I once told a brother that he had to do the woo if he wanted to win the girl. Blade didn’t appreciate my stellar words of wisdom, and I laughed my ass off at him. Now it’s my turn and Karma’s bent double, having hysterics. Now I’d rewind time and give him less shit. I’m a serial banger, not a lover, so this is all new territory to me. In another fifty years I’ll have it figured out, but right now I need practice.

Problem is, Rain’s not talking to me.

I need to go for the grand gesture. To make a statement. To use my words. The way I see it, Rain doesn’t know that I love her, so my job is to tell her that I do. Thing is, I know another word I think she’d like even better. Please. If she wants me to ask instead of take, I’ll ask. As many times as it takes. So I draw and text her dirty cartoons, with me pleasing her. I hire a fireworks specialist to light up the night sky with pleases in bright, sparkly colors. I spell out the word please with 72 multi-colored throw pillows in Rain’s front yard. And after I send in a caterer with an enormous fucking tray of chocolates that spell out please (the girls in her office love me for that one), she texts me.

 

U win. One date.

 

Best fucking day ever.

Worst fucking night ever.

I’ve made actual, honest-to-God reservations at a French restaurant that has a billion-star rating. It’s one of those places where a meal costs more than a major appliance and you have to dress up to get in. Imagine the mutant love child of the Eiffel Tower and Versailles and you’ll get the idea. Red roses spill out of window boxes and there are lots and lots of candles. It looks like the set for one of those chick movies—you know, where there’s lots of love and happy at the end. It’s special, which is perfect. I want Rain to feel special.

She won’t let me pick her up, so I’m straddling my bike, waiting for her at Le Something Something when she pulls into the parking lot. I’m sure you’re not surprised when I tell you she drives one of those little eco-friendly electric cars in a bright, sunshine yellow. Still, you gotta smile just seeing it—although I’m grateful as fuck Prius doesn’t make a motorcycle because she’d be all over me to convert.

“Hi,” she says, when I saunter up and pop her door for her. I step back some so she can slide out and I can appreciate her. I offer her my hand and she takes it after a pause.

“You look beautiful.” I hang onto her fingers and give them a little squeeze. Beautiful is a fucking understatement. She’s wearing a dress. I’ve seen her undressed, sure, but never in an actual dress. The hem stops two teasing inches above her knees and it’s made out of a pink, floaty fabric. There are sparkles on the little straps and she’s piled her hair up on top of her head in some sleek, braided twist. I kind of miss the ponytail. She looks like a princess, except that I’m no prince. Which is too goddamned bad because now I understand why guys bother with prom, with dances, and with weddings. There’s something magical—and really fucking erotic—about Rain all dressed up. I put date night right at the top of my mental to-do list. Gotta make sure I take my girl out weekly for the next fifty years or so.

She doesn’t say anything and she doesn’t squeeze back. I try not to be disappointed. I’m not quite as chick-flick worthy as the restaurant, but I’ve done my best to clean up. I’m wearing an actual suit, one where the black jacket matches the black pants and you can’t toss the lot into the washing machine at the end of the night. Although a tie is a step too far, I’ve traded in my usual T-shirt for a white dress shirt open at the collar. Still got my boots though because no way I force my feet into a pair of pansy-ass leather loafers. And yeah, my ink’s visible at the open collar of my shirt. The host gives my throat a quick glance before he leads us inside to our table.

We’ve barely sat down before I shuck the jacket and roll the sleeves up. The waiter brings over a bottle of iced champagne, pours, drops us some menus, and leaves.

Rain sits there politely.

The silence grows louder.

I should say something.

Anything.

Who knew nothing was so loud? Wish to hell I knew what she was thinking in that gorgeous head of hers.

“You look beautiful.” Lame. It was true in the parking lot and it’s still true but I need a different adjective. My fingers itch to draw her.

“Thank you.”

And… more silence. I’ve got nothing but hope. No words, no big plan, no fireworks and balloons. Probably should have scheduled a few explosions or maybe one of those Mexican mariachi bands because I need the help.

The waiter comes back to recite a list of specials. I’m not sure what he’s on about—pretty sure it’s a random list of French words and they’re yukking it up in the kitchen—so I stab my finger randomly at a couple of things on the menu. The printed shit’s also in French and I’m not here for the food anyhow. Rain orders a salad. Great. I’m not even gonna get three courses with her.

She sits across from me, eying me over the candles and obviously trying to decide on a safe topic of conversation. The baby wins and she lobs a softball question at me about my newest pack member. I tell her about Margie’s love of dancing and the cute little habit she has of scrunching up her face and winking. Then I field a bunch of questions about how Keelie Sue and Jace are holding up. I’d rather be talking about us, but I get that I need to lay a nice, safe foundation first. Make sure Rain’s feeling good about her choice to share an evening with me.

