I put the last pair of sweatpants away in the drawer of a vacant guest room on the second floor. Shoving it closed with my hip, I unwind the gauze Tate put on my wrist at my house. That thing is overkill for this little bruise. Stuffing it into a side pocket of my bag, I leave the room and pull the door closed behind me. What I need is a stiff drink at the bar. As my foot lands on the first step down the flight of stairs, Tate’s voice cuts through the noise and floats up to me through the side railings. I don’t see him, so I take a guess that he’s standing in the hallway directly below.

“Come on, man. Don’t give me that—”

I freeze in the spot to listen, interested to hear if he’s talking about me. I’d love to know what he really thinks of this Jett situation.

One of the guys with him says, “Don’t deny it, brother. Something’s going on between you two. It’s clear as day.” I don’t recognize the voice, so it can’t be Silas or Axe. My guess is it’s Cole.

“Okay whatever, man,” Tate answers.

“And now, with both of you in spitting distance of knocking boots every second, you’re trying to tell me you and Molly aren’t a thing?”

Leave it to Cole to spare the sugar coating on the situation. I hold my breath, unsure whether I want to hear Tate’s answer. Part of me wants to charge down there and give them both crap for talking shit behind my back. But now that my curiosity is piqued, I have to know, and don’t care if anyone sees me eavesdropping in this not so discrete spot at the top of the stairs.

“Women have a way of growing on you,” I hear Silas say with a laugh. “You’d better watch out. I didn’t plan on Sabrina either.”

I bite my lip, wondering where Sabrina and Jenny are right now. Sabrina would probably be the first to shut them down. I wait for Tate to speak up. I want to hear his take on things, dammit.

“Give me a fucking break,” Tate replies, adding a disgusted scoff. “Molly’s cool and shit, but this isn’t some fairytale like you and your old lady. She knows what we have. We’re both damn good at scratching each other’s itch. Nothing more, nothing less. There aren’t hearts or diamonds in our future.”

“Bullshit,” Silas says.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re seeing, man. Trust me, we’re both lucky if she doesn’t get sick of being around me in the next three days, let alone start a thing. It is what it is, and we’re both cool with that.”

There’s an odd wave of silence. My jaw tightens. I exhale, close my eyes, and inhale again, calming myself down so I won’t charge down the steps and punch Tate in the junk for saying that. He’s not wrong, but there’s a big difference between casually sleeping together and being damn rude about it. He’s talking as though we’re not friends, which I thought we were.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he says to them. “Fucking Molly is a treat. But that’s all it is.”

The fucking douchebag. To him, I’m nothing more than a good lay. He’s put me in the same league as the revolving door of sack demons. It isn’t like I’m expecting a ring, and I know that men suck at being real when they’re around other guys, but he owes me a little more respect. The way he downplays our friendship hurts the most.

Rejection burns hot in my veins. I want to shake it off, but no amount of effort will erase his little sound bite from my brain. Forcing my rubbery legs into action, I take the stairs one deliberate step at a time, hands on my hips, and as I turn down the hall, I see the five of them. They’re gathered around, beer bottles and whiskey glasses in their hand as they gossip like old ladies.

Silas is the first one to see me approaching. The way I see it, there’s only one way to handle this situation—and it doesn’t involve kid gloves.

I zero in on Axe.

He’s swigging beer from a bottle as his booming laugh fill the hallway. Yes, he’ll do perfectly for the job. I’m not shy as I break through the circle of men and sling my arm around Axe’s waist, giving him a tight squeeze.

“Mind if I borrow that?” When Axe looks down at me in confusion, I snag his half-empty bottle and take a sip. “It was a long ride over here. I could go for an above average dose of refreshment.”

“That sounds like me,” Axe answers. His brow furrows, and his strong, lean arm locks around my waist. All the men look on at my less than convincing flirtatious demonstration. I’m a little rusty. The last time I came on to anyone I was three sheets to the wind and the guy was a notorious womanizer. My current target is a little more subtle, and I’m way less drunk.

“You should get me a drink at the bar. I could use the company before I leave to start my shift tonight.” I wink at him, licking my lips seductively. At least I hope it comes across that way.

Axe leans down and places his lips against the lobe of my ear. “You might want to have that drink with Tate,” he whispers, although I can tell he’s caught on to my little game and is happy to play along with any ruse that sets off Tate. The two of them are forever butting heads.

