It’s none of my business. None at all. What the hell did I just say?
“Uh, mine. You like?” She turns back towards me, and fans it out away from her body so I can see the whole design of it. There’s no need for her to do it, since the thing only says SAMCRO on her chest. Christ, why does she have to be so cute?
“Yeah, but I want to know who it belongs to.” I’m going to jump out of a window. Goddamn it, what the hell is wrong with me? She’s got me so twisted up inside, I have no idea what’s going on. I have no claim on her, none. Doesn’t matter whose shirt she has on.
Unless this has all been a game, and I’ve been teased into believing I could win.
I clench my jaw. She frowns at me. But I need to know. Is she playing me, like everybody else has?
“It’s mine, Hunt. I’m not a klepto.”
“Whose was it before it was yours?” Hey Big Man. I need your help. How about you strike me dead? I’m being an asshole again, and I don’t want to be. Help me out?
“I don’t actually know.”
I lean forward, planting my elbows on my thighs, getting closer to her. She’s frozen at her spot near the TV and she’s looking at me like I’ve gone and done something equal parts stupid as hell, and adorable. Give me more of the adorable look, baby. Please.
“Did an ex-boyfriend give that to you?”
She tumbles on her way over to me, catching one of her feet on mine, and crashes into me. I get an instant of softness—fuck, her breasts up against my chest, her flesh on top of me—and I have to remember how to swallow.
“Are you serious? I wear my shirts big, Hunt. I got it online, actually. Sweet deal, too.” She laughs, scrambling upright, hands on my thighs and looking up at me from on her knees. She leans in and lightly kisses my cheek.
I’m paralyzed and alive all at once.
“Why is that so funny? You’re wearing a man’s shirt. It was a logical assumption.” Even I hear the change in my voice, the softness, the way the edge to it has left. I have no right to ask these questions, but how else am I going to know?
“You’re right, it was,” she says. It’s like she’s talking to Matty. She gets up and sits next to me, palming the remote in her hand and staring at the black screen.
“You wouldn’t like it if I had Aly’s shit lying around at my place.”
Big Man, put me out of my misery. Why do I keep fucking this up? Why?
Because you think it’s what you deserve, MacLaine. You know you’re not good enough for her, and you’re terrified she’s going to come to her senses and realize that yeah, she needs to upgrade to a better version.
She turns her head to look at me then, and I swear, she knows exactly what I’m thinking. How can’t she?
She keeps looking at my mouth and I check the need to lean in and kiss her, like we almost nearly did the night before.
She drags her eyes away from my mouth and says, “Hunt, if you’re wearing her shit, then we’ve got problems.”
You just got schooled, asshole.
I start laughing, abs doing the rocking and rolling, and I’ve got her curled into my side with some pressure of my arm, and my lips are on top of her hair and everything is fucking stellar, for once.
“Ten points to Gryffindor,” she mumbles against my chest.
I grin down at her perfect face, and keeping her close, turn to look at the screen. You have to add Harry Potter to your list of shit to do.
“As soon as Captain Jack comes on screen, it’s quiet time. No interrupting. I get really into it, so I might fidget or make noises, or whatever. No judging allowed.”
I kiss the top of her head again, because I want to, and she gets even closer to me. This could be one of the better days of my life.
Johnny Depp is a mastermind when it comes to acting. I mean, I didn’t know it until just now, since Blow was the only movie I’ve ever seen with him when I was younger. I might admit to Sera that I want to be a pirate, just to see her smile, watch her eyes get all big and interesting.
When the movie’s done, Sera checks her phone, and starts moving to her kitchen to make something to eat. She opts for calling the person, and I look around her kitchen trying to figure out without a map where she stashes all the pots, pans, and everything else we’re gonna need.
I’m going to make her my specialty: grilled cheese sandwiches. I get the butter from the fridge, the pan from the cupboards and some bread and Singles ready to go.
“Sorry, Hunt, I had to take that,” Sera says, walking back into the kitchen, all smiles. It feels like she’s opened up my chest cavity and grabbed onto my heart – I’m still living and breathing at her command. I get a wave of dizziness that I can’t really explain – is it the sugar, or something else?