The waiter delivers Rain’s salad and a steaming casserole of meat parts for me. Rain looks over and makes a face.

“You’re really going to eat that?”

I poke my fork into the mess. Pretty sure that’s a former frog swimming in there with a few of his snail buddies. And while I’ve eaten plenty of hoppers and sliders in my pup days, there’s not a whole lot to chew on.

“Broadening my horizons,” I tell her, scooping up a generous spoonful. The gravy stuff isn’t bad, but that’s definitely frog and a skinny one at that.

Rain nods and crunches her lettuce leaves. I demolish my bayou friends. Eventually, the waiter returns and deposits a plate that turns out to be some kind of beet risotto with duck innards. The bird part’s great but the rest of it’s straight-up weird. Plus I’d need a bird the size of a pterodactyl to fill me up tonight.

A small smile touches Rain’s mouth. “Did you actually read the menu?”

“Sure.” I set my fork down. I’ll catch a real meal later. I snag a roll from the breadbasket. The bread is awesome here. “I just didn’t realize I was gonna need Google Translate to choose.”

Her smile gets wider and that’s my cue.

“We need to talk,” I say. I’d like to hold her hand, do some romantic shit while I say my piece, but the risk of third-degree burns is high. There are way too many candles on our table.

“Sure,” she says slowly. “I don’t think we’re on the same page at all.”

Fortunately, I’m a creative thinker. I scoot my chair around to Rain’s side of the table.

“Why did you ask me out?” she asks. “I’m sorry if you thought we weren’t done, but we were never going to be a long-term couple. I don’t think we have much to talk about, to be honest.”

My knee bumps hers. I’d rather be down on my knees, kissing my way up her thighs, but even I know there’s a time and a place for that shit—and Le Foo Foo isn’t it. She turns her head, meeting my eyes.

“We were a couple.” I curve my hand around her knee. She’s so warm.

“A fake couple.” She picks up my hand and sets it back on the table. “In fact, I think it would be better if we didn’t see each other again. You need to stop calling. Texting. Digging up my front yard.”

“That’s called gardening.” I catch her fingers in mine before she can retreat and rub gently. My wolf whines silently. He’s not convinced this hunt is going well and I have to agree. “Wait until they re-bloom. You’re gonna think I’m a genius. We can fuck and smell the roses at the same time.”

“We’re not going to be doing that,” she snaps. We are, but I get that she needs to work up to it. We’ve had a fight, she’s pissed at me, but I’m gonna fix that. Fix us. No way I’m giving up on that us because she’s the best happy accident that’s ever happened to me and I’d have to be as crazy as everyone believes I am to let her go without a fight.

“Listen to me,” I say as she tugs at her hand. As if I’d let go that easily. I mean, I can’t force her to stay. I wouldn’t. At the end of the night, she decides what happens or doesn’t—but I’m gonna push my luck until she makes that decision.

“Fang, you have to know we’d never work out.”

“Would,” I counter.

“Won’t.” The smile’s totally gone from her face. “I understand you want to give it a shot for whatever reason, but I’m not into casual hook-ups.”

“Not about the sex,” I growl.

“Oh,” she says, the word overly sweet and drawn out. “So you’re proposing to me now?” She leans in. “You have to get down on your knees for that, big boy.”

“Happy to kneel for you, sweetheart, but we’re gonna get tossed out of here for eating dessert first.”

She stares at me, blushing.

No.

Scratch that.

She stares at my mouth, and a hundred bucks says she’s remembering exactly how well I devour my dessert.

“I need you to listen to me for a minute. Please,” I emphasize, pulling out the big guns. “Got something to tell you, okay? Then you stay or go. It’s your decision and I’m gonna respect that, but if you could give me that minute, I’d appreciate it.”

She nods, looking wary now.

“Think I love you,” I say bluntly, going for the kill. “Definitely got feelings for you, and not just the below-the-belt kind. You’re awesome and I think we should see where this takes us.”

Rain stares at me. Not sure, but her mouth might fall over. If this really were a movie, this is the beat in the script where she launches herself at me and seals her mouth to mine. My arms are definitely ready to catch her—I’d never let her fall.

A beat.

Two.

I can’t tell what she’s thinking.

“So give me a second chance?”

She shakes her head. No hesitation, no thinking it over, no launching. “No.”

The fuck? This is not how the story is supposed to go. “What do you mean, no?”

Rain doesn’t like conflict, so I’m kinda hoping she’ll just agree that I can have my second chance. Then, when things are back to normal, I can woo her some more. I’ll somehow get it right, be who she needs, what she needs.

