by Chelle Bliss
“Name’s Pike.” He tips his head back, tilting it a little to the side as his gaze sweeps over me.
I open my mouth and close it because, for a moment, I can’t think of a damn thing to say. I can’t stop staring at him and all thoughts, rational or not, just seem to vanish. I don’t know how many seconds I stand like this, staring at him while he stares at me, but it’s more than a few and entirely too long.
“Gigi,” I finally mutter like I’m a complete and total imbecile, unable to say more than a few syllables. I can’t seem to stop staring in his eyes. They’re beautiful, but I can’t tell if they’re blue or green in the shitty lighting of the bar.
“Still want my number?” he asks, moving his hand across his face and partially covering his mouth to hide the smile he’s sporting.
I nod because somehow, I’m still mute. Way to go, Gigi. In this moment, standing in front of this hot biker, who I now know is named Pike, I am indeed everything Mallory said I am.
Pike gives me a chin lift, and I raise my phone before he rattles off a set of numbers.
“Be right back.” I smile, or at least, I think I do. With the tequila, it could very well be a grimace.
Thankfully, Pike doesn’t ask me anything else. He just dips his head, those beautiful lips still quirked before I turn my back to him and hustle away as quickly as possible.
My eyes are wide as I stalk back toward the table where Tamara, Mary, and Mallory are all sitting, staring at me in complete disbelief.
“Tam, take down his number. If I die, you know where to start.”
“Don’t do this,” she pleads and covers her face with her hands.
“Just take down his number.”
“Don’t listen to Mallory, Gigi,” Mary tells me, but I shake my head.
“You want his number or not?” I stare at my cousin, ignoring the other two. “This is happening, so you can either have my back or not, Tam.”
“If you fucking die,” Tamara says as she fishes her phone out of her purse, “I might as well die too, because my daddy and your daddy will kill me. They’ll find out about our fake IDs, underage drinking, and me letting you walk out of here with a scary as fuck biker.”
I tap my foot. “Just open your contacts and type, Tam. I don’t need a lecture.”
She snaps her mouth shut and nods. Her fingers move fast as I read his number off the screen.
“His name is Pike.”
“Of course it is,” she mutters into her phone screen. “I still think—”
“Don’t,” I snap as I jam my phone into my jeans pocket while she stares at me with her mouth hanging open. “I’ll be fine. You have his name and number. He’s not going to murder me. I mean, look at him.” I look over my shoulder, catching those beautiful eyes again.
“I’m looking, and he’s fine,” Mallory adds like any of us give two shits about her commentary or opinion.
I swallow hard, suddenly feeling like I haven’t had a drop of liquid in my mouth for days. “Don’t wait up for me. I’ll see you when I see you.” I turn on my heel and head toward Pike.
“Gigi,” Tamara yells out, barely audible above the music and chatter of the people around me.
I don’t stop, though. I walk straight up to Pike, taking in his vintage T-shirt, torn jeans, road-worn black biker boots, sexy bed head, and just fucking spectacular beard and eyes and say, “Wanna get out of here?”
He pulls the beer bottle back from his lips, eyes sweeping up my body before his lips curve again. “Thought you’d never ask.”
2
Pike
“Fancy place,” the girl says as she walks into my hotel room, glancing around like she’s waiting for something to jump out and bite her because it’s a shit hole.
“I can take you back to your friends if you want.” I can see she’s not comfortable.
The chick—Gigi, I think she said her name was—drops her purse on the green carpet and turns to face me straight on. “I don’t want to go. I’m right where I want to be.” She sways as she speaks, clearly on the verge of drunk.
Why in the hell she asked me to take her to my hotel is beyond me. I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth, though. When a hot chick asks me to get out of somewhere with her, I’m no fool; I take her wherever the hell she wants to go.
Drunk sex can be fun, but drunk sex with such a young chick may not be all it’s cracked up to be. Besides being plain fucking stupid. I’m not an idiot. I’ve been with enough women, drunk and sober, to know when they want it and when they aren’t quite sure.