I rise up on my tiptoes and whisper back, “Isn’t it obvious?”

A grinning Axe tightens his hold around my waist, and leans down, pressing his mouth to the side of my neck. He lingers an extra-long time, nuzzling a small spot. “You’re one hell of a cock tease,” he says loud enough for everyone to hear, including Tate who’s standing less than six feet away from us. “Sure, I’ll buy you a drink. Keep it up, and I’ll get you anything you need.”

“It’s good to know someone around here will take care of my needs.” I trace the side of Axe’s face with my fingers, flashing him a megawatt come-hither smile that could probably knock any guy on his ass.

Axe plays his part perfectly. He grabs a handful of my thick dark hair. I let out a squeal as I tell him he’s a naughty boy.

“How long should I wait for Tate to step up and show me who’s boss?” he whispers, taking back his bottle of beer.

“Hell if I know. I thought the prick would do something the second you touched me.”

“I’ll up the ante. Tate’s always been fucking slow to make his move.” Axe snatches my hand that’s busy tracing the ridges of his six-pack abs through his shirt. “I’d love to see you without these clothes on,” he says for the guys to hear. “Maybe a fucking striptease is in order…and I do mean fucking.”

“Sounds hot!”

He looks up toward Tate. “Not that I need to ask, but I hope you’re cool with the idea of me and… your client.”

Heat rises up my cheeks. I don’t dare look at Tate. I gauge his reactions by the expressions of the other three guys standing around, and judging by the curiosity on these bikers’ faces, Axe and I are doing a damn good job. Axe places his hand on my lower back, overdoes his wink at the men, and steers me toward the bar. He pours me a drink, smiling as though it’s the most fun he’s had all day.

“Well, how’d I do?” I fake bat my lashes at him and reach to feel up his bicep, just to keep up the ruse.

“Smart move. He’s still staring over here. I’m sure he’ll lose his shit anytime now.”

Axe wolfishly grins and slides a hand along my upper thigh as he brings his face in close. “Hey, this routine can probably work on chicks too. You should be my wingwoman next time I’m out on the prowl.”

“Sure thing, stud.” I quickly grow tired of the game and frown a little. “It’s fucked up that I have to go to these lengths for him to acknowledge our…friendship.”

“Men are fucking cowards. Not just Tate.”

“And others turn out to be fucking psychos,” I sigh, thinking about my stalker ex.

“I take it you heard part of our conversation from the stairs.”

I fight the urge to look back across the room. “All of it, I think. I guess I should be grateful. At least I know where I stand.”

Axe takes a long swig from his beer. “Bullshit. He’s involved with you. Give him some time to man up.”

“Yea, whatever.”

“He’ll figure it out…or not,” Axe says, tapping his skull. “That kid’s a stubborn, twisted son of a bitch. It’ll take a hell of a woman to want him with all his fucking baggage, let alone pin him down. I always figured that’d be you.”

“Okay, I’ve had enough of this henhouse crap. He’s on his own.”

“True.”

“If Tate doesn’t lose it soon, I’ll throat punch him for you.”

“You’re sweet. No need, though. I have to get to my shift. Besides. It’s not like I was looking for anything serious—”

“I get it, but it’s about respect. Anyway, drink up, little lady. He’s seething.” Axe raises his eyebrows. “Won’t be long now. How far are you willing to take this little game?”

“What are you concocting over there?”

“You’ll see,” he whispers. He leans in close enough to kiss me. I debate whether to go for it when a familiar inked arm appears between us.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Tate shouts at Axe. He shoots me an angry gaze, then returns his death stare to Axe. “This ain’t happening, bro. She’s not getting with you.”

“I’m not?” I ask.

His face turns eight shades of red. He’s almost purple with rage. “Fucking right, you’re not.”

I hop off the bar stool and glare up at him, tempted to knee him in the groin to help make my point. “That’s a strange answer for someone who thinks I’m just a good lay. Nothing more, nothing less.” I say. “It’s a free country. We’re just scratching an itch, right?”

I don’t wait for an answer. My shift will start soon. I can use a long shower. Leaving him at Axe’s side, I walk away toward the stairs, although the satisfied feeling of putting Tate in his place is short-lived.

I care about him. And we’re more than fuck buddies. More than friends.

But none of that matters if he doesn’t feel the same way.