Read Unrequited (Fallen Aces MC #1) for Free Online

except for his leather cut, is King.
    I slow to a walk and quiet my approach while I climb the steps and pocket my earbuds. His head is down, and he stares into his coffee cup as though it contains the answers to whatever he’s thinking about. I’ve never felt the urge to just touch someone so badly. My fingers itch to know how his beard would feel as I traced the line of his jaw, or the tautness of his shoulders as my palms skimmed the rise and fall of his muscles.
    At least I don’t wear my ring when I exercise—yay for small victories. My fingers run nervously over the bare flesh as I step up on to the street level. The road comes to a dead end; the line of cafés start straight ahead, and the river lies to my left. He has no idea I’m there as I approach from behind, spotting his bike backed in against the guttering.
    “Doesn’t really look like your scene,” I remark as I drop on to the seat opposite him.
    He looks up, his eyes wide at first, and then his lips spread into a slow smile. “Found you.”
    “I believe I found you,” I correct, snatching up a sugar pack to ease my nerves. “How long have you been sitting here?”
    He swipes the screen of his phone, which sits on the table, and hums. “About three hours.”
    “Must be a good café.” I look indoors at the cabinets filled with savories and cakes.
    “Good for why I picked it.” He spins the phone on the table, the corners knocking the glass ashtray beside it every so often.
    “And why did you pick it?” My throat tightens, my heart beating with an aching intensity. The sugar pack weaves through my fingers at breakneck speed.
    “Exactly this.” He chuckles quietly to himself, smiling down at the phone as he brings it to a stop under his palm. “I wanted to see you again, and well, here you are.”
    I drop the sugar, staring wide-eyed at him. He’s been here for hours, waiting, watching, and hoping to see me again. What if I’d still run the same route as I used to? How long would he have waited before he gave up? “It’s been close to a week since I saw you at the store,” I point out. Not that anyone’s counting.
    “I know.”
    “And you’ve been here since—”
    “Couple of days after,” he interrupts.
    Wow. “How long did you plan to keep coming back?”
    “Until either I saw you walk into the store again”—he motions to the corner shop we’d met at down the end of the street—“or until they put a restraining order out on me for bein’ a public nuisance.” His lips curl up at the corners, his eyes bright with his humor.
    King’s been here, days on end, just to chance seeing me. I can’t even comprehend it. He’d do that . . . because of me? “I thought you were from Lincoln?”
    “I am.”
    And he rode six hours to do it. “How’s your arm?” I reach out to take his left hand, turning it over so his arm does, too. A reddened line with small black stitches shows. “It was bad. You lied.”
    “Nothin’ a bit of needlework didn’t fix.” He prods the scarring, making me wince as I withdraw my hand, rubbing away the tingling sensation left in the wake of our touch.
    “So . . .” I fuss with the sugar pack, stuffing it back in the numbered holder that’s in the center of the table. “What should we talk about?”
    He picks up the half-drunk cup of coffee and swirls the contents. “I guess you could tell me how your week’s been?”
    I smile and drop my head. “You don’t want to know.”
    “Yeah, I do.”
    I look up, expecting a teasing smile, but instead I find genuine interest. He sits with his arms braced either side of his coffee while he waits on an answer. “My papa,” I explain. “He’s not well. I live with him and look after him.”
    “I thought you were staying with friends?”
    Damn it. “That’s not exactly what I said . . .”
    “Still . . .”
    “I guess I just didn’t want to have to talk to you about him at the time. I don’t know.” I run a hand over my hair in