One Click Love by T Gephart

Author:T Gephart [Gephart, T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: T Gephart
Published: 2020-07-14T16:00:00+00:00

Mack

DINNER WITH HAYDEN had been great.

Determined for it to be a regular date, I dropped her home a few hours earlier so she could get ready, and then took her to a small bistro not far from where she lived. It didn’t have the noise or craziness of Gino’s, but the food was great and I got to hold her hand without some asshole picking up the phone and telling my entire battalion.

Not that I gave a shit what people thought, willing to hear jokes about me dating again until the end of time if it meant I got to be with her.

It fucking bewildered me she had no idea how beautiful she was. Or how much I wanted to be with her, looking at me doe-eyed and surprised when I whispered all the things I wanted to do to her the minute I got back.

That was the other thing, not many women would have been so understanding. She didn’t know Tibbs or Presley, and other than giving her the basic rundown, had no idea what kind of cocksucker Lewis was. Would have been easy for her to dig in her heels, remind me it had been my idea to take her to that stupid club and not given two shits about anyone else. Probably would have been fair too, considering I’d been such a hard ass about keeping commitments.

But she hadn’t even blinked, insisting I go and being completely cool about it. And not going to lie, initially I did think it might have been some kind of test. Melinda used to do it all the time, tell me she was “fine” with something only to throw it back in my face. To say it was confusing was an understatement. But Hayden was nothing like Melinda. And fuck me, was I into her more than I thought was possible.

“You sure it was the shit stain’s Audi?” I asked Tibbs, my truck idling in the parking lot of the Cineplex in Flushing. While I trusted Lucas from 151’s word, I wanted some kind of reassurance we weren’t going to jack up some oblivious tool who would—quicker than shit—file a harassment charge.

Tibbs kept his eyes on the parking lot, cars filled with teenagers or couples on dates accounted for most of the traffic. “Yep, he said the plate numbers were different, but he has that stupid holographic sticker on his bumper. He thinks he’s a fucking DJ, and it’s his dumbass logo.” He rolled his eyes.

Even if he had amnesia—forgetting Lewis brandished a gun in his sister’s face and broke into her apartment—he’d been less than impressed with Presley’s choice. I’d only met the guy twice, and that was enough for me to agree he wasn’t someone I’d want my family around.

“How do we know it’s not some other jerkoff’s Audi with the same sticker?” I tapped the steering wheel, wondering what the chances were he was still in the neighborhood. He had to know Presley would have made a statement, and at the very least the police would haul him in for questioning.

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