I need a do-over.
A delete key.
An enormous freaking Magic Eraser to blot the last two minutes out of my life and Vik’s memory.
11:53.
11:54.
It’s like watching the countdown clock on a detonator that’s wired up to a ton of TNT. Any second now, Vik will glance down at his phone and see I’ve propositioned him. Courage seems like a great idea, the ultimate personal high, an absolute must-do on my personal bucket list. Now that I’ve taken the plunge, however, I realize that the problem with personal highs is the plunge. I’m free-falling off a fucking emotional mountain and the ground’s coming up fast.
11:56.
11:57.
I’m not good at waiting. Timetables are my friend. Perhaps Vik is asleep. Or his phone is dead. Or he’s busy banging some other chick. No, scratch that. Perhaps he dropped his phone in the toilet and it’s permanently ruined and he’ll never, ever see my text message.
Asking him to come over.
For sex.
I pour another glass of champagne (number five for those of you keeping track at home). Of course, he could simply be uninterested. We’ve had sex, but maybe he’s the kind of man who doesn’t vacation at the same property twice, no matter how fabulous the first experience. Just because I’m up for round two doesn’t mean that he is.
12:07.
Sometimes you need to change your plans.
I fire up my laptop and get ready to go with Plan B: retail therapy. I swing by Amazon, from whence all good things come, and fill up my cart with a brand-new, designer wardrobe for a fantasy trip to the Maldives that will stifle the lingering humiliation caused by Vik’s silence. Tomorrow, I’ll empty the cart and replace its contents with the far more practical cat food and toilet paper deliveries that I actually need, but for tonight...I totally need a three-hundred-dollar silk sundress for my hypothetical three-thousand-dollar-a-night bungalow. For that kind of price, Amazon had better be including Chris Hemsworth or Pierce Brosnan in the box.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Vik
TONIGHT I WENT to church.
Don’t look so shocked. It’s a Hard Riders thing, a weekly MC meeting that every brother is expected to attend. Missing one meeting nets you a fine. The second time you ditch earns a personal, hands-on explanation of the attendance policy. Third time? You don’t want to go there.
We’re not big on rules, although respect is king. This means I’ve had my phone off for most of the night. We need to up our security, and doing so requires planning. Too many brothers have been shot at or taken hostage this year. Last time it happened, we got our brother back, but several of the Black Dogs MC had gone up on charges for the kidnapping, and it looked like shit might stick. Rev’s old lady was making noises about it, too, because her brother, Rocker, was one of those who took a ride downtown in the back of a cop car. Stupid fuck had run drugs and guns. He’s looking at some serious time.
The kidnapped brother didn’t come out of it the same, either. He’s making noises about reaching out to the other club now that they’ve had their come-to-Jesus moment with the law. Rest of us aren’t convinced that the Black Dogs MC have given up on drug-dealing and the cartels. He keeps hinting he has leverage with the other club now that he’s been up close and personal with them, but other Hard Riders suggested the up close and personal actually occurred with a Black Dogs hanger-on. Specifically, a hanger-on with a super-awesome, miracle pussy. That accusation led to a fight tonight and the argument still isn’t settled.
Sucked to be my brother, though, if he’s jonesing for a girl who belongs to a rival club. Some shit’s just too Romeo and Juliet for words, and I’m not the only brother to notice because Prez has taken to calling him Romeo. I threatened to tattoo his new name on his ass.
Automatically, I turn my phone on as I head out to the parking lot and discover Santa Claus has come early.
HARPER: U busy? If not, come have sex with me. Plz.
Why I’m so tied up in knots about this girl, I don’t know. Maybe it’s listening to my dad ask if I’ve met someone. Or maybe it’s because inking and fucking go hand in hand more than you’d think. Harper isn’t the first to climb into my chair and then drop her panties. She’s had a rough time with her ex, and she deserves some sweet in her life. Part of me still thinks hunting the guy down and teaching him some manners is the best idea I’ve had in a long time. The rest of me thinks we should just focus on getting Harper naked and wet. Get our priorities right.
Romeo shoulders me hard. “Are you buuuuussy, Vik? Or you gonna put out for her?”
“Fuck off.” I keep walking toward my bike. Yes, of course I’m headed over to Harper’s place. I like her, I like sex, so that’s a win-win situation right there.
Romeo’s apparently not done giving me shit, however, because he snatches my phone out of my hand. He has to be the biggest brother in the club, and he fills in whenever we need a bouncer or someone requires an ass-kicking. Still not sure how the Black Dogs got the jump on him. We wrestle briefly because I’m determined to get my phone back. I fucking end up on the bottom, too, because the brother’s built like a linebacker.
“You gonna hang here?” Romeo laughs down at me. “Or you got other plans?”
He grins at me and reaches between us to shove my phone back into my pocket.
“My dick’s got other plans for tonight,” I grumble, holding back my own smile. “Don’t get too close.”
“So you’re headed over to see
