Unruly (19 page)

He'd hoped that the fact they had Carolina plates was a coincidence, but he'd been a bit wary afterward. Nothing else had surfaced since that day, though, so he was hoping that mess was in the past. If not, he'd deal.

The one thing that set his temper on edge faster than lightning was someone disrespecting a woman he cared about. Zoe and her roommate Ana were both careful to remind him that they could hold their own in many cases, and he was grateful for that. Honestly, he couldn't fathom even dating someone who wasn't ballsy because his temper simply wouldn't bear it. It wasn't like he'd ever so much as raised his voice at a woman, so he wasn't worried that he'd hurt one. It was more that he worried that he'd get so protective over one that he'd hurt someone
else
. His little sister's friend was crying on their sofa that night, and he'd just snapped. Afterward, the guy he'd put in the hospital had claimed he hadn't seen his attacker, and the girl offered Alamo an alibi.

Thinking of his sister made him realize that he'd gotten so caught up in Ellen that he hadn't checked his phone. That was the first time in months that he'd failed to check in with his baby sister. He went to his jacket and grabbed his phone from the inside pocket. He couldn't get it to check for messages earlier because the jacket was wrapped around a nearly naked woman, and he wasn't about to go pawing at her to find his phone.

He turned it on to see eight texts from Zoe. He was relieved, even more so as he scrolled through them all. That was the trade-off they'd agreed on when he moved. He was willing to go and let her stay there, but she had to keep him updated on where she was. Some people might think it was a little excessive, but her regular—and often smartass—texts were a salve for his constant worry at being away from her.

As he read the long scroll of messages, he smiled. Apparently Zoe and Ana had been out to a movie, bought coffee, stopped to buy tampons, and then headed home. She also pointed out that they were back home and the door was locked. Oh, and that they
both
needed tampons, so “Hey, no worries that anyone's knocked up!” He snorted and texted back that the immaculate conception might be her greatest life achievement if she could pull it off one of these months. Her reply—“I could've gotten laid! One day it'll happen”—was instant and accompanied by a picture of her sticking her tongue out at him as if she was two, not twenty.

Knowing she was home and safe always made him sleep better. The past year or two, he'd felt the same about Ana. They were his responsibility. He'd failed by missing Ana's text the night she was attacked. He hated worrying that he'd fail them again by being a state away, but they weren't willing to move or to agree to his moving back home. These nightly texts were what made it possible for him to sleep.

He tapped out: “Check in with Nick this weekend too.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Either you let the Wolves know your schedule or I move back.”

“Already called N,” Zoe replied. “Stop worrying. We're both fine.”

He smiled and typed, “Love you, lobita. Sleep well.”

Her reply was as routine as his last one had been: “Love you too. Kisses.”

His guilt over not checking in earlier lingered, but his sister and Ana were both fine. Ellen was too. That was the important thing. The thought of all of the things that could've happened earlier made him want to grab Ellen and elicit promises that she'd never end up alone along the road again. He couldn't, but he wanted to.

Instead, he went into his room to get changed out of his wet clothes.

Walking out a few minutes later to find Ellen standing in the living room wearing nothing but his T-shirt made him reconsider his earlier decision about not calling Dash to ask why he claimed she was off-limits when she knew nothing about it. Alamo wasn't looking for trouble—
still
—but it seemed absurd that the woman he wanted was here, single, interested, and still forbidden.

“I didn't realize you were out here,” he said stupidly. “Let me get you a sweatshirt or something.”

“This shirt works,” Ellen said. She stood there with her hair in a towel, her body barely covered in black cotton, and her nipples visible through the shirt like an invitation he wanted to accept.

Instead he said, even more stupidly, “It's cold.”

He went right back into his room and pulled out the heaviest, longest shirt he could find. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants too. They'd be too big, but maybe she could use a belt or tie them in a knot at the hip or something. He needed not to see her, needed some sort of reminder that she was out of his reach, and she wasn't doing anything to remind him of that. He had to.

Ellen's expression when he returned to the main room made him stop in the doorway. She looked like she wasn't sure if she was angry or hurt or both, and he didn't know what to do with that. Women usually fit into three categories in his life: his sister and her friends he wanted to protect, brief hookups, or strangers he didn't notice or chose not to notice. Ellen didn't fit in any of those. She wasn't someone he wanted to be with for a brief encounter—and he sure as hell didn't feel brotherly toward her.

“You thought I was with Noah,” she said finally. “That was why you called him when you found me earlier along the road. You think I'm his . . . what? A woman who takes scraps?” Ellen's hands went to her hips, the movement easing the hem of her shirt higher. “I put an end to that the day I met you. Noah hasn't been in my bed in
half a year
. When he told you that, it was right after you picked me up, right?”

“Yes, but . . .” Alamo held his hands up in surrender.

“Well, that was then, and this is now. Tomorrow, if he brings my car here before I'm awake, you drag his sorry ass in here and wake me. You're about to owe me an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For not just asking me,” she explained.

“Yes, ma'am.” He tried to keep his emotion out of his voice, but there was something fabulous about a woman in a temper. He wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it, but seeing her like this made him certain that she'd be everything he could want in life. There was nothing inherently
wrong
with women who were sweet-tempered. They just didn't appeal to him. Ellen did. He'd done his level best to ignore it, but it was far from easy to do so.

“Alamo?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he repeated.

Ellen crossed her arms over her chest, and he thought she was going to turn her temper on him for woolgathering, but instead her voice grew soft and she asked, “Can I get a pillow and blanket for the sofa?”

Alamo blinked at her and realized he hadn't told her he had a guest room. It wasn't typical of single guys, but he had a sister who visited often enough that there was no way he could have a house with only one bed. Doing so would mean
he
had to try to sleep on the sofa, which was far too uncomfortable for him and had been since he was too young to drive, or that he'd be asking a woman to sleep on the sofa. That was completely impossible for him. He might not have been raised by the classiest people, but he was still a Southern man and that meant that he was duty-bound to treat women like the precious creatures they were. No exceptions.

“Come on.” He led Ellen to the room Zoe used and felt like an idiot for not already thinking to see what clothes his sister had left behind. Admittedly, seeing Ellen wet and nearly naked hadn't done great things for his higher-level processing, but he felt foolish. “There are probably pants of some sort in the dresser. They're small enough that they wouldn't fall off you like these.” He held up the pants and shirt he held in his hand.

“Can I still borrow the sweatshirt?” Ellen asked.

She stepped forward, and Alamo felt like retreating—almost as much as he felt like grabbing her. He wasn't going to piss off the club. He needed them, not just because they were family, but because they'd help him keep Zoe safe if her father ever got out of the joint. Wanting a woman, even one as amazing as Ellen, wasn't enough to risk his sister's safety.

He tossed the shirt at the foot of the bed and took several steps backward.

“Thanks,” she said.

He nodded. It was ridiculous trying to find the line between being rude and keeping his distance. He was always careful with her, trying to avoid even one-on-one conversations. Having her in his house made that a lot less than possible.

They stood there awkwardly for several moments. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, questions he wanted to ask, explanations he wanted to offer, but words weren't his thing. He thought about what he wanted to say, but still ended up picking the wrong words and saying something even stupider than the ones he had spurned.

After another few silent moments, he mumbled, “If you need anything, I'm here.”

He felt a little like a coward, but he didn't know what to do with Ellen. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, and if he stayed there, he'd either say something he shouldn't or reconsider his decision to call Dash and ask why Ellen was off-limits if they weren't still together after all. The smartest thing he could do was exactly what he had been doing all along: stay clear of her as much as possible and avoid being alone with her.

Right now Ellen was still out of bounds.

Chapter 17

A
FEW HOURS LATER
, I
WAS ALREADY AWAKE
. I
T WAS TOO
damn early, but no matter what time I went to sleep, I
always
woke early. I hated it. It was as if my brain kicked on whether or not my body was ready to engage.

That didn't mean I was getting out of bed yet.

I'd been stretching and trying to decide if I wanted to get dressed in proper clothes or get coffee first. Coffee was essential, especially at this hour. Unfortunately, getting to the coffee required movement—which
might
require clothes. I had Alamo's shirt and a pair of leggings I'd found in the dresser, but it was pretty casual to be walking around in front of a man I wasn't sleeping with.

I didn't even want to ponder why he had a bunch of women's clothes. They were all the same size and style, so I was fairly sure they were all the possessions of one woman. I had a couple of T-shirts from exes, but that was because they were comfortable. Since nothing in the dresser would fit Alamo and I was pretty certain that he didn't wear women's clothes,
that
clearly wasn't why he kept some woman's clothing.

None of which helped my “dressed first or coffee first” question, which—as with many other mornings in my life—seemed very pressing and large. Usually it was answered by whether or not my mother had an overnight guest. It almost always made me feel skeezy to have a stranger see me in my jammies, especially a stranger who had slept with my mother. Today, though, there were no strangers—only Alamo, who had seen me in my pseudo-pajamas, as well as seeing me in a lot less. Soaking-wet underwear didn't hide anything, so I was leaning toward getting coffee before getting properly dressed. If not, with the way my luck had been going, I'd spill coffee all over myself and the only clothes I had with me. Deciding to get up hadn't made me energetic, though.

Then I heard Dash's voice.

I was up and out the door so fast that I was surprised I hadn't tripped. I tore into the room and pointed at him. “
You!
You ought to be grateful I'm not kicking your ass right now.”

Dash took a step back. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened. “I brought your car,” he said, holding up my spare key like a peace offering. “I got someone to pick me up here too in case you were sleeping.”

I snatched my key out of his hand. I had no patience to wait to hear what else he had to say—or desire to let him keep my key either. That was a right for friends, and currently Noah Dash was dangerously close to losing that title.

“Why does Alamo think I'm your fuck bunny?”

“My . . .” His attention shot to Alamo, and I knew that there were words he would be saying—or possibly saying with fists—if I wasn't standing in the room.

“Fuck bunny,” I repeated, crossed my arms over my chest and tapping my foot exaggeratedly like a thumping rabbit. “You better get explaining.”

“I never said . . . Ellie, come on. You know I wouldn't talk trash on you.” Dash stepped forward.

My hand shot out, palm flattened on his chest. He was obviously strong enough to keep moving, but he stilled at my touch.

“Explain yourself,” I ordered.

“All I did was say you were under my protection . . . but that was when we . . .” Dash started. “We had a fight, but I thought we were still . . .”

I smacked him up alongside the head.

“Hey!” He ducked back, clearly expecting another smack to follow.