Growing up, I tried to be invisible and I’d always been thought of by my peers as a quiet, dorky, geeky brain, even as an adult.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t know cool.

And that tattoo on Buck’s back was not cool, it was super cool.

It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen in my life, not just the tattoo but the smooth skin and muscled back it decorated.

That tattoo was so cool, and Buck’s body was so hot, even in the state I was in, I felt it starting. My breasts swelled, my knees went weak and my feet really, really wanted to follow him to the bathroom.

I forced them to take me to the kitchen.

Ink had been right. Buck’s cupboards were far from bare. I had the feeling this was partially because he liked his food. It was also probably because he loved his kids and any good parent kept the kitchen stocked.

This, too, defined him and it, too, said good things.

Therefore, I smiled to myself as I made coffee and found some frosted cinnamon Pop-Tarts, my favorite kind. A definite treat.

Thus, I was sitting at a stool in the kitchen facing a window with a cup of coffee and a plate of Pop-Tarts, nibbling and staring at the scenery, when Buck strode in wearing nothing but a pair of faded jeans, his hair wet from his shower, his cell at his ear.

That took no time at all.

Confirmation: West Hardy was not a man who primped.

His eyes came to me then dropped to my plate and the lines radiating from their sides deepened. I watched as he walked into the kitchen, and I twisted in my seat so my gaze could follow him.

He talked as he walked.

“You got a number?” he asked, pulling open a drawer and yanking a pad of paper out of it then going back to the drawer to dig around until he came out with a pen. He wrote something down and then said, “Right. Just go in, clear it all out. Yeah?” He paused then finished, “Later.”

He disconnected, but was immediately clearly reengaging, his eyes on the paper, his thumb moving on the screen of his phone. When he put it to his ear, he moved to get himself a mug.

He was pouring coffee when he spoke again.

“This Dallas Hill?”

I felt my lips part at the same time I felt my eyes get wide.

Why was he talking to my landlord?

Buck shoved the coffeepot into the coffeemaker and kept talking.

“This is a friend of Clara Delaney. You padlock her apartment yesterday?”

Oh God.

I closed my eyes.

I opened them again when Buck went on talking.

“Right, asshole, that padlock is getting clipped in about five seconds, and seein’ as we don’t have her keys, we’ll need to be creative gettin’ into the apartment. Now, take this as friendly advice, as of today, you don’t know Clara Delaney. She’s no longer a tenant. Her stuff’ll be gone in an hour and she ceases to exist for you in any way. That clear?”

I stared at him as he turned with his mug and walked to me.

He stopped across from me, listening at the same time leaning a hip against the counter and sipping at his mug, casual, calm, at ease while my heart was beating so hard I could feel it.

He put the mug down by mine, reached out, picked up one of my Pop-Tarts and was lifting it toward his mouth when he stopped lifting to speak again.

“You don’t get me, Hill. I don’t care how much she owes you. What you need to know is, she got herself some good friends. These friends had a look at you, and we know more than you want us to know. You don’t want us usin’ that information, you move on with your life and Clara doesn’t hear from you again. Now, are we clear?”

That was when he took a huge bite of my Pop-Tart (huge), and even though what he was saying was freaking me out, I contemplated toasting another duo of tarts because it had been so long since I had one, and I liked them so much, I didn’t want to miss out on a bite.

He chewed, swallowed and stated, “Man, that is not a threat. Test me and see.”

On that, he disconnected the call, dropped his phone on the counter and took another huge bite of my tart.

There was a lot to talk about and a lot to say, but, as ever…priorities.

“Do you want me to toast you some Pop-Tarts?”

He looked down at me for a brief second before he threw his head back and laughed.

Golly, he had a great laugh.

I’d forgotten that too.

When he was chuckling, just like Ink (except better), he reached out and swept my quickly drying hair off my shoulder, his fingers curled around the side of my neck and his thumb pressed up on my jaw. He then leaned over the counter, bent in, touched his mouth to mine and moved back a couple of inches.

“I’m sensin’ my girl likes her food,” he muttered, his eyes, still smiling, looking into mine.

My lungs started burning and not because my ribs were bruised.

His girl?

Was I his girl?

When did that happen?

And why did his saying that feel like I felt the first time Ink called me “Clary,” except loads better.

Loads.

He let me go, dropped the tart to my plate, moved to the cupboard and I watched mutely as he got out the box of Pop-Tarts and set another packet to toasting.

He came back and grabbed his tart (or the one he’d made his which was actually mine).

“Buck—” I started as he took a bite.

“This is the gig,” he cut me off, his mouth full.

He swallowed and spoke again.

“I know your life has been shit and it bein’ that way, normally, I’d take it slow with you. We don’t have that luxury. Until I’m one hundred percent certain Esposito took my meaning yesterday, you need protection. I’m not farmin’ that out, I’m doin’ it myself. Which means you’re here with me and you got me or one of my boys with you until I know you can breathe easy. When that happens, we’ll talk about what’s to come. Until then, you’re in this house, and when you heal, you’re on my bike and in the office at Ace. The girl who managed the office served only one purpose, eye candy for the boys. She said she knew what she was doin’, but she took the job to land herself an old man. I fired her ass two weeks ago and I haven’t found anyone to fill the position. I need someone takin’ care of business. You want that job, it’s yours. You don’t, that’s cool. You just hang and find some way to entertain yourself. Now, is that cool with you?”

In a perfect world, that would be cool with me.

Beyond cool.

Even dreamy.

I’d never lived in a perfect world.

“I…” I started, for some reason beginning to breathe heavily, “I don’t want to offend you but…” My voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t know if it’s cool.”

He knew what I was saying.

“With that assclown ex of yours, you got taught a lesson, Toots,” he said softly. “But don’t let caution make you stupid.”

“I—” I began.

“You’re into me,” he proclaimed, and my head ticked.

It couldn’t be denied I was.

However.

I tried again, “I—”

“Don’t deny it, babe. It’s in your eyes. It’s in your voice. It’s in the way you touch me and it’s definitely in the way you light up when I touch you.”

Again, I couldn’t deny that.