“No,” she repeats. “That’s a pretty basic word, Fang. I’m sure you know what it means.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” She throws her hands up into the air, gesturing for all she’s worth. Maybe the French restaurant is rubbing off on her? “Because we’re opposites, Fang. Because you’ve never met a felony you don’t want to commit—and because that seems to be the only kind of commitment you do. Because you belong to a motorcycle club that rides around like you’re above the law and you get to do whatever you want because might makes right in your world.”

“So your objection is that I’m a career criminal? Because I’m gonna have to object. It’s true I’ve never met a rule I didn’t want to break, but the MC’s about riding and living life free. We do what we gotta do to keep that life, and yeah, sometimes that means breaking a law or two, especially when it comes to holding our territory. But we’re not dealing drugs or pimping out women like some kind of TV show. Just because we could do it doesn’t mean we’re gonna. There’s good shit and bad shit—but I think we’re closer on that than you think.”

There’s another long, silent pause while she evaluates that. “I believe in following the law,” she says finally. “And I’m not sure I buy that some guys get to be an exception to the rules. Plus, I’m pretty sure the fine state of Louisiana would take issue with your whole holding territory claim.”

This is the moment to start explaining about packs and werewolves—except fucking hell… it’s not just my secret. And while I’ve thumbed my nose at authority, human and were, I do believe there’s shit you just don’t do. Rolling on my brothers is one of them. So I look back at Rain, holding her gaze, hoping what I’ve given her is enough.

When I don’t say anything, she sighs and starts talking again. “But it’s more than breaking or not breaking the law. I value stability, security, and honesty in a man.”

The implication being of course that I’m none of those things.

“You think Prince Fucking Charming was all those things? Hell, even that British prince dude did a whole lot of partying and screwing around before he settled down with that Kate chick and started popping out princes and princesses.”

“I’m not anti-adventure,” she says quietly. “But I’m done dating Mr. Wrong, as fun as he is. I’m ready for Mr. Forever.”

“Pick me,” I say. “I’ll be stable and secure. Swear. Just need you to be my old lady.”

Her eyes narrow. “That has to be the most insulting label ever.”

“It’s not meant to be,” I tell her. And then because she’s listening, really listening, I try to explain. Need a Dummies book for MCs—For Dummies publisher should get on that stat. “It’s a commitment. Biggest one a brother can make. Means I’m fronting for you to the club, vouching for you. You want to get married, we can do that too.”

I wait for lightning to strike or the ceiling to cave in, but God’s apparently taking a smoke break and the architects did a damn fine job. Nothing happens.

“And honest? Are you going to be one hundred percent honest with me about everything?”

“Got some stuff I can’t tell you.”

“You mean you won’t.” She looks sad. “I’ve told you before that Dick was a manipulative son of a bitch. He wasn’t anymore monogamous with truth than he was with me—and that’s something that I won’t do again. I need full disclosure, Fang.”

“Club business has to stay club business.”

“I’m not talking about the felonious extra-curriculars,” she says slowly. “But there’s something more than law-breaking happening with your club. You think I haven’t wondered why Keelie Sue wasn’t seeing an OB-GYN? Or why you all gave me the bum rush out of the delivery room? I’m not stupid, Fang. And I’ve been questioning my own judgment ever since—if I chose to overlook something I shouldn’t have, if I committed a serious ethical lapse.”

“Keelie Sue’s good.”

“She seemed that way, or I would have said something then.”

Rain would have, too.

“But there’s something different about your MC, something not right.”

The words she’s looking for are not human, but not like I can help her out there. Instead, I meet her gaze.

“I can’t do that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both,” I growl. “Fuck me, but for once I’m trying to follow the rules, Rain. There’s some shit I can’t give on, not even for you.”

“Just once, I’d like to be first,” she says quietly. “Second’s not so bad. I get that. But I’d be lying if I said I’m okay with it. If I’m going to be in a relationship, it has to be a partnership and you can’t or won’t do that. So I think we’re done here.”

She gets up. Hesitates.

“Ladies’ room?”

“No.” Her hand brushes the back of my chair. She’s so close that I can smell her scent and feel the warmth of her skin. Her dress brushes against my arm.

“Thanks for dinner,” she says and brushes her mouth over my cheek, friend-zoning me.

And then she walks away from me.

And I let her go.

Because it’s what she wants or thinks she needs. Because it’s what I promised her I’d do. Because everything’s gone to shit and I can’t joke or thumb my nose or fight my way out of this mess. She didn’t even touch her salad.

I’ve lost her and yet I’ve done everything right. I’ve asked and I’ve pleased and I’ve turned over a whole new leaf so goddamned big that it’s the size of a ginormous palm rather than one of those itty-bitty polite leaves on a bush.

Or maybe I didn’t.

Can’t or won’t.

I get up because I’m not eating dinner by myself. The waiter flaps his arms, looking alarmed. Fuck him. I stop at the front desk to settle the check only to discover that Rain’s already paid it.

Funny. It’s not the first time she’s paid for my mistakes.