Right now, the way she’s looking at me, I’m not sure she wants what she’s asked for. I grab the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and pour two glasses, one for her and one for me, as she walks toward me. I push one in her direction, lifting the other one to my lips.
She takes the glass, staring at me as she moves slowly, lifting the rim to her mouth. “Pike, right?” she asks.
“Yeah, darlin’,” I mumble into the amber liquid, gazing at her as she tips the glass back and takes a mouthful.
“I don’t usually do this,” she says, wincing as the burn slides down her throat and mine.
Those words, I believe. There’s nothing in her body language that screams one-night stand. She didn’t leap into my arms, attaching her lips to mine as soon as we walked through the door. I almost feel guilty having her here even if she asked me to bring her exactly where she’s standing.
“Figured as much.” I move to the bed, sitting on the edge, resting the glass of Jack on my knee as I look at this mint-ass chick with the wild brown hair, big blue eyes, and killer rack. But the thing that gets me most is those long-ass legs, smooth and shiny, dark from the sunshine kissing her skin.
“But I want to be here,” she says quickly, moving to stand in front of me, but not close enough to where I could reach out and touch her.
“How old are you?” I ask, noticing the flawlessness of her skin as she stands near the bedside light.
“Twenty-two,” she says, not meeting my eyes.
She’s right at the edge of my limit. At twenty-six, anyone younger feels just plain wrong. I don’t care how much they push their pussy in my face, I ain’t looking for jailbait.
I take another sip, eyes locked on hers as she stares at me, shifting from foot to foot just a few feet away. “We can watch TV or just talk,” I offer, trying to be a gentleman.
This wasn’t exactly how I imagined the night going. When a chick like Gigi leaves a bar with me, I always assume there’s pussy coming my way. And before tonight, I’ve never been wrong.
“You want to watch TV?” she asks softly, finally stilling and staring at me with her head cocked and one eyebrow higher than the other.
I shrug, staring at the beautiful creature before me. She’s like a Greek goddess, wild yet subdued, with hair rolling down her shoulders, covering her breasts in long waves. “Wasn’t how I planned the night to go, but I’m down with whatever. This doesn’t seem like your thing.”
Her foot starts tapping, fast and loud. “What’s that mean?”
“Just what I said. We don’t have to have sex. We can just hang out.”
Why is this girl busting my balls so damn hard? Usually, a girl’s already in my lap, lips on mine, riding my cock through my jeans and begging to be filled. But not this one. She’s staring at me, putting more than a few feet between us, not moving a muscle or throwing herself into my arms. I’m trying to be a gentleman, but she’s making it damn hard to keep my shit together.
She slams back the Jack, slides the glass onto the nightstand, and moves in front of me with her legs touching my knees. I glance up, and it’s my turn not to move.
“I want you,” she says softly, placing her hands on my shoulders. Her eyes warm as her fingers touch the tender skin on my neck near my collar, stroking slowly back and forth. “I want you to fuck me, Pike.”
I don’t know what I said that made her flip a switch. Thirty seconds ago, I could’ve sworn we were going to watch
a movie, or at the very least, we’d be heading back to the bar.
But now… Now she’s staring at me with hungry eyes and nothing but determination.
She moves forward, lifting her legs one by one, planting her knees near my thighs as she climbs onto the bed. I slide my hands to her waist, steadying her as she settles onto my lap, pressing her sweet pussy against my dick.
The kiss is sloppy, her lips tasting like Jack but her breath laced with tequila. Her movements aren’t smooth, sending up red flags all over the place.
I glide my hands up her sides to her arms before hauling her backward. “Are you drunk?”
“No,” she says quickly, gasping when I tighten my hands around her upper arms as she tries to get to my mouth again. “Are you?”
She’s a sassy thing, ready to throw words back in my face without hesitation.
“Darlin’, it doesn’t matter if I am. I’m a sure thing. But it matters if you are.”
