I felt instantly sorry for him.
"My best friend married a man who is very good friends with the man that I fell in love with." I one upped him. "I can't even talk to her now for fear that it will get back to him. And I not only had to work with him, but I also watched him get married and then have a baby. Not only did I work with him, but we had a lot of the same friends. I saw him, his wife and baby everywhere. Every single party or event."
"The woman, Ellen, she's the sister of one of my brothers."
My brows furrowed. "So, she's a … stepsister?"
Was that right?
He snorted. "No. Tommy Tom, Ellen's brother, and the man you saw standing next to her, isn't my actual brother. He's a member of the Dixie Wardens MC with me."
"Is that a motorcycle club?"
He nodded.
"We have a few of those around where I lived," I muttered darkly.
Not to mention that PD had ridden a bike and had nearly joined a motorcycle club of his own. The only thing that'd stopped him from doing it was that he didn't want to leave Kilgore to join.
"Most do," he said. "Motorcycle clubs are becoming a lot more popular ever since that show came out on TV. Most are legit. Some are just a bunch of dumbasses on motorcycles with bad attitudes who don't know the law of the land."
"And what is the law of the land?" I asked, sitting silently as he pulled into the bay of the station and shut the medic off.
He grinned. A full blown, teeth showing smile that would've knocked my socks off if I didn't have boots holding them on.
"That there is always someone bigger and badder than you are."
Then he got out and walked inside, leaving me in the seat of the medic trying not to lose my composure.
The man, with his killer grin and dark soul, had the potential to bring me to my knees … and that wasn't a good thing.
I couldn't do another heartbreak.
Not now. Not ten years from now. Not ever.
And I needed to remember that.
Chapter 3
Someone asked me if I believed in soulmates, and I told them I couldn't even find my keys. What makes them think I could find my soulmate?
-Sean's secret thoughts
Sean
It'd been three whole weeks since I'd been partnered with Naomi, and three whole weeks had gone by where I went to bed at night thinking about her rather than Ellen.
There were good things about this and bad.
The good: I didn't wake up with my heart hurting anymore. I didn't go to bed wondering whether Ellen was sleeping with her arms around some other man. I didn't see Ellen and think that I was wronged. I could go into my clubhouse and look at Jessie James and not want to punch him in the face.
The bad: I was replacing Ellen with Naomi. I had a permanent hard on for a woman who made it clear she wanted nothing more than friendship. I was going into work with more eagerness to see her than the actual job I was about to perform. Oh, and let's not forget the best one yet. I was falling hard.
Love didn't agree with me. I always, and I do mean always, got burned.
If it was possible for a six foot four-and-a-half-inch ex-marine to suffer, I suffered.
"Do you need anything from inside?" Naomi asked as she hopped out of the medic and turned to look at me.
I looked down at her, clenched my teeth, and then nodded my head. "My usual."
She snickered, backed up, and closed the door.
I watched her walk away.
My eyes were on her ass.
The way it swayed with each step she took.
"Hey," I said to myself. "This is not a good idea. One of these days she's going to do the same damn thing as the rest of them do."
Which was leave me or break my heart.
And if I was being honest with myself, I was getting damn tired of it.
The phone in my pocket rang, and I answered it while watching Naomi walk into the bathroom and shut the door.
She did that a lot. Went to the bathroom. She was supremely self-conscious about it, too. She didn't like going at the station. Only did it where it was public and nobody would be able to single her out.
Though, I suppose that was a fairly normal thing.
Women were self-conscious. My sister was very ill at ease about what she let the men in her life know. Such as the act of using the restroom. She freaked out when we mentioned it in front of her, and God forbid you ever mention the fact that anything she did in there, stunk.
Though, as I liked to point out to her, everyone had to shit. Everyone.
But whatever. If Naomi wanted to act like she didn't poop, then whatever. She could be hiding worse things, like cancer or the fact that she was a drug dealer.
I settled into a chair and prepared to wait.