Page 71 of The Fire We Crave

I put my hands on the top of the door frame, reveling in the sting it brings me. Never been a masochist before, but there’s something darkly comforting when the hurt kicks in. “Nah, I’m good, sugar. And it might be better if you stay…just until we have a better handle on why they came back.”

Relief flashes through her features, and her shoulders drop. “Really? Thank you. I was dreading coming back.”

There’s another collision inside of me. Doesn’t every man dream of being the provider? The one who creates the safe place for his person to thrive. Giving Quinn a safe place she’s relieved to return to fills a void in me. But there’s the off-key note too. That I’m not the man for her. That I’m following my dick down a path I might not want to be on.

What right do I have to be looking for a relationship, anyhow?

I wish I could erase the uncertainty. It’s stopping me from moving forward.

From being happy.

The three words catch me off-guard. Because that’s how I felt about her when I arrived. Seeing her made me fucking happy.

Sunshine in the gray.

She comes from around the counter. “You shouldn’t stand like that, you know.”

“It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt.”

She smiles wryly. “I’m not talking about your injuries. There’s a trend going around on social media where you get your man to stand…wait, I’m not saying you’re my man or anything…but they stand like that because it makes their biceps pop and makes them look looming?”

Her cheeks went pink when she said I wasn’t her man or anything.

And she’s babbling a little by the end.

“Looming?” I ask.

She looks up at me and gestures at the distance between the two of us. “Looming.”

I glance at my biceps. “Are theypopping?”

She blushes some more. “I don’t think you need me blowing smoke up your butt to tell you they are.”

“Come here, Quinn.” My words are commanding, and like the sweet submissive she is, she does as I say.

I don’t know what I thought I was going to do to make things right between us beyond dinner, but I find myself compelled to touch her. I reach for her chin and tug her a little closer, before kissing her.

She sighs as my lips brush hers. Then, her eyes flutter closed.

Mine do too.

It’s soft.

I remember something Halo, a brother from the New Jersey chapter, kept saying, about how your woman should be your soft place to land.

And, fuck me, I’ve turned into someone I don’t even know.

Not sure when I decided to ditch being the road captain of a motorcycle club and become some kind of fucking poet who waxes lyrical about relationships.

I take a small step back. “I’m taking you to dinner.”

“You are?” Quinn smiles. All sunshine and rainbows here in poet-land. “Is this a date?”

I shrug. “It’s the two of us eating out for a change.”

“So, a date?”

“Will it make you get your ass in gear a little quicker if I agree it’s a date?”

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