Page 69 of Mensa's Match

After Mensa and Finn hauled the love seat out to the dumpster, I grabbed my purse, and locked the door.

The moment Mensa drove his bike toward the Gulf, irritation coursed through my veins. I tapped on his shoulder as he put his Harley in a higher gear. “What are you doing? I need to go home!”

When he stopped at a red light a few minutes later, he looked over his shoulder. “Woman, you also gotta eat and we didn’t hit the store. We’re headed to Dontrell’s for a gyro.”

Funny how being hangry could sneak up on me. I’d been hungry when I brought in the last moving box, then I'd forced food out of my mind at Har’s place.

“Fine,” I muttered.

His body shook with laughter.

“Don’t gloat,” I said right when traffic started to move.

Minutes later, we walked into DeeLight’s and I froze at the angry look Donny aimed at us.

“Houston, you aren’t safe with him.”

I laughed. “Not sure if I’m safe with any man these days – at least that’s what my father tells me.” Donny’s expression softened and I smiled. “How are you holding up?”

The way he eyed Mensa, I suspected I’d get anything but a straight answer. “Been as busy as the first day I opened. Never realized how much people care.”

His honesty floored me.

“Now you know,” I said with a smile.

Donny exhaled through his nose. “The investigators think I did it. You believe that shit?”

My stomach plummeted and I kept myself from nodding. “It’s unfortunate, but insurance companies often look at owners first. Sort of like how spouses are top suspects in domestic murders.”

Mensa edged closer to the counter. “Didn’t you tell them about the Corrupt Chrome MC and Rod’s threat to you?”

Dontrell’s eyes hardened. “You don’t have kids. Not gonna do a damn thing that puts my son in danger.”

“You being in jail puts him in more danger,” Mensa countered.

They were both right.

“Be honest with the investigators, Donny,” I said.

“Something happens to Demetrius, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“You got a decent lawyer?” Mensa asked.

“You gonna refer me to somebody?” Donny asked, aiming severe side-eye at Mensa.

“He might. His lawyer helped me out,” I said.

Donny gave me a stern look. “You know that’s different.”

Mensa cleared his throat. “President of my club has ties to the Biloxi Fire Department. Good chance he knows someone who can help.”

Donny ignored that. “You here for food or what?”

I nodded and placed my order.

We carried four bags of groceries into my apartment.

Straightening from the crisper drawer, and closing the fridge, I turned to Mensa. “Did you mean what you said to Donny? Har might be able to help him?”

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