She tries to wriggle free of my hold, but I keep her pinned, my hands on her arms with her body moving in my lap, making my hard-on worse. “It doesn’t matter for me either. I just want to have sex.”
The last thing I want is to be someone’s regret. Tomorrow, when she wakes up, I don’t want to be the biggest mistake of her life or even this week. I want to fuck a woman because she wants me, not because liquor gave her the courage to step outside her comfort zone for a walk on the wild side.
In one swift move, I have her in the air and then flat on her back in the bed. But I don’t dare join her. I stand quickly, moving away from her as she blinks up at me in shock.
“What the fuck?” she hisses, trying to sit up but falling backward. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t do drunk chicks.” I run my fingers through my hair, pacing a path in front of the bed.
She grunts. “I’m not drunk.”
By her behavior, I can tell this isn’t her typical scene. Throw in alcohol, and this shit could blow up in my face big-time.
“Fuck.”
“Well,” she says, waving her hands over her body. “Hell yeah, baby. I’m waiting for that.”
I grab the bottle of Jack, walking toward the table and two chairs near the window. “I need a minute to think.” I‘m trying to buy some time and a way out without pissing off this chick completely.
She’s not timid or meek. She’s quick with her words, and I know if I say the wrong thing, she’s liable to go off half-cocked, completely losing her shit.
“Pour me one,” she says, trying to sit up again, but she falls back down, letting out a loud sigh.
I fill my glass, collapsing into the chair after I set the bottle back on the table. “No. I think you had enough for one night.”
“You’re not my father,” she snaps, fisting the comforter in her thin fingers and squeezing her eyes shut.
“It’s a good thing I’m not. I’d tan your hide for doing what you’re doing.”
She throws up an arm. “Now he has a conscience.”
“I always have a conscience.” I bring the glass to my lips and look toward the doorway, wondering if I should just leave her here or take her back to the bar.
I’m leaning toward leaving her, letting her sleep off the liquor. The last thing I want is for her drunk ass to be on the back of my bike, sliding onto the pavement because she’s too fucked up to stay on.
“Mr. Badass Biker Dude has a conscience,” she says before she starts to laugh. “Mr. McHotterson doesn’t want to fuck me because I had a few drinks.” She pauses, and her laughter turns into loud giggles. “Maybe more like five or seven drinks.”
I slide my gaze to her, but her eyes are still closed as she lies flat, unmoving except for her laughter inflating her chest. “However many you had, it was too many.”
Her eyes open for a moment, still unfocused as she looks to her side, watching me. “That’s priceless coming from you.”
I down half the glass of Jack, trying to get my shit under control because this girl is seriously getting on my nerves. “Coming from me?”
What the hell is wrong with me? An hour ago, I didn’t give a shit if she was annoying or not. I wanted to fuck her until I passed out. But now she’s lying in my bed, hurling insults and compliments in my direction because I’m trying to do the right thing.
“Well, yeah. You’re a badass biker dude.”
“What the fuck with that badass biker dude shit? I’m just a man looking to fuck.”
“See.” She waves a hand in my direction before dropping it to the bed like a ton of bricks. “Totally a badass biker dude thing to say.” She closes her eyes again, and I stay silent, knowing the argument is useless. “I just wanted to get laid and get Erik off my mind. Is that so much to ask?”
She wanted to have breakup sex. She wanted to forget. I can understand that even if I’ve only had a handful of women who ever came close to breaking my heart.
I don’t bother asking about Erik. I don’t give two fucks about the guy, and at the moment, I don’t give a fuck about the mouthy chick in my bed either. I sit here in complete silence, pouring myself another drink as she keeps on talking.
“There must be something wrong with me. Erik was awful in bed, or was I the one who sucked so bad I couldn’t even get off?”
She’s clearly way beyond tipsy based on the way she’s spilling her guts. I’m not engaging in this conversation, but she has no problem continuing.
