Page 17 of Redeeming Rabbit

“She…” It should have been a simple answer, but I couldn’t think of a single reason I couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was everything. With no other way to explain that, I blurted out the truth. “She’s the total package. I know she’s out of my league, but why wouldn’t I do everything I can to spend more time with her?”

“Jesus, Rabbit.”

“What?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sometimes I forget you don’t have a filter. You say whatever pops into your brain.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked. “I no longer have a drill sergeant trying to physically exorcise the smartass out of me when I tell the truth.”

He weighed my words for a moment and nodded. “It’s one trait I like best about you. I never have to wonder where you stand. Think you can handle seeing her again?”

“Yes.” The word sounded a hell of a lot more confident than I felt. I’d had a fucking episode this morning, but he’d barely gotten the question out before I’d volunteered. I was just like the preschoolers I saw once a month, so desperate to be picked that I was seconds from jumping and waving my hand in the air.

“Good. Go tell her about Matt and maybe try to get her phone number or something.”

I cracked a smile. “This feels a little like the blind leading the blind.”

He scowled at me. “I’m doing you a fucking favor. For once in your life, can you not be a dick to me? If today’s like yesterday, she’ll be home from the gym around six.”

I was going to see her again. Memories of our last conversation sped my pulse and made me question whether that was a good idea. “What if she doesn’t want to see me?”

Morse pulled out his chair and plunked his ass back onto it. “Listen. I’ve created the opportunity. Take advantage of it or don’t; that’s on you. But do me a favor and text me either way. If you decide not to go, I’ll call and let her know the bastard’s been sniffing around. She should be aware, so she knows to be cautious.”

I nodded, still unable to verbally commit to a course of action even though I had no choice. How the fuck could I resist seeing her again? I couldn’t. It would be stupid—especially considering this morning’s events—but I was going to Elenore’s. I had to.

He waved me toward the door. “Go. I’m busy.” He was already typing away.

“I thought you had a meeting with Link.”

“Made that shit up so I wouldn’t have to deal with you.”

Shaking my head, I chuckled, grateful Morse always spoke his mind, too. “I’ll go see her.”

“You’d be stupid not to. Just don’t stare at her rack the whole time.”

Saluting him with my middle finger, I turned and walked out the door, my mind spinning. Elenore would be home around six. Would she really give me her number?

I had to plan my attack.

And I had to find my fucking bike.

8

Elenore

Afamiliar tattooed biker was pacing in front of the entrance to my apartment building when I arrived home from the gym Monday evening. So, I did what any badass would. I panicked, ducked behind a bushy arborvitae, and attempted to figure out why he was there. It couldn’t be Tina and Dylan. I’d received a facetious, “Yes, Mom, I’m fine” text from my sister less than ten minutes ago. Still, Rabbit couldn’t be here of his own accord. Yesterday, he’d made it clear he never planned to return. Despite his run-if-you-see-me insinuation, he’d been on my mind periodically all day.

And now he was here.

Butterflies salsa danced in my stomach. Such a daft idiom for what was physically happening inside my body. His unexpected presence triggered a typical stress reaction. Blood vessels constricted, and digestive muscles contracted, creating a drop in blood flow. It was a reaction caused by anxiety, not affection. My stomach likely would have fluttered no matter which biker had been waiting for me in front of my apartment.

And if I told myself that enough times, maybe I would believe it.

Taking a deep breath to relax my suddenly haywire nerves, I tried on a smile before realizing there was no need to fake the pleasantry. I was genuinely happy to see him and needed to roll back my excitement. Rabbit was fascinating, while most people bored me to intellectual oblivion.

I got myself under control, stepped away from my hiding spot, and approached, noting the faded grease stains on his jeans. He drummed fingers against his thighs in three-tap successions as he paced. Nervous energy rolled off him in waves as he muttered to himself, sounding agitated. He was so consumed by his one-sided rant he didn’t appear to notice me. Not wanting to startle him, I spoke up.

“Hey, Roger.”

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