CHAPTER 12
I'm not prepared for Waylon to be here, asking why I came to his trailer.
He’s standing so close…so close I can smell his engine and leather scent even though he’s not on his motorcycle or wearing his club jacket. There’s also a faint sweat odor—the kind that comes with a day of hard work. It should be off-putting.
But…it’s not. It’s just not.
My body reacts to his nearness, and my brain statics, not knowing what to do with him or his question. He looms, and I avert my eyes, not sure how to answer.
But even with my eyes pushed in a different direction, I can’t miss the lopsided grin that turns up his lips. “You telling me I missed it when you finally showed up at my trailer to submit?”
Okay, that cocky question unstatics my brain.
“No,” I answer, righteous indignation kic
