“Maverick vouched for him,” Stitch answered, giving the name of one of the older members of True Brothers. “I think Bam’s his nephew or something?”
“You’ve known Maverick the longest, Stitch—why don’t you grill him about Bam Bam?”
Stitch nodded his agreement while Bumper looked confused.
“Why are we looking at Bam Bam?” Bump asked. “He didn’t see anything.”
“Exactly.” I raised my eyebrows. “The same as that night a few months ago when Tramps tore up Reb’s house. A big fucker like Bam Bam gets overtaken by Tramps that night and doesn’t see shit last night? Once I’d believe, but twice is fucking suspicious if you ask me.”
Bumper and Hatchet nodded their agreement.
“So, while Stitch is pumping Maverick, what should the rest of us do?” Hatchet asked.
“You’re the newest member, Hatch.” I jerked my chin at him. “Spend some time with Bam. Teach him the ropes as a newbie and see if you can find any ties to the Tramps, the Wild Riders in Sacremento, La famigghia, or even fucking California. But be subtle. We don’t wanna tip our hand. Meanwhile me and Bump will troll some bars and see what we can dig up.”
“I can do that,” Hatchet answered.
I nodded. “Then we take whatever info we’ve gathered to Reb. He’ll decide what we need to do from there.”
“Isn’t he gonna be pissed that we’re acting without his say-so?” Hatchet asked.
I shook my head. “As long as we don’t act on it, he won’t give two shits. It’s every club member’s duty to look out for the club. That’s all we’re doing.”
“Someone was listening all those afternoons we’d shoot the shit on my porch talking about the club and brotherhood.” Stitch grinned like a proud papa. “And here I thought you were just shining me on and were only there for my wife’s cooking.”
I smiled at the memory. “The scenery was pretty nice, too.”
“It’s gone now. Those fucking developers obliterated my view.” Stitch shook his head.
“I was talking about Brittany.”
Stitch scowled and slapped me upside my head while the other guys laughed. “Fucker.”
“Shit, you’re right—that is a mighty fine view.” Bumper laughed and danced away from Stitch’s raised hand. “But he’s not looking at Brittany now, he’s got his hands full with Nicole and all her fucking wildcat attitude.”
And there it was. I’d wondered how long it’d take the guys to give me shit over Nicole and the way we’d left the reception with me hauling her out of the room like a sack of potatoes over my shoulder.
Hatchet jerked his chin at me. “Yeah, what’s the deal there, Tank? Are you guys serious?”
I shook my head. “You guys know me better than that.”
“But it’s a possibility?” Hatchet asked.
“Fuck, I don’t know. This shit is too deep for me. Let’s go get a beer.”
“Oooooooh! Tank is in loooooooove,” Bumper taunted as he pantomimed a love-struck teen, clutching his hands over his heart. “Tank and Nicole sitting in a tree, f-u-c-k-i-n-g.”
I laughed. “I don’t think that’s how the song goes. Plus it doesn’t sound too comfortable. Give me a nice, warm bed any day.”
“Christ, I never thought I’d see the day when Tank settled down.” Bumper curled his lip in disgust. “First Zag, then Reb, and now you? Is it something in the water? Have the chicks spiked the club beer tap? Lemme know so I can avoid that shit like the plague.”
“Ain’t nothing better on this earth than the love of a good woman,” Stitch said quietly. “Makes you feel like Superman on top of the goddamn world.”
“Doesn’t hurt if she’s hot like Brittany or Nicole. Right, Stitch?” Hatchet shoved his fists into his jeans and rocked back on his heels.
“I’ve loved Brittany longer than some of our prospects have been alive. We’ll be married twenty-two years in February. I’d do anything for that woman. Ain’t nothing to joke about,” Stitch bit out. “Reb and Zag know what I’m talking about, and if Tank wakes up, he’ll get it, too. The love of the right woman makes life worth living. Nothing else matters. Nothing.”
We were all quiet for a moment as Stitch’s words sank in. I don’t think I’d ever heard him speak so passionately—even when he was trying to sell me on the True Brothers MC and their brand of brotherhood, he didn’t sound so heated. He loved Brittany so much we felt it when we were around the couple. But not in an uncomfortable, they’re-humping-each-other-every-spare-minute kinda way. More in a soft look, hand-holding, quiet contentment kinda way.
Shit.
Did I want what Stitch had?
“Fuck, man, that’s deep.” Bumper’s sardonic voice cut the silence.
“Fuck you. Your time will come, too. There’s someone for everyone, right?” Stitch slapped Bump’s back. “That is if you pull your head out of your ass and some blind chick is willing to put up with your ugly mug and shitty attitude.”
“Aww, that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” Bumper blinked puppy dog eyes at Stitch. “Maybe you’re my forever girl. Will you marry me, Stitch?”
I snorted. Leave it to Bumper to cut the tension with an inappropriate comment. “I am way too sober for this fucking conversation. Let’s go get a beer.”
Because I couldn’t think about Nicole or any woman that way. At least not sober. But as I followed my friends to the bar, I couldn’t help but wonder…
Nah, not me. I just wasn’t built that way.