“If the badass biker dude won’t even fuck me when I’m throwing myself at him, maybe I’m the problem. Two guys. Two cheaters. What else can it be but me?”
I’d love to tell her it’s in no way her fault. She’s beautiful even if she is a pain in the ass. I don’t know a guy in his right mind who wouldn’t explore her body for hours on end until he gave her a damn orgasm—or so many orgasms she passes out from lack of oxygen.
I lift the glass to my lips again, mumbling into the liquid as quietly as possible because I don’t want to engage in her ramblings. I’m thankful when she doesn’t say anything else and nothing but her soft snores fill the room.
“Thank fuck,” I whisper, glancing toward the ceiling and wondering what I did to deserve this shit tonight. “Dodged that fucking bullet.”
All I wanted was a good time. And instead, I’m saddled with a girl I don’t even know passed out in my bed, snoring away like she’s got no cares in the world.
I’m tempted to leave, go back to the bar, and finish the night the way I’d planned. But I can’t bring myself to do it. We may not know each other, but I can’t leave her in this room alone. When she wakes up, the last thing I want her to think is something happened when it didn’t.
I’m not a gentleman, but I’m also not a complete asshole. I don’t need any more trouble in my life. I had enough of that growing up and trying to break free of my parents.
I tip my head back, downing the rest of my drink before climbing to my feet and making my way toward the closet.
“Way to go, Pike.” I pull out the spare blanket, ready to bed down on the shitty couch near the door.
This may be one of the longest nights of my life. And I have a feeling tomorrow morning isn’t going to be any better.
3
Gigi
“Oh shit,” I whisper, turning my head to the side, seeing the hottie from last night passed out on the couch.
Did we do it?
That’s a big nope since I still have on my clothes from last night and they reek of tobacco and the day-after drunk stench.
My head throbs as I start to sit up, and I instantly collapse backward, wishing I hadn’t had the tequila. “The bad news is, I have a headache. The good news is, I’m still alive,” I whisper again, staring up at the ceiling.
Maybe I can slink out of bed and make it across the room without waking up the badass biker. I place my foot on the floor, my body still flat against the mattress and comforter that probably hasn’t been washed since before I was born. I push that thought right out of my mind as m
y toes dig into the dirty shag carpet, and I slide out of the bed like I’m doing a fire drill. It reminds me of the old stop, drop, and roll they used to teach us during fire safety week in elementary school.
I keep my head up, trying not to focus on the damn stickiness of the carpeting on my palms as I inch closer to the door while crawling on my knees. I hold my breath, trying not to wake the guy and wincing the entire time because it feels like there’s a little garden gnome playing the drums inside my skull.
I glance at the guy as I reach for the door, still on my hands and knees, holding my breath. My fingers are an inch from the metal knob when I lift up into a crouching position, feeling my escape almost at hand.
I don’t want to be here when the guy wakes up. He’s probably pissed because we didn’t do it last night. I came back here fully expecting to bump uglies because Mallory had pissed me off so much, and I figured it was spring break and the perfect time to do something reckless.
“Where ya goin’, darlin’?” asks the voice from last night, still sounding like sin, but deeper from sleep.
I freeze. “I thought I’d let you sleep.”
He reaches behind his head, arm thrown over the back of the couch, and grabs my wrist before I can turn the handle. “You in a rush?” His touch is light. “I figured we could get some breakfast.”
My eyes widen and my mouth falls open. “You want to have breakfast?”
His fingers tighten around my wrist, but not painfully. He’s holding me with such a light touch, it catches me completely off guard, and I do nothing to pull away. “That’s what people usually do in the morning.”
“But…” I swallow, hating to bring up last night but thinking it needs to be out in the open. “But we didn’t do it.”
“Do it?” He repeats my words, rolling his body without letting go of my wrist until we’re eye-to-eye. “Seriously?”
I nod and shrug, feeling like a bigger moron than I probably look. And that shit is pretty hard considering I’m on my hands and knees, trying to sneak out of his room without even brushing my hair.