Fanning the Biker's Flame - Piper Davenport Page 0,42
smiled. “You’re being sweet and I’m too tired to make you stop.”
“Good.” He chuckled, pulling me close and kissing my temple. “I found Sharon a place to go.”
“You did? Where?”
“With you.”
I rolled my eyes. “I already sugg—”
“But in Otter and Shiloh’s house.”
“Huh?”
“Shy’s a nurse, and she agreed Sharon really shouldn’t be left alone, so she offered up their spare bedroom. She’s only working part time, so she’s happy to help look after Sharon until we can find a permanent solution.”
I dropped my head to his chest. “Are you sure she’s okay with that?”
“She offered.”
“She might just be being nice.”
“If she couldn’t or didn’t want to do it, she wouldn’t have offered,” he assured me.
“I’ll move some things around so I can be with her.”
“Whatever you need to do, baby. It’ll be good.”
I nodded, leaning heavily against him as I yawned.
“We should get you home to bed.”
“I don’t want to leave her.”
“I’m gonna leave Dylan here,” Shadow said.
“Dylan is not me,” I argued.
He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a gentle squeeze. “Posey, you’re gonna burn out if you don’t rest.”
I slid my hands under his cut and up his back. “I don’t have any massage clients tomorrow, and my first class doesn’t start until eleven. I’m good.”
He sighed. “If you’re stayin’, I’m gonna hang here as long as you do.”
“Then send Dylan home. There’s no point in him losing sleep, too.”
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“I’m going back in,” I said.
“Okay.”
I kissed him quickly, then walked back into Sharon’s room.
* * *
The next evening, Jane had informed me that she was coming by, but a little early in order to cook for us. I didn’t argue with her, much, considering Sharon was hanging with me most of the evening, so she’d need some kind of sustenance, and Shadow was doing ‘club shit,’ so he wouldn’t be around.
Plus, Jane could cook like a mofo and she’d already told me she was making her grandmother’s spaghetti and meatballs, so I was in.
After my last client, I headed home and showered, then walked next door to collect Sharon. Shiloh was in her kitchen when I knocked on her slider. She waved me in and I slid open the door, stepping inside.
“Hey, Posey,” she said, drying her hands on a towel.
“Hi. How’s Sharon?”
“She’s good. A little pain, but I gave her some Vicodin about an hour ago, so she should be good for a while.”
“What time does your shift start?”
“Not for another hour,” Shiloh said. “I’m on for twelve hours, so it’s going to be interesting.”
“Wow. I don’t know how y’all do it.”
She grinned. “I love what I do, so it doesn’t feel like work.”
“That’s good.”
“Posey, is that you?”
Sharon scooted her way into the kitchen.
“You shouldn’t be up,” Shiloh admonished.
“I feel like a million bucks,” she countered.
I smiled. “That’s the drugs.”
“Are you my babysitter tonight?”
I chuckled. “I am. Are you going to behave?”
“No promises.”
“Jane’s coming over and cooking for us.”
“I like that girl.”
Sharon had met her twice, but who couldn’t love Jane? She was pretty fantastic.
“I like her too,” I said. “Are you ready?”
“I am,” she said, handing me her pill bottle. “For later.”
“She can have another dose at seven,” Shiloh said.
“Thanks,” I said, and helped Sharon navigate the pool area and scoot into my place. I forced her to sit on my cuddle chair, then put her scooter in the corner of the room so she wouldn’t be tempted to get up.
“I know what you’re doing,” Sharon said, wagging her finger at me.
“Wasn’t trying to hide it,” I retorted. “Can I get you something to drink other than water?”
“Bourbon?”
“Not with those drugs, lady, and you know it.”
She huffed. “I’m seventy-two years old. I think I can handle a finger of bourbon and Vicodin.”
“If your doctor says it’s okay, then go for it.”
“Killjoy.”
I grinned, handing her a glass of water. “Are you hungry?”
Before she could answer, my doorbell pealed and Jane called out, “It’s me.”
I rushed to unlock and open it for her, then helped her carry in the copious amounts of groceries she’d brought with her.
“Did you bring all the meatballs?” I asked, laughing.
“I just assumed you’d have nothing,” she informed me, hoisting two bags onto my counter. “So, I brought everything except wine.”
“Because you’re smart.”
“Well, you’re the kind of girl who, instead of converting the extra bedroom into a closet, would convert it into a wine room,” she said, peeking out of the kitchen. “Hi, Sharon, how are you feeling?”
“I’m good, honey. Hungry.”
“I just asked if you were hungry,” I pointed out.
“Well, that