Chapter 14
Nicole
I didn’t know what to make of Tank. We’d shared the most intimate, soul-shattering night of my life, and then I woke up all alone the next morning. Sure, it’d started off a little rough, but after I shared some of my background with him—more than I’d even told my best friends—and the way he’d comforted me, I thought we were heading for more. That maybe he wanted more.
His mixed signals were giving me motion sickness.
He’d left me without a word, but once I found my phone my heart raced when I saw that he’d added himself as a contact. And he’d texted me!
But then I read his text:
Sorry. Club business. Catch you later.
Catch you later? What the fuck did that mean? Were we back to one and done—I mean, two and shoo? Or did he want to see me again?
Why the hell was I giving him all the power in this relationship…if that was what we had anyway? I was the woman. I should be the one calling the shots between us. I was the gatekeeper. I had all the power, not him.
My indignation helped get me through my walk of shame while wearing a bridesmaid dress the morning after. When I got into the elevator next to an older couple in their sixties, I stared right back into the eyes of the busybodies and walked onto my floor like I owned it.
Except I didn’t.
It wasn’t even the right floor.
“Miss? I thought you pressed three? This is our floor,” the little old lady called from behind me.
Son of a bitch.
My face burning with embarrassment, I turned around and made a beeline for the elevator just in time for the doors to close without me on board. I stabbed the button in frustration, imagining Tank’s face in its place.
“You only have to push it once, dear.”
I bared my teeth in an angry grimace at the lady. No one would ever mistake my expression for a smile. “Thanks. I didn’t know that.”
“Harrumph.”
I mentally echoed her harrumph. God, could this day get any worse?
Turns out that isn’t a question you should ever ask the fates. Because it could.
After finally finding my room and showering, I realized that Tank had been my ride up to Tahoe. I was stranded. I’d meant to ask Emily or Jessica’s parents if I could bum a ride down the mountain, back to Reno, but in all the pre-wedding insanity and later with all the Tank craziness I’d forgotten to ask.
Bundling up in a towel and dripping water ev
erywhere, I started texting my friends.
To Emily: Any chance I can get a ride home? I’m kinda stranded.
My heart sunk when I saw her reply. Sorry, honey. We’re already back in Reno. Reb had some club thing to take care of. Maybe try Jessica’s parents?
Ugh. I really didn’t want to explain to Jessica’s mom and dad why I was stranded in Tahoe. Not to mention they had Jess and Zag’s daughter, Harley, to take care of for the next few days while the happy couple honeymooned in Hawaii.
Dammit.
Well, if I ever needed a sign that Tank was just as dependable as the other bikers in my life, this was it. Never. Again.
That was the start of an epically crappy week for me.
I eventually got a ride back to the Reno airport on the hotel’s complimentary airport shuttle and then it was a ten-dollar cab ride from there to Reb and Emily’s house, so I could pick up my car. The haze of dust on my car was an awesome reminder of how long my car had been sitting out in their yard. I rolled my eyes when I saw someone had written “Bow Chica Wow Wow” in the dust on the back window.
I made sure to wipe it clean before work on Monday.
Work. Fuuuuuck. I remembered when I used to love my job. Fresh outta college with all the knowledge and optimism. It really all went downhill from there. The last year had been an epic battle. Apparently my prickly attitude tended to rub people the wrong way, and office politics were a pain in the ass. I just wanted to show up, do the job I was paid for, and go home, relax, and chill out with my friends. I didn’t want to hear about Sarah’s dog pissing on the carpet all weekend or Ben’s marathon three-day binge of whatever show on Netflix. And I especially didn’t want to hear about it all while I was undercaffeinated and sleep-deprived.
I certainly wasn’t gonna share with my coworkers how I’d spent my Friday and Saturday nights fucking a big, bad biker, then spent Sunday night fantasizing about said fucking—hence the sleep deprivation. God, I couldn’t get it out of my mind—that muffled roar Tank made as he came, or that feeling of his arms around me when I broke down Saturday night. Or the way he looked into my eyes that last time we made love.
“I didn’t get your report on the Koi Krazy slot machine.” Doug Winston’s nasal voice ripped me out of my sexual fantasy and straight back into the hell that was Monday morning at Golden Age Gaming Equipment, or GAGE.
“That’s probably because I didn’t send it to you, Doug. All slot projects go to Valentina in Game Development for approval, then they go to Software Development. So, you need to talk to Valentina. She’ll have the report for you. My part of the Koi Krazy project is done.”
Doug glared at me before stomping away in a huff to the sound of snickers coming from behind me in the break room.
He knew better than anyone else not to fuck with me before my Monday morning cup of coffee, but then Doug and I kinda had history. I’d worked my way up from technical artist to project manager despite Doug. He’d been my boss in the Game Development department and had the audacity last year to take total credit for my work on one of our department’s projects. When I called him on his bullshit in the middle of our month-end meeting, he’d reported me to HR. But the joke was on him. I had my laptop and company computer logs to prove the hours I had spent on the project. But for some reason, instead of firing him, the company had moved him into Software Development while promoting me to his old project manager role. And in the process, totally divided the office, because despite the few coworkers who saw Doug for what he was and supported me, all the people who were on Doug’s side now had yours truly for their boss. It was a lose-lose situation, and the kicker was I still had to work with the prick.
