I glanced over at Chance, who stood watching from the bar, his big arms crossed over his broad chest, and a wave of appreciation washed over me. Tonight had been fun, not to mention life- changing because tomorrow I was on a bus out of here.
Perhaps I had been too quick to judge him because of the vest he wore.
Maybe there was reason to everyone’s madness when they dropped their panties for these guys.
Maybe they weren’t the power-hungry bullies I thought they were.
I glanced over at Chance, who was still watching me, and felt a thrill travel up my spine.
I started to lower my guard.
I mean, where was the harm in one night?
Especially if I was leaving town tomorrow.
CHANCE
I was late to Ruger’s patchover party because I had to visit the sexual health clinic over in Humphrey. Fucking anyone without protection wasn’t what I was about, and this morning’s event in the shower was further proof I wasn’t myself. I knew Tammi-Lynn was one of the actresses who worked for the Kings of Mayhem adult film production company, Head Quarters. I knew they had strict health checks so they could fuck on film without condoms. I knew she would be clean and knew I would be okay.
But I visited the clinic anyway.
As a result, I got to the clubhouse just in time to see Cassidy get up on stage and start singing.
And goddamnit, my insides lit up like fucking fireworks when I saw her up on the stage, her bright blonde hair gleaming under the lights and those beautiful glossy lips singing into the microphone. But it was that voice, that rich, smoky voice that reached across the clubhouse to where I was standing at the bar and punched me square in the chest.
She was fascinating, and as the minutes turned into an hour, I grew more and more drawn to her. Even though I knew it was pointless, it was hard not to when she was up there singing like a goddess and making a room full of bikers and their old ladies eat out of her hand.
When she finished her set, the room erupted with raucous appreciation. I watched, intrigued, as she thanked the crowd then stepped off the stage and made her way to where I stood at the bar.
“Not bad, California,” I said, trying not to notice how her skin glowed with a golden sheen of sweat. Or how long her lashes were.
Or the fullness of her juicy, pink lips.
“Here,” I handed her an iced tea. “I ordered you a drink.”
I watched those luscious lips slide over the rim of the glass and felt the flare of attraction burst in my gut.
“Oh God, it tastes so good.” She beamed up at me. “Thank you.”
“You looked like you were having fun up there,” I said, resisting the urge to wipe the small beads of sweat from above her mouth.
“Maybe.” She grinned. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
“Not the seventh realm of Hell?”
She laughed. “No. I had fun. I’m sorry I reacted so badly about you being a biker when we first met. I’m just cautious, you know?”
“Don’t mention it. You helped us out. They really loved you.”
“It was fun.” She fanned herself. “But I think I need some air. It’s hot under those lights.”
“Come on. Let’s go sit outside.” I took her by the hand and led her out to the barbecue tables in the playground, where we stared up at a starry sky, talking. She told me about traveling with her friend, Missy, and how they had spent the last two years roaming across the country, picking each new town by putting names in a hat and pulling them out. She liked to be free, she said. To explore. She was spirited. Inquisitive.
I was jealous of her freedom. Not just the freedom to roam but also the freedom from the darkness. Because she was wild and carefree. Untouched by the blackness. I was like the night, while she was pure fucking sunshine.
The hours seemed to pass like minutes.
“I suppose I should go,” she finally said, pulling out her phone.
“Let me give you a ride.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll call a cab.”
I watched her order her cab, not wanting her to leave even though I knew I should let her go.
When she hung up, I suddenly remembered I hadn’t paid her.
“Here … before I forget.” I handed her the wad of cash.
“There’s three hundred here. It’s too much.”
“You sang more than the agreed six songs. You earned it.”
“I couldn’t let my adoring fans down when they kept asking for more,” she joked.
“I think Joker became your number one fan.”
“Is that the guy with the epic mustache, who looks like a young James Hetfield from Metallica?”
“The one and only.”
“He had some killer chords.”