Page 13 of False Start

Gerald smirked. “I’d listen to her. She’s stronger than you.”

“Shut it, Gerald,” Milton said with a glower at his…nemesis? Friend? Some days it was hard to tell.

Rolling my eyes, I bit back a grin as I walked away. A smile would only encourage them, and I’d lose all control on a morning when I didn't have the energy or stamina for more.

I loved the old farts, but they’d better behave. With the relentless pain keeping me company, they might just be able to overpower me at the moment. Not that they’d put their hands on me, but they’d put their hands on each other a time or two and I’d had to get between them.

They were spry little turds at six in the morning. That’s what happens when you go to bed at eight.

As for me, I think my eyes finally closed at about one. Which was stupid on my part when I had to clock in at five in the morning, but after the information dump on a certain sexy, shunned coach at Banked Track the night before, and the pain from the shittiest bout of the season, there was no amount of alcohol powerful enough to silence the shitstorm in my head and the throbbing vibrating through my body with every breath.

Pulling out my pad, I tapped my pen against the paper and smiled at the robust, hulking man dwarfing the corner table. “Good morning, Sheriff. What can I get for you this morning?”

“Morning, Maisy. I’m actually waiting for someone, so if I could just get a cup of coffee while—oh, never mind, he’s here.”

“Sorry, I’m late.”

I froze at the familiar voice behind me and sunk my teeth into my lip to stifle the yelp from the spasm set off in my back.

Moving aside, I gave him room while he peeled off his jacket and wrapped it around the back of his chair. Worn blue jeans stretched tight over muscular thighs as he slid into his seat. The cable knit sweater he favored the night before had been replaced by a white t-shirt covered with unbuttoned blue-and-black flannel, the sleeves rolled up to just past his elbows.

Light-brown hair sprinkled over corded muscles. A spattering of freckles dotted his skin. Thick veins peeked out from the underside of his forearms as he interlaced his long fingers and propped his joined hands on the table.

There should be a law against a flaming asshole having so much hand and arm porn at his disposal.

Fucking forearms.

“Mayhem,” he said quietly with a brief nod. His deep molten voice dragging out the word longer than normal.

“Priest,” I deadpanned despite the dust storm that had just surged up my esophagus, turning the inside of my mouth into the Sahara.

The sheriff’s tired eyes widened, and he glanced between the two of us. “You two know each other?”

His lips twitched. “You might say that.”

His smug tone made my fingers itch to reach out and touch him—hard—but I fought the urge to smack him in the back of the head with a menu. Awfully adult of me all things considered. “Only if you’re a liar. No, we don’t know each other.”

“I know that tone,” the sheriff said with a husky laugh. “You’re in trouble, Bishop.”

“There’s a shocker,” Priest muttered with a dismissive snort.

The sheriff leaned back in his seat and crossed his meaty arms. “Don’t let his surly disposition fool you. He’s got more integrity than anyone I know.”

“Hmmm, is that right?” I flicked a glance at the stubborn man in question. Mired in scandal, whispered about around town, but beloved by Patti and now the sheriff.

The pieces didn’t fit, but I wouldn’t ask around, it wasn’t my style. I sure as hell didn’t like the whispering around town about me over the years before I formed a few bonds here, so I wouldn’t be a party to doing the same to someone else.

I’d always been a transplant to this town where familial roots run deep, with no real ties but for derby, and it took me five years of living here before I even found that. Our team had plans. That meant not blowing it and losing the semi-comfortable little pocket in the world I’d struggled to make here. And getting close to Priest could only mean casting doubt on our team and ruining every bit of hard work we’d been putting in for so long.

He’d turned his attention on me for a brief moment in time, but the time passed. The season was over. I’d stay out of his way and if he was as wonderful as the sheriff thought he was, he’d stay out of mine. “I’ll be back in a minute with coffee and to take your order.”

By the time I made it back to the counter, Gerald had moved over next to Milton. “What did I say?” I snapped, filling two mugs with one hand while reaching for the salt shaker in front of Milton with the other.

Every day they trained me more and more for motherhood I wasn’t even sure I wanted.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, trying to beat me to the goods. “He came my way, Maisy Jane. I’m the victim here.”

I pulled my hand back and left the salt in front of him, then pierced Gerald with a hard glare. “You remember, I touch your food before you do. Understood?”

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