“Uh-oh, I think Mom and Dad are fighting again,” Ben mock whispered.
I stared him down, along with anyone else willing to meet my eyes, as I filled up my coffee mug. Lord, Mondays sucked.
I returned to my office with my cup of coffee and had just fired up my computer when my phone pinged with a text message.
From Tank: You never replied to my text. Didja get home okay?
I blinked at my phone in surprise. Honestly, I kinda thought I’d never hear from him again—sure, we’d run into each other at Jessica or Emily’s place, but what happened to two and shoo?
I fired back before I spent too much time dissecting what his message could’ve meant:
Surprised you remembered I was stranded.
I smirked at the phone, then turned back to my computer. Halfway through an email from the marketing department on our new Guppy Game, Tank replied.
From Tank: That doesn’t answer my question.
I rolled my eyes. Lord, he was so bossy.
I’m texting you back now. Clearly I’m not dead in a ditch anywhere. I’m fine.
From Tank: Did you get a ride from Emily then?
Nope. She was already in Reno. I took the hotel shuttle to the airpor,t then cabbed it to Reb’s house to get my car. Most epic walk of shame I’ve ever done. Thank you for that.
From Tank: Just glad I could help.
I smiled and shook my head as I put my phone down. There was really nothing more to say. And after a few moments it was clear that Tank felt the same way as my phone fell silent. I got a little pang in my chest as the knowledge sank in that it was truly over. Two and shoo. That was the Nicole and Tank story. Oh, well, it was for the best—he was a biker, after all.
I tried to push Tank’s banter and our memories aside as I delved into my workday and the endless meetings I was required to attend. Whoever thought Monday was the perfect day to schedule four back-to-back meetings should be drawn and quartered. Still, every time my phone vibrated on the conference table with an incoming text, I couldn’t deny that my heart raced, or that I felt disappointed when I saw it was Emily, Brittany, or a coworker.
During my third meeting of the day when my phone buzzed, I didn’t even look down. Monday crabbiness had reached epic proportions, or maybe I was just hungry. I was mentally urging Kevin from Data Analytics to get to the fucking point—we really didn’t need all the fine details—while maintaining my professional façade. Suddenly my phone danced across the conference table as two, three, four texts came in one after the next. At the fifth, Kevin paused and looked at me. I grabbed my phone and buried it in my lap. After a beat, he continued droning on about user requirements or something, I’d lost track. Meanwhile my phone vibrated in my lap with more text alerts. I took a little peek to find out who the wise guy was who’d thought it was a good idea to text me eight times during my workday. My heart raced when I saw the name at the top of the text chain: Tank.
Tank.
More than anything, I wanted to read his texts and find out why he was messaging me, but I was in the middle of a meeting where I had no idea what was going on. I had to pay attention. Ugh. Adulting sucked.
Thirty minutes later I was finally able to check my phone.
From Tank: How about another walk of shame tonight?
From Tank: Or even better tomorrow morning.
From Tank: I can’t stop thinking about that little breathy sound you make when you come.
From Tank: Or the way your tits bounce when I’m inside you.
From Tank: There are still a few positions we haven’t experimented with.
From Tank: I really wanna see you on top of me, your hair down around your shoulders, your tits bouncing in my face as you drive me crazy with your tight little cunt.
From Tank: So that would make three.
From Tank: Three then flee?
I cracked up at that last one. Shit, I was in trouble. Somehow I had the feeling that I wouldn’t be fleeing after three. Three and I’d want to save him all for me. I didn’t know what to say to him. I was kinda torn between “Hell yes” and protecting my heart.
But my vulnerable heart froze when I saw the text from my mom.
From Mom: Call me.
She never bothered me at work unless it was an emergency.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. The l
itany ran through my head as I waited for her to pick up.
“Hey, honey.”
“Mom? What’s going on? Is Grandma okay? Is it her heart?” My mind raced through all possible scenarios. We’d been talking for a few months about maybe putting her mother in an assisted living facility closer to us. It was hard to care for Grandma when she lived over a hundred miles away in Sacramento.
“What? No, honey. Everyone’s okay. I’m sorry for worrying you. It’s just…” She sighed. “We probably shouldn’t do this over the phone. It’s nothing earth-shattering—family stuff, moving—but it can wait. How about you come over for dinner? Does Thursday work for you?”
“Oh my god. Seriously, Mom? You scare the shit out of me, then want me to wait until Thursday to find out what’s going on?”
“Nicole. Evelyn. Walker. Language! Aren’t you still at work? Do you want to lose your new promotion?”
I rolled my eyes. The whole name? Really? “They’re not gonna fire me for saying shit at work, Mom.”
“Well, that’s not how I raised you. You know better than that.”
I bit my lip to stop my smartass reply about learning from the best, aka Dad. Given her flighty mental state, it wouldn’t be a good idea to say his name. Instead I tucked my tail between my legs and tried for a conciliatory tone. “