there leering at me.
UGH!
Seriously, what was wrong with him? I just needed to put some clothes on when something caught my attention.
What was that noise?
Walking over to the window, I looked out and saw him.
Was he mowing the lawn? Why was he mowing Grams’ lawn?
Dagnabbit!
How could he possibly be doing something nice? He was a jerk. He needed to stay a jerk.
Running down the stairs, I found Grams sitting at the table in the kitchen.
“Grams, what is he doing?”
“He’s mowing the lawn, dear.”
