We cut our engines, and Har said, “I don’t put my bike in the driveway. Neither will you.”
I nodded, but wondered how I would get into the garage with my crazy hours.
As though he read my mind, he said, “Got a small clicker which doubles as a key chain. You’ll carry that to get in and out.”
Brute finished backing his truck up the drive and he angled out.
“Which room you puttin’ her in?”
“The back room. It’s the biggest, other than my room, and it faces west so she’ll have as much darkness during the day as possible.”
“Right. Well, grab some of your shit, princess. This truck won’t unload itself.”
An hour later, I stood inside the garage watching Brute drive away. I needed to get my stuff out of my saddlebags, but Har’s voice startled me.
“Can’t believe all your shit fit in his truck.”
I looked up at him. “Not like my ‘slum’ afforded me tons of space.”
He gave a half shrug, wandered to the wall, and hit the button to lower the garage door. I dug out my things and followed him inside.
He threw an arm out toward a doorway. “That’s my room. Don’t worry about how late you come in. It won’t bother me, and every so often I sleep at the clubhouse.”
“All right. Still, I’ll do my best to be quiet.”
He was walking in front of me, but the tilt of his head told me he acknowledged my words.
I moved past him when we hit the spacious living room and he sauntered into the kitchen. As kitchens went, this one was a showstopper. It was decorated in slate gray with four bright red bell-pendant lights over a huge island. A portion of the island had a cut-out which housed two chrome stools covered in Harley-Davidson-orange patent leather. I didn’t dare tell him the stools clashed with the red; besides, him being a biker, I knew he couldn’t care less. The stainless-steel refrigerator appeared to be top of the line and the stove looked new, too.
His voice pulled me from my gawking. “Don’t want to hold you up, Steph, but you’re welcome to whatever food is here. Though, it isn’t much since I haven’t done a grocery run in a while. But, you cook it, you clean it. Not sure what kind of roommate you are, but I’m not doin’ your dirty dishes and I won’t make you deal with mine.”
I nodded. “Got it, Har.”
“You can call me Michael.”
My chin dipped and a pang hit my chest. I didn’t know why he would say that.
“When you’re here, I mean.”
That lightened the pain, though it didn’t tell me why he wanted it like that.
I nodded. “All right, Michael. I’ll keep that in mind, but like you said, we probably won’t run into each other much. Will we?”
For once, his face gave something away when his brow jumped. “No. I suppose not. I’ll leave you to it.”
I set my box on top of the nightstand and sat on my futon. Why Har had three totally empty bedrooms, I didn’t know. I remembered he had siblings, so it seemed he never invited them over to spend the night. The house had to be over twenty-five hundred square feet. Why would he buy so much house?
I shook my head to stop dwelling on why Har did anything.
My cell phone rang, the display showing Susan’s picture.
I smiled. “Hey! How’s it going?”
“You’re awful chipper for a Sunday.”
“What can I say? Days off do that to me.”
“Did you get my message?”
“I did. Sorry I didn’t call you back. Brute got my address from Turk.”
“What?” she cried in my ear.
I chuckled. “Yeah. He’s getting a piece of my mind later. That’s for sure.”
“I should say so. Talk about overstepping.”
I shrugged. “Well, it kind of all worked out. Brute insisted I stay at the clubhouse.”
“The Riot clubhouse? Why?”
“Said my place was a hovel. Then this morning, the ceiling collapsed.”
“The ceiling collapsed? Are you okay? I mean, you told me you’re in an efficiency so it didn’t fall on you, did it?”
“I’m okay, and no, it didn’t fall on me. Har was there.”
“Har?”
“Yeah, you remember Sammy’s friend, Michael?”
“Oh, right. Why was he there?”
“You know, I never found out. He showed up and bam! Chunks of ceiling everywhere. I left a message with the landlord before we cleared my stuff out. Guess I’ll hear from him tomorrow. He better give me back my deposit.”
She groaned. “You better try calling again and again. Otherwise, he might come after you for damage to the carpet or whatever. Is it going to rain there again?”
My brows furrowed. “I don’t think it rained last night!”
“You need to keep calling, Steph.”
My hackles were rising, but I kept my tone light. “All right, sissy. No need to get bossy with me.”
She chuckled. “Okay. So, where are you staying?”
“At Har’s. Or I guess I’m supposed to call him Michael. Or at least when I’m here, he says. Weird.”
“Hm,” she muttered. “That is kinda weird, but if he doesn’t let anyone from the club into his house maybe that’s why?”
I shook my head. “I guess. It doesn’t matter. Our schedules are different from one another, so I won’t see him often.”
“If you say so,” she said in a tone that might have been mocking, but I ignored that, too.
“Anyway, I got sheets to wash, so have a nice lazy Sunday. And don’t let those people at the gym work you too hard, got it?”
“Whatever, woman. I gotta keep my job security.”
I put the phone on the nightstand and gathered up my sheets. I carried them toward the door to the garage. Har had pointed out where his room was, but I’d
