Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
I swallow hard and tuck the photo under the edge of the mattress. Then I dig deeper in the bag until I find the little pouch of makeup I’ve carried for years. It’s not much—a cracked mirror, mascara, lip gloss. But I put it on like armor.
I need to feel like I belong here.
Like I’m not just some stray Little Foot dragged in off the street.
I open his closet, find a black tank top that smells like him—a hint of smoke, leather, and something warm underneath—and slip it on. Then I find a pair of his sweatpants and roll the waistband.
By the time he walks in, I’ve cleaned the trailer, made the bed, and started a load of laundry.
He stops in the doorway, helmet in hand, brows lifted.
“You do all this?”
I shrug. “Felt weird just sitting around.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s used to girls who expect things. Not ones who clean up first.
I walk over to him, eyes searching his. “What now?”
He exhales. “Now, we make them believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“We’re together.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “This feels scary,” I tell him the truth. “I don’t have any guarantee. I can’t even get back home if I wanted to. I have nothing but you, you’re a stranger.”
“Then marry me.”
It’s a statement not a question. “What!” I can’t hold back my shriek.
“Marry me. Then I’m not a stranger, I’m your man. No one can question whether you belong. You can have access to my money, my house, my rides. You wanna go home, I can arrange it or have Dre do it. I told you when we pulled in, if you didn’t want to stay here, I would take you to my sister’s.”
“I know you did, but Drew I don’t know her either. This feels insane.”
He smirks, “because it is. Look, I gotta take you to the clubhouse at some point because this is my life. I don’t want you uncomfortable and I don’t want you questioning if you belong. We tell everyone we got married, eloped. See how they take it. Then you can decide if you want to really take the leap. If not, I can tell them I got it annulled and you went home. If things work out then I’ll make sure we do the real thing and I’ll make you my wife.”
“You make this sound simple and it’s anything but.”
“The marriage?”
“Yeah. It can be easy or it can be complicated, that’s up to you.” He shrugs.
He never pressures me. It’s like he knows what he wants, but he’s not going to push. I can figure this out at my own pace. I nod. “Okay.”
He touches my jaw, just a light brush. “You sure about this?”
No.
But I nod anyway.
Because I need this. I need a new start. And maybe pretending to be someone’s wife isn’t the worst way to begin.
Besides, if I’m going to play the part...I’m going to play it right.
Who knows maybe in the end we will want this? If not, at least I have a way out having access to his money. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to force me into something.
Even though I really have no experience with men, I trust my gut in this.
After breakfast, Little Foot takes me to the compound.
The clubhouse sits at the center of the property like a fortress—low brick walls, tall pine trees lining the edge of the lot, and rows of bikes that shine under the sun like black and chrome warhorses. There are men already outside, smoking, drinking, working on their rides. They stop what they’re doing the second we pull in.
Little Foot doesn’t flinch. He rides straight up the middle like he owns the place.
I stay behind him, hands on his waist, trying to mimic the confidence he wears like a second skin. But my stomach twists as I see the way the others look at me—curious, suspicious, a little predatory.
He parks near the garage and helps me off the bike. I smooth down the tank top and adjust the waistband of his sweats, trying to hide how nervous I am.
“Just stay close to me,” he says under his breath. “You don’t owe them anything.”
A man with a man bun, arms thick as tree trunks walks over. He’s got a patch that says REX and another one President. His eyes are a blend of green and blue like water in a river and a stare so intense I feel like he reads my very soul.
“So this her?”
Little Foot nods. “This is Cambria. My wife.”
Rex looks at me like he’s trying to see through me, figure me out. “You look young.”
I square my shoulders. “I am eighteen. But when you know you know.”
That makes him smile. Just barely, but there is a smile.