“Where’s Tracker?” she demands without lowering her voice.
I glance at Clover, then back to Allie. Speaking in a much softer tone than she used, I say, “I don’t know. And talk quietly or you’re going to wake Clover.”
She laughs, an ugly sound. “Who the fuck do you think you are to tell me what to do? I live here. You’re just the hired help.”
“Allie,” Jess says softly, but I don’t miss the warning in her tone.
“What?” Allie asks. “She’s not even one of us. She’s a fuckin’ tagalong.”
“Allie.”
We all jump at the sound of Tracker’s voice. He doesn’t sound happy. He sounds pissed. Allie turns around to look into his angry eyes.
“I’m sure Faye would love to hear how you’re acting around her kid.”
Allie clears her throat. “I was looking for you.”
“Go and wait in my room,” he tells her, then looks at me. I don’t miss the fact that his eyes soften, but I’m still reeling from the blow of him sending Allie to his room. This is exactly what I was afraid of—the two of them will never be over. Jess leaves the room as Tracker comes closer to me.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m just going to clear shit up with her. Be here when I get back so we can talk. You say you don’t want me, Lana, but those hurt brown eyes tell me all I need to know.”
Am I that transparent? Apparently so.
He gives me a gentle kiss on my forehead before leaving the room.
Luckily for me, Faye gets home early and I get out of there while Tracker and Allie are still . . . doing whatever they’re doing.
* * *
He thrusts into her, slamming her against the headboard. . . .
Sitting back in my chair, I stare at the words on my screen and sigh. I need inspiration. I want a fresh, new sexy scene and for once, my head is blank and my characters aren’t cooperating. A knock at my front door brings me to my feet. It is about 10:00 a.m., so it is probably my package delivery guy. While we aren’t on a first-name basis, we are friendly. He is here at my house practically every day, thanks to my online shopping addiction. I don’t think he’s ever seen me out of my pajamas, and I’m not going to disappoint today either. Opening the door, I smile at the prospect of what I might get to open today.
“Good morning . . .” I say in surprise, not to my deliveryman but to Tracker. “What are you doing here?”
He grins and gives my body a slow perusal. “Nice pj’s.”
I look down, cringing. Out of all the days, he caught me when I was wearing my black tank top. It reads FRIES OVER GUYS on the front, with a picture of some french fries. The matching shorts have pictures of fries all over them too.
I’m so sexy.
“Th-thanks,” I mutter, fiddling with the hem of the top.
“Are you going to invite me in?” he asks, taking a step forward.
“I suppose so,” I say, stepping back so his large frame can enter. “Is there something you wanted?”
He closes the door, studying me. Today he is wearing a Harley T-shirt, light jeans, and his biker boots. “Pretty sure I told you to wait for me yesterday. Came back to the lounge room and you were gone.”
I shrug. “Faye came home and it was time for me to go.”
I walk into my living room and he follows. He sits on the couch and pulls me onto his lap. I perch there stiffly, scanning the room as he gently massages my shoulders with one hand, the other wrapped tightly around my waist.
“Relax, Lana,” he murmurs. “I want you to be comfortable around me. You can trust me, you know?”
I slowly relax, going limp on his lap, resting my back against his front.
“Good girl,” he croons. “Now this is what I wanted to say to you yesterday. I took Allie away and told her off. One, she doesn’t speak to you like that, ever; two, Clover was right there, and Faye will eat Allie for fuckin’ breakfast if she heard. We spoke, and then she left. That’s it, all right? I don’t want Allie to give you shit, and I’m trying to handle it.”
I don’t know what to say. I’ve never verbally told Tracker I wanted to be with him, but apparently that doesn’t matter to him. What is happening right now? Is this his way of courting me? I blink slowly, trying to process things.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks, sounding a little amused.
“I don’t understand what’s going on here,” I blurt out. “We can’t be anything more than friends, Tracker.”
He turns me so I’m facing him.
Why the man looks entertained I have no idea. “Did you just friend-zone me?”
I sigh heavily. This right here is the problem. This is all a game to him, but to me, this is my heart on the line. “Why do you have to be so difficult?”
He chuckles, his body shaking. I hold on to him so I don’t fall off his lap. “I’m the difficult one? You want me; I want you. It’s simple. The result should be you in my bed, and me in yours. You’re the one fighting it, not me. I’m more than ready to embrace the fact that we’ve been attracted to each other from the moment our eyes met.”
I puff out a breath, irritated. “Are you always so . . . so . . . ?”
“So what?” he prompts. “Sexy? Charming?”
“Annoying,” I spit. “Are you always so annoying?”
“Annoying because I’m calling you out on your shit?” he asks with a sexy smirk. “Most women want a man who knows what they’re thinking.”