“My house in Carnal.”
“You have a house in Carnal?”
“I went to prison but doin’ it don’t mean I was stripped of all my possessions. I went, Maggie saw to my shit.”
He watched with interest as her shoulders went straight and then she asked, “Maggie?”
“Maggie,” he confirmed.
“Who’s Maggie?” she asked and her tone was one he hadn’t heard from her yet. Not sass. Not attitude. Not annoyed. But the edge was sharp. Leaning toward pissed not in the sense that women get pissed. In the sense that women get pissed.
“My former boss’s ex-wife. Though, he got his head outta his ass, saw what he f**ked up and now they’re attempting a reconcile. So, I guess I should say, the last year, Maggie and Wood been seein’ to my shit.”
“Wood?”
“Maggie’s ex. The man who owns the garage I used to work at.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
“We get home, you’ll need to take a look. Your shit’s better than my shit, move your shit in and we’ll move my shit out. It’s not, have your people get rid of it, bank the cash.”
Her shades held his.
“Um… again, how long’s this business gonna last?”
“Again, I don’t know. But what people gotta see is you and me startin’ a life together.”
She hesitated. Then, “Right.”
He stared at her. Then his eyes went to her left hand sitting in her lap. The band embedded with small diamonds sitting tight under the engagement ring served as a reminder that yesterday cut deep into his reserve. He had a marker of fifty K to pay. He had a life to restart. He had business to see to. He had to find a table.
Then he noticed her lips were pressed together, he guessed as to why and reminded her, “Time to bolt is over. You’re wearin’ my rings.”
Her head jerked and she declared firmly, “I’m not going to bolt.”
The tightness in his chest he hadn’t noticed until he heard her words released.
“How did, um… Maggie and Wood take care of your shit?” she asked.
“Rented my place. Paid my bills. Banked the extra. Vacated the tenants a month ago when I asked ‘em to. Stored my shit when I went down, took it outta storage and dumped it at home. Sorted through it to pack the shit I needed, sent it to Shift for him to add what he owed and give it to you.”
“That was nice of them to do.”
“They’re nice.”
Her lips tipped up.
Their food was served.
Unlike with her tuna melt, but absolutely the same as when their room service was delivered last night, she dug in, no bullshit nibbling, pretending she didn’t need food to survive. She’d ordered a Belgian waffle. And she liked what she ordered and didn’t give a f**k if he knew it.
Alexa Walker was a beautiful, classy, sexy, part-goof who liked her food.
And Ty Walker liked all of that.
Too much.
Christ, pu**y had f**ked his life and here he was, two days out of the joint and sitting under a f**king umbrella in the Vegas heat next to pu**y who’d had dick f**k up her life and he wanted in there so f**king badly he could almost convince himself he already tasted her on his tongue.