Coyote (Hawks MC Next Generation #1) - Lila Rose Page 0,30

should be home resting. I can see the wincing and cringing with nearly every move.” She dropped her rag and stepped closer. “I’m worried about you. How about I do tomorrow—”

“No—”

“Channa.” She groaned in frustration.

“Denise, I love you, but you have a little girl to take care of. I promise I’m fine.” Her lips pinched. Rolling my eyes, I adjusted to “Okay, I will be fine in a couple of days. This is nothing I can’t handle.” As long as it was truly over.

We both heard the door open, and my heart decided it was time to play with my gut—it dropped so fast.

“Channa, are you okay?” Bryson asked, striding over to the counter.

Slowly, my heart crept back up where it belonged. I smiled at Bryson. “I’m good, why?”

His head jerked back. “Why? You never close the bakery.” His eyes ran over me. “What happened to your head?” He reached out and gently ran a finger over the tape I had there covering the cut. “And your arm?” His fingers grazed the bandage.

Of course, it was then the door opened again and Cody stepped through. His eyes were hard, scary, and on us.

Laughing nervously, I grabbed Bryson’s hand in mine and told him, “I just had an accident.”

Bryson frowned before he glanced over his shoulder. He tensed, and we both watched Cody approach.

“Channa,” Cody said, his voice a little growly.

“Um, hey, ah, Coyote.”

Bryson snorted.

It was creepy how slow it took Cody to look at Bryson. “Somethin’ funny?”

“Is that really your name?”

“Does it matter if it is? Because I don’t really give a shit what you think.” His gaze dropped to the counter, and I realized then I still held Bryson’s hand. I wanted to drop it, I really did, but I didn’t want to do it in front of Cody so he would think I was doing it for him.

Dear God, I just hurt my brain.

“Bryson,” Denise called. Her eyes were a little wide. “I have a coffee ready for you.”

“In a second,” Bryson called back as his hand squeezed mine as he smiled. “I’m glad you’re okay. I was worried about you. I tried calling the bakery, but no one was here, and it made me realise I didn’t have your mobile number.”

He didn’t because everything we’d organized, we’d done it while he was at the shop for his coffee. I hadn’t seen the need to give him my number, and I’d never asked for his.

I wasn’t even sure why I was hesitating to give him my number now. We were friends. We hung out. It wasn’t much, but we did. Denise and Stanley had my number and they were my friends also.

“Your coffee’s gettin’ cold,” Cody stated.

Bryson ground his teeth together. “It’s fine,” he bit out. Rolling his eyes at me, he dropped my hand and pulled out his phone, passing it over to me. “Add your number in and I’ll call about that movie.”

Again, I hesitated, and I felt guilty for it. If Cody wasn’t standing there waiting, watching, I probably would have added my number in right away. And that thought had me reaching for his phone with a small smile. I was being stupid after all. It didn’t matter Cody saw me putting a number in a guy’s phone. He wasn’t anything to me, and Bryson was my friend.

I held it out for him. “There you go. It’s saved under Coffee Girl.”

He laughed. “Great. I’ll text you later, then you’ll have my number.”

I nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Bryson winked, dropped some cash on the counter, and moved to the end to pick up his coffee. “Later, Channa.”

“Bye,” I called, and Cody stepped in front of my line of sight.

Crap, I couldn’t run, couldn’t hide. I had to face him. I gave him a half-smile. “That was Bryson. He works at the gym and has been coming in here since we opened. We’re friends.” Shut up, Channa, shut up. I shrugged when he kept looking, and added, “Sometimes we catch up, watch movies, go out to eat. Not that we do it much because, you know”—I waved my hand around the shop—“I’m always here working.” I nodded. “Yep, this bakery keeps me busy. I’m a busy little beaver.”

“Channa,” Denise called. I faced her, and she mouthed, “What are you doing?”

I widened my eyes, hoping she knew it was me screaming for help.

“Excuse me, Coyote, sir,” Denise called. “Would you like a coffee?”

I sagged, mumbling something like, “I’ve just got to see if Stanley needs help. Be