CHAPTER EIGHT

Ricky picked me up at seven, and we rode to a diner he’d scoped out. I presume the food was decent, though I was too caught up in conversation to taste it. Even the possibility that our evening plans would be scuttled again didn’t dampen our mood. His father had called him in to deal with an escalating situation. If it couldn’t be resolved peacefully today, Ricky would have to help handle it tonight.

“Dad’s promised me tomorrow night off. If you’re free . . .”

“The cabin?”

He smiled. “That’s what I was hoping. Makes me feel like a cheap bastard, though. Promise you a romantic getaway and take you to my family’s cabin in Wisconsin. But you did seem okay with it the last time . . .”

“Um, more than ‘okay with it,’ as I recall. The answer is yes. Absolutely yes.”

“Great. It’s a date, then. Tomorrow night at the cabin, no matter what other shit comes up. I have his word on that.”

As we walked to the bike afterward, Ricky slowed and glanced along the busy road.

“Not really the place for a proper goodbye kiss.” His gaze swung behind the diner.

“Yes,” I said. “And please.”

The back was clear, with only a few half-dead bushes to navigate. I tugged him between the bushes and pulled him into a kiss that took about 0.5 seconds to go from “Good morning” to “God, I’ve missed you.” My hands in his hair, the kiss deep and devouring, me up against the wall, as he pressed between my legs and—

He cut himself short with a groan, and then shifted back to readjust my skirt.

“Sorry,” he said. “Wrong time and place. Just . . . skirt.”

“It tempts you in spite of yourself?”

“It does. Kind of like a half-open gate.”

When I sputtered a laugh, he said, “That didn’t sound right, did it?”

“Put it this way. I don’t need to wear a skirt for work. If the gate is half open, that’s because I left it half open.” I ran his hand up my bare thigh to my panties. “See? Only half open. Meaning I am amenable to the possibility, but there are no expectations.”

“I’m fine with expectations. Pretty damn good with them, actually.”

“That’s very sweet.”

“Mmm, not really.”

I hooked my hands around his neck again. He played with the edge of my panties and then . . . not the edge of my panties. I arched against the wall as his fingers slid into me.

“Very, very sweet,” I said.

I gasped, knees threatening to give way. His free hand slid under my rear, bracing me.

“I did debate the skirt,” I said. “Because of the motorcycle.”

“I thought you said they went together very well.”

“Too well. Short skirt. Big bike. Serious vibrations. I have a weakness, as you might have noticed.”

“Sure as hell not complaining.”

“But as much fun as that is outside the city, it could be a bit . . . frustrating inside. I decided, though, that since it would be a short ride, and a slow one, there wouldn’t be any grave danger of you pulling into the parking lot and me swinging around on top of you.”

His hand stopped moving. “Sorry, got stuck on the mental image there,” he murmured, and resumed teasing as he pushed against me, nuzzling my neck. “Damn . . . Can you repeat that?”

I unzipped his jeans and slid my hand inside.

“The part about the short ride?” I said. “Or the long one?”

“Either sounds good,” he said, breath picking up speed. “But that last part? Just . . . refresh that image?”

I kissed his chin as I stroked him. “With added detail?”

“Hell, yeah.”

I slid my lips over to his ear and told him, in detail, what I’d have liked to do to him in the parking lot. I didn’t get very far before my panties were on the ground and I was against the wall and he was inside me, and I don’t really remember much after that, just that those few days apart suddenly seemed like months, and I swear I’d forgotten just how good it was with Ricky, like a tidal wave that washed every other thought from my head.

It didn’t last long. This was sex against the back wall of a diner. It was release—glorious, fast, hard release, and when it ended, we both stayed there, my legs still wrapped around him, braced against the wall as we panted and kissed and caught our breath between the two.

“Missed you,” he said. “Missed you so damn much.”

“Missed you, too.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” said a voice near us. “I’d give you a couple minutes to cuddle, but Liv’s not really a cuddler.”

Ricky’s hands flew to his jeans, getting them done up as he turned to see . . .

James.

“What the fuck?” Ricky snarled.

“That’s—” James began.

“No, really, what the fuck.”

Ricky bore down, and I ran to stop him. I didn’t need to. He pulled himself up before he was within striking distance.

“You—” Ricky began.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” James said. “It’s a little awkward, admittedly, exchanging introductions right after I catch you screwing my fiancée.”

“She’s not—” Ricky bit it off, knowing it would do no good. “You followed her here.”

“No, I was driving by as you walked out of the diner. I pulled in to talk—”

“You stalked her.” Ricky moved forward now, his body still tense but his temper reined in. “You followed us, and then you waited through our meal to waylay us out here. Do you know what that is? Pathetic. Also? Damned dangerous to your health, because the next time I catch you within twenty yards of Olivia—”

“Enough. Liv’s gotten what she needed from you. You can run along now.”

“I’m sure it makes you feel better to dismiss me—”

“But I do dismiss you. You’re stud service, Gallagher. Nothing more. As you may have noticed, our Liv likes sex. You’re certainly not the first guy she’s had her back to the wall for.”

“Then I should thank them for giving her the practice. It definitely paid off.”

It took James a few seconds to regroup. “You can joke, but I bet you still think it makes you special, getting dragged back here.”

“It wasn’t actually dragging . . .” Ricky said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Kinda was.”

Ricky chuckled. I wasn’t helping matters, but it made Ricky relax, any danger of this coming to blows fading. That was, I presumed, what James wanted—to provoke Ricky into hitting him so he could call the cops.

“Now, as entertaining as this has been,” I said, “I need to get to work.”

James tried to step in front of me, but Ricky moved into the gap between us.

“Back off,” Ricky said. “I’ve already warned you—”

“And I’ve already said I’m not concerned, Richard. Or is it Rick? I’ve heard Ricky, but I’m sure that’s a mistake. It’s bad enough that Olivia’s seeing a college boy almost three years her junior. If you go by a moniker as juvenile as Ricky . . .” The corners of James’s mouth twitched. “That’d be almost too good to be true.”

“It is Ricky. Not Richard. Not Rick. But I’m not expecting you’ll have any occasion to use it, because if I see you near Olivia—”

“You’re a boy.” James moved to stand toe-to-toe with him. “A child who fancies himself a biker. You have the jacket and the Harley, but you aren’t fooling anyone. You’re far too pretty to be dangerous, Ricky. The son of a notorious gang leader, and you’ve never even been arrested. That makes you the worst kind of bad boy. A fake one.”

“Maybe. Come after Liv again and we’ll test your theory.” Ricky put his arm around my waist. “If you’ll excuse us, I need to get someone to work or her boss will kill me. He’s definitely the real deal.” He lowered his voice as we passed. “And right now, he’s really kinda pissed with you.”