FIVE

Dog

Fucking stuck-up club princess.

Maybe I laid it on a little thick, but shit, the woman was a fine piece of ass when she wore a shit-ton of makeup and dressed in figure-hugging shit that left nothing to the imagination. Yet pure as the moment she woke up, bare and demure in a baggy sweatshirt? Makes me think all kinds of inappropriate things.

I wasn’t lying—I’ve missed the hell out of her. But shit, I’ve done a lot of growing up in the last year too, and part of that was realizing what I should have appreciated more when I had it.

I thought I’d lost her, thought she was gone for good. And fuck it all if that didn’t tear me apart. Seeing her alive and well, remembering all the things that I love about her that almost pushed us to breaking our friends only rule … I don’t want to be the pussy that misses out a second time.

“Here.” I shove my spare helmet her way as she approaches, her brow pinched in a frown.

“Thanks.”

She makes a point of grabbing it on the exact opposite side I hold it so there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of our fingers touching.

“Might be a bit big for you.” Then again, with an ego like hers …

“I’ll make do.”

She lifts the open-facer to her head, sliding it on and promptly losing herself in it as the helmet slides down over her face.

I can’t help it. I snort at her predicament.

She whips the damn thing off as though it conspired against her and shoves it back at me. “Fucking hilarious, asshole.”

“Hey,” I protest, taking it from her and twisting to pack it back in my saddlebag. “I legit thought you might be able to strap it up real tight. Something was better than nothin’, right?”

Not as though these assholes told me who we were on the way to get, either. I can’t believe Hooch knew she was okay and kept it a fucking secret.

“I guess.” She crosses her arms, hip popped and her lips pursed as she scowls down at me.

“You gettin’ on or what?”

“Can I trust you not to dump the thing and kill me if I have no helmet?”

I thumb to the patch on my back. “Does that say I’m useless as horse shit at ridin’?”

Her huff of breath sends the dark strands of hair near her face adrift. “I guess not.”

“Besides,” I say as she lifts her leg and slides it over the back of the seat. “You think King would pick me for the run if he couldn’t trust me to get precious cargo like you back in one piece?”

“I’m not precious, and you know I hate it when people say that, so don’t,” she mumbles, her breath tickling the back of my neck as she adjusts her seat.

I adjust my own to counteract the effect the roll of her hips has on the fella downstairs. Lord, give me a sign that it’s wrong to pursue this a second time. I glance around as she draws a deep breath, her chest pressing into my back while I look for the thunderbolt that’s bound to strike me dead any second.

All I find is Hooch watching us diligently. Close enough.

King starts the bike, the crash van coughing to life soon after, signaling it’s time to go. I turn the key and push the button to start, trapping my breath in my lungs as Mel sets her hands on my hips in preparation. Focus on the bike, I remind myself. Pretend she’s not even there. Except I can’t. It’s my duty as a responsible rider to be aware of her every move. Fucked. I’m fucked.

“Do what King tells you, and don’t cause trouble,” Hooch warns her, stopping beside the bike.

“Yes, brother dearest.”

“I’ll be in touch when I can.”

I turn my head and look at the sad son of a bitch over my shoulder. I’ve got no idea what’s going on here, but I recognize that look: it’s the look of a man who’s losing something he’s only just regained.

I’m pretty sure it’s the look I wore when Mom passed. I’m also pretty sure it’s how I’d look if Mel were taken away from me again, too.

“Don’t worry about me,” Mel answers, her hands tightening on my hips. “Spend that call wisely on the one who’ll need the reassurance. I know you, and I know you can look out for yourself. She doesn’t.”

The woman Mel talks about sits awkwardly astride King’s bike, her legs stiff and her eyes wide. Newbie.

King eases the throttle open, winding his bike through the narrow gap left between the van and the barn door. I lean the bike upright, taking both my weight and Mel’s, and kick the stand in.

I don’t miss the way her chest expands against my back as she watches her brother shrink in the distance. I also don’t miss the subtle pinch of her fingers as her hands clench a little tighter around my hips, sliding together until she rests her hands against the V of my stomach.

She’s sad, understandably so, but what I recognize most is the stoic silence of a person who wants to deny it all. Silence not only in her words but in the most telling language of all, her body, as she settles in to the position she holds for the next hour until we pull off the highway for gas.

A club princess with probably the most revealing story to tell. And yet, as the gas flows into my tank, she holds my gaze and says nothing at all.

She doesn’t need to say any more.

I get it.