“I don’t know, but if you help me, maybe I can find out. I need this. I need some peace.”

Agreeing will tie me to a boy I’ve been taught to avoid, but how can I say no? “I’ll help you.”

“Breanna!” Both Razor and I turn at the sound of Addison’s voice. She’s by the front of the club, her head swiveling as she cups her hands to her mouth. “Breanna, are you out here?”

“You should go.” He holds his hand out to me.

I offer the phone back to Razor, and I’m shocked that after he deposits it into his pocket, he extends his hand to me again. I accept the invitation, and his strong fingers wrap around mine. As I hop off the tailgate, his other arm slides around my waist and my body presses into his as he settles my feet on the ground. My breathing hitches and I close my eyes. His body is warm and solid and he smells so deliciously divine.

The world swings violently and Razor rubs his hand up and down my spine. “You okay?”

Am I? Yes, maybe, no. Because of the way his hands caress me, I’m a melted puddle.

“You ask me that a lot,” I whisper and then discover the courage to raise my head.

“Stop getting yourself into trouble and I’ll stop asking.” Razor’s eyes are practically twinkling like the stars in the sky. Butterflies race around in my stomach and it’s not the nervous type. It’s the beautiful type of butterflies that I love to watch flutter about in the spring.

No one has ever used trouble to describe me, but in the short time I’ve known Razor, I can’t seem to avoid walking a tightrope. I should be ashamed I’m smiling, but I’m so not.

“Breanna!” Addison calls again.

“She’s worried,” I say.

Razor tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, then lets his finger gently trace the curve of my neck down to my bare shoulder. I shiver in the sensual moment. He lowers his head and his breath is hot on my ear. My heart beats faster. Is he going to kiss me? I want him to kiss me. I shouldn’t want him to kiss me. I’ll explode if he kisses me. My toes curl in silent expectation.

“She should be worried,” he breathes into my ear.

“Why?”

“Because you’re alone with me.”

Yes, I very much am.

“Remember—someday soon, I’ll help you with that wild kiss.”

Razor steps back and it’s only then I realize how much I had been leaning against his sturdy chest. Dear God, please let this bizarre gift you’ve given me still work despite the alcohol. I need to remember Razor saying he’ll kiss me. I need him to want to kiss me later.

He keeps my hand so I can steady myself, but it’s not going to happen in heels. I remove one shoe, then the other. When my feet contact the blacktop, I learn I’m much shorter than Razor than I had originally believed.

“I can walk you to her,” he says, but I detect his hesitancy.

“I’ll be fine.” I withdraw my hand from his and head in Addison’s direction.

A cool breeze blows across the parking lot and it carries Razor’s low and seductive voice to my ears. “Hey, Breanna.”

I glance over my shoulder. “Yes?”

“Be safe.”

Those are two enticing and lovely words. “I will be. I have you protecting me, right?”

Maybe I’m misreading Razor, but his eyes travel my body like he might toss me onto the bed of the truck and kiss me in a way I’ve never been kissed before. “Don’t worry. I completely have your back.”

RAZOR

LAST PERSON I expected at my house was a middle-aged woman in a pair of tight jeans and a thick-strapped black tank cooking over the gas stove. I shut the door loudly with my foot and that wins her attention. By the way her face falls, she wasn’t expecting me, either.

“Hello.” She wipes her hands on her jeans. The scent of fried bacon hangs in the air. Dad could eat bacon every day, three times a day. “Your father didn’t expect you home.”

Home. My home, not hers. I scan the room and there’s no sign of anyone else. My bedroom and Dad’s bedroom are black and the door to the bathroom is open. Unless Dad’s hiding from this chick in the closet, she and I are completely alone.

“I mean, it’s your home,” she says as if reading my mind, “so of course you would show, but your dad thought you’d be gone for a couple of days.”

Eli said I needed to give Dad a break. I gave him two days. I spent Friday and Saturday night in one of the rooms upstairs at the club. Only showing at the clubhouse after I knew Dad would be gone. He texted this morning and asked if I’d be back tonight. I didn’t respond, but I now know why he was interested. He’s playing house.

“I’m Jillian, but your dad calls me Jill.” She brushes her long dirty-blond bangs from her forehead as she stares at me, I guess waiting for me to speak.

Another swipe of her hair. “You’re Razor, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you like some dinner? It’s breakfast, but it’s dinner, you know.” Her voice shakes and she twists, then retwists, her fingers. “It’s your dad’s favorite. He’s on his way home. He’ll be thrilled for you to join us.”

Us. The word is like a hammer and I’m the nail. Us. As if she belongs here and I don’t. Us. The world feels disjointed.

Two days away wasn’t enough. Hell, thirty years may not do the job. For over thirteen years, my father was faithful—loving the same woman day in and day out. Since three weeks after her death, it’s been this. An endless parade of women through a revolving door.