My temper ignited. I stepped forward. “That is not even remotely what this is about. I couldn’t give a flying fuck that you’re a biker. I don’t think I’m better than anyone!” My voice rose to a screech at the end.
“You’re not—the way you’re acting right now you’re no better than the club whores,” he shot cruelly. He pulled his boots on. “I’m assuming you wouldn’t want to be seen in the daylight on the back of my bike?”
I couldn’t care less. In fact, I would love to roar around the freakin’ state pressed up against him and have the event televised. “I’d rather get my hair cut with a butter knife,” I shot back icily.
“Suit your fuckin’ self,” he muttered. He walked out the door, slamming it as he left. I flinched as it rattled the hinges. I stood there, one shoe in my hand, not moving until I heard his bike roar off.
“Thanks so much for this girlfriend,” I said to Rosie for the millionth time in five minutes.
“No problem.” She glanced at me across the car. “I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about the reason you were stranded at Brock’s for two days after he dragged you away at the club?” she asked perceptively.
“I’d rather not,” I answered quietly but with a small smirk. I had decided to call Rosie for the extraction mission from Brock’s for two reasons. One, because I didn’t know whether Gwen was off with her own hunky biker, despite the obvious row they had at the party. Two, I wasn’t quite ready to spill the beans about Brock. Somehow I knew if I spilled about Brock, I’d keep babbling and let loose about Ian. That couldn’t happen.
“Just tell me one thing,” Rosie ordered as we pulled up at my place. “How was it?” she asked with a grin.
I turned to her. “I was amazing,” I declared.
She laughed and waited expectantly. I gave her a fake wide-eyed look. “Oh, you meant him?” I paused. “My vagina will never be the same again.”
“I hope Gwen and Lucy haven’t crashed on the way home from getting booze,” I slurred slightly, wondering why they were taking so long. “I would be really upset to miss out on more margaritas,” I added and Lily cackled with laughter.
After coming home and finding Gwen halfway to smashed at three in the afternoon I deduced things were not well with her and Cade. Since the Sons of Templar were pricks we decided to get drunk. Then we decided to throw a party with all of our new girlfriends. No dangerously hot men in leather cuts allowed.
That’s how I came to be sitting on a sun lounger in my bikini, well after the sun had gone down, shooting the shit with Lily. For someone who seemed shy and prim the girl could sure drink a margarita. And swear like a sailor.
On that note Lucy appeared from around the corner.
“Hurray! I was getting worried about the fate of our tequila,” I shouted at her, getting up from my lounger. I was focused on staying upright so I only realized her hands were empty once she got closer. “Where’s the precious, precious alcohol?” I asked her slowly.
She smirked and opened her mouth, but I didn’t hear what she said, considering I was focused on the hot biker I was currently furious at strutting into my backyard. He was followed by more equally hot bikers. Upon inspection I saw that Brock was carrying the liquid that was necessary for my mental health. He approached, his gaze setting me on fire head to toe. The picture of him plunging into me from behind hurtled into my addled mind. I felt desire pool in my stomach.
Stop it, hormones!
I was struggling on how to handle the situation since I didn’t actually want to talk to him, but I needed the booze in his hands. I needed it even more so now if I was to resist the fact he looked hot as shit with his hair loose and down, wearing all black and his cut. Even his glare was sexy. I turned around as he approached.
“Lily,” I whisper yelled.
Her eyes had been wide at all of the men approaching and she fixed her gaze on me. It looked like she was struggling. I didn’t blame her. It was like Magic Mike meets “Sons of Anarchy” up in here.
“What?” she whisper yelled back.
I glanced over my shoulder to see Brock had been waylaid by a wasted Rosie. I did an internal fist pump. Rosie was the best. His dark glare met mine. I quickly turned my head back. “Come here,” I ordered quietly.
Lucy had disappeared somewhere, her explanation lost in my drooling over Brock.
“What?” Lily was at my side.
I turned to her, realizing Brock had disengaged from Rosie and was pointing his motorcycle boots in our direction. He was joined by some younger kid I didn’t know whose eyes were locked on Lily.
“I need you to get the booze off Brock,” I ordered quickly.
Her eyes bulged. “I’ve never even spoken to him—he kind of scares me. Why can’t you do it?” she asked, looking terrified.
“It’s a long story. It involves a sex marathon and his stupid man bun,” I explained incoherently. “Will you do this for me? Please?” I gave her a little push toward him; she stumbled forward, shooting me a panicked look before striding in Brock’s direction. I should have felt bad about sending a shy, drunk, twenty-year-old girl over to a biker to get booze off him, but I just didn’t have it in me at the moment.
I sank back into my lounger, watching her chatter nervously to him. The younger guy, the one with dark hair, was eating her up with his eyes. He looked about my age and surprisingly didn’t have any visible tattoos. Not surprisingly he was muscled and hot. After shamelessly pushing her into the company of gruff bikers my conscience made its appearance. I felt slightly protective over the shy, beautiful girl who worked in the store. Well, I’d fucked that up. It was like sending a mouse into a viper’s nest. I so shouldn’t have children if this was any indication of maternal instinct.