Come What May - L.K. Farlow Page 0,18

know I need the help, so I’ll take it.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Okay? As in no more bullshit? You’ve got to get yourself together.”

I nod.

“Even if it hurts?” he asks.

“Yeah, even if it hurts.”

Chapter Eight

Mateo

I’ve spent the last seven days working on a plan for Seraphine. A plan her gorgeous, stubborn ass will probably shoot down out of pride alone. The headstrong woman needs help, knows she needs it, and still wants to go it alone.

She’s as confounding as she is tempting.

Still, she needs someone to guide her through her grief, and apparently that someone is me. Not that I mind. I’d rather put in the work than watch her waste her potential.

“Alexa—call Seraphine,” I command as I turn onto her street. Yesterday I told her I was taking her to lunch. She agreed—reluctantly—so I wouldn’t put it past her to try to bail.

The line rings three times before she answers, mumbling a sleepy-sounding hello.

“I’ll be there in about two minutes. Be ready.”

“What?” she asks, some of the grogginess leaving her tone.

“You heard me.” I disconnect the call before she can give me any lip. Sometimes, I think she talks back and picks fights just for the hell of it.

I idle in her driveway, waiting to see if she’s going to make me come in and physically get her. A thrill races through me at the thought of tossing her lithe body over my shoulder, my palm pressed tightly against her biteable ass to keep her still as I carry her out to my truck.

Maybe she’d squirm in my grip, mouth off a little, and I’d spank her pretty little ass red. The thought alone has my cock pushing against the zipper of my jeans. Seraphine is a five-alarm fire, and even though I know it’ll burn, she’s tempting enough for me to willingly stick my hand in the fire.

My budding fantasy fizzles when moments later, Seraphine walks out of the house dressed in a pair of ratty denim cut-offs, a distressed white T-shirt knotted at her waist, a leather jacket, and a pair of knee-high boots.

She looks damn fine. I’m talking I-wouldn’t-mind-seeing-her-handprints-on-my-hood fine—which truly says something, because my vehicles are my church.

If only I could do more than look. But I won’t—not today, not ever. I won’t dishonor my friendship with her father in that way. Also, I highly doubt she’s stepmother-material.

She flings open the passenger door and climbs into my truck with a snarl. “You rang?”

“You get an A-plus for following instructions.” I throw the truck into reverse. “But an F for attitude.”

“So funny I forgot to laugh.”

“You seem to forget a lot of things, mariposita.”

“Where are we going?”

Instead of answering right away, I let her sweat it out a little. From the corner of my eye, I catch her eyes trailing over the ink decorating my arm. I only got it last year, after a lot of waffling back and forth. The way she’s biting on her lip says she likes what she sees and it strokes my ego, so I give it a little flex just in case.

“I hate surprises, Mateo. The last one involved a suicide note.” Her words are coated in a heartrending mixture of sadness and bitterness, and I instantly feel like an asshole.

I rattle off a string of self-deprecating curses in Spanish. Truly, how could I be so stupid and insensitive? I know I vowed tough love—but that doesn’t mean without kindness.

“I’m sorry, Seraphine. Truly.”

She shrugs, and I worry I’ve fucked it all up before even laying my plan out.

“I figured we could go to Buster’s. Get some wings and talk. Is that okay?” I’m fully prepared for her to say no, which is why I’m surprised when she murmurs her consent.

“I guess.”

“Perfecto.”

Ten minutes later, we’re tucked into a two-seater booth near the bar, menus in hand.

“Hey there, my name’s Kasey and I’ll be—” She pauses abruptly when Seraphine looks up toward her. “Oh, hey.”

“Hey there, home wrecker.”

If it weren’t for their matching smiles, I’d be worried about our meals coming with a side of saliva.

“Is that ever gonna get old? It’s been like two years!”

Seraphine taps her chin, pretending to mull over the other woman’s question. “Mmm… no.”

“Whatever. What can I get y’all to drink?” Kasey jots down our orders and scampers off, leaving me to ask Seraphine what exactly their history is.

“Ha!” She snorts out a laugh. “Well… before Drake and Azalea got their shit together, he took Kasey out. He couldn’t get over Azalea, though. So, like the shit-for-brains man he