Page 90 of Jingle Belle's Biker

Not someone.

Nicholas. Saint.

A man who told my ex his real name and not me.

Crap, my heart also just hurts like it wants to cry. Because I think I know how I feel.

Before it was fine, I could deal. Now? I don’t want to have these emotions for him. Not the ones that I think are love.

He knocks again, and Nomad utters a soft meow. I stand, oven gloves in my hands, not moving.

Nomad mewls again.

“I know,” I hiss. “I’m a coward.”

“Belle, I fucking know you’re in there,” Saint says on the other side of the door. “Open up.” There’s a pause. “Before someone calls the cops and I’m arrested.”

I’m at the door before I realize.

“Maybe I should let them,” I say. Then I sniff. “Of course, your new best friend might rescue you.”

“You think I like the fuckwit.”

“I don’t know,” I snap. “Do you?”

His mouth lifts a little, but he’s wearing a frown, and his gaze . . . there’s remorse and something darker. “Can I come in, Belle? Please.”

“Sure. Nicholas.”

He winces. “Y’know, I thought I’d fucking told you.”

“Nope, there was something, I think about road names, and I never asked again, figuring you’d tell me.” I blink rapidly, eyes stinging and blurring.

I whirl away, taking in a sharp breath.

There’s still some whiskey here. I haven’t touched it since he brought it up here. I pour myself some into my glass of water.

“That’s sacrilege in some parts.”

I shoot him my sharpest look.

“Just fucking saying.” He moves into the kitchen, where I am, and leans against the counter.

On it’s my coffee cup from this morning, still with black coffee in it as I was running late.

He picks up the bottle of whiskey and pours some in, drinking it. “Not bad.”

“Are you trying to one-up me or distract me?”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

He sighs, running a hand over his head. “Should have told you my name. It’s worth noting there are a lot of people who don’t know anything but my road name.”

“Women?”

“Yes.”

---