Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 63608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Because there he is.
Ledger “Riot” Masters.
Leaned against the counter, arms crossed over that broad chest that I know is covered in tribal tattoos, cut stretched over tight black short sleeves allowing the full sleeve designs of his ink to show. Black jeans that fit, but not painted on, relaxed, comfortable, casual. Down to his boots crossed at the ankle. He looks like sin soaked in sunlight—if sunlight was dangerous and had tattoos and a permanent scowl.
His eyes move up, meet mine.
The heat sparks for a split second in his gaze as my body temperature climbs instantly in his space.
Then it’s gone.
Just like that. His eyes are cold and unreadable.
Like he shut a door on me. Or built a wall in a single breath, what was there is no more.
I swallow hard. “Morning.”
“Hey.” His voice is low, rough, familiar enough that something traitorous inside me softens.
Ally shoots me a quick glance, the kind that says don’t start, don’t cry, don’t flip the bakery display case. Because honestly, I could do all of those things. I pretend not to see it.
“What brings you here?” I ask, walking behind the counter, keeping my tone casual.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Needed coffee.” He looks annoyed before explaining, “Chux brought Ally some shoes she forgot at home.”
He’s lying. Riot hates expensive coffee. He hates bakery coffee because he swears the sugar dust is in the air and falls into the cups. He says it tastes like sweetened dirt. He only ever orders coffee when he wants to see me.
Or… when he used to want to see me.
“Sure.” I grab a cup. “You want—?”
“Black.”
Short. Abrupt.
He’s been like this for days before I called it quits.
Honestly? Maybe weeks.
I just didn’t want to see it.
I pour his coffee, set it down, but before I can step away, his hand closes around the cup—and his fingers brush mine.
Every cell in my body lights up.
Riot goes still, jaw tightening, eyes locked on my hand like he didn’t mean to touch me. Or like he meant to but regrets it.
And suddenly I can’t breathe. The elephant sitting on my chest feels heavier than ever before.
“Kelly…” he starts.
Nope. No. Absolutely not.
“Save it,” I state quietly, pulling my hand back. “We’re not doing that thing where you try to talk casually and I pretend it’s fine. This dance we’ve been doing was fun while it lasted. We agreed. No need to act some kind of way.”
His brows pull together. “I’m not—”
I cut him off throwing my hand up. “You are.” I force a brittle smile. “But don’t worry. I get it.”
He stares at me, unreadable. The kind of look that used to make me blush and laugh and roll my eyes. Now it just makes my stomach twist.
Ally calls my name walking back in, probably sensing tension thick enough to cut with a knife even from where she was outside.
“I need a minute,” I tell her not looking at Riot. “Cover the counter?”
She nods walking directly to the pastry counter giving Chux a nod.
I look at Ledger, “a single second of your time?” I ask hoping this will give me the closure I so desperately need.
Riot doesn’t move as I step around the counter, motioning him toward the hallway.
This has been simmering too long.
Boiling.
Burning.
It’s time.
He follows me, boots heavy on the tile. When we reach the small hallway by the storage room, I turn to face him.
He towers over me, but I don’t back down.
Not today.
“What’s going on?” I ask, arms crossed to keep from shaking.
“Nothing,” he replies instantly.
“No.” I shake my head. “Don’t do that. Don’t give me the bare-minimum biker answer.”
His jaw clenches. “Kelly—”
“I’m serious, Riot. We can’t keep doing this. We had an agreement.”
Silence.
I hate how fast my heart is beating.
How scared I am of his answer. The way the anxiety rises inside me with every passing breath.
How terrified I am that I already know what he’s going to say.
“We said no strings,” he finally replies. “You’re the one who wanted that.”
I laugh. It’s sharp, humorless. “Yeah, back when you actually acted like you liked me.”
His brow lifts in challenge. “I never said I didn’t.”
“You never said you did either.”
He goes quiet.
And that—that’s the problem.
He doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t fight.
He doesn’t reach for me.
He just stands there like a stone while my heart breaks in a thousand silent, pathetic little pieces.
“Riot,” I whisper, “if you don’t want this anymore, just say it. I thought we could be friends.”
His eyes flick away for a second. Just a second. But it’s enough.
Enough for me to see the truth:
He’s already gone.
He’s been gone.
And I’ve been holding onto a ghost.
“Kelly…” His voice is low. “We shouldn’t have done this shit. I can’t give you anything good.”
There it is.
Six words.
A knife to the ribs.
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
He blinks like he wasn’t expecting that answer.
“You’re right,” I add, lifting my chin. “This doesn’t make sense anymore. Maybe we shouldn’t have done it in the first place. I didn’t think it was all bad. But I understand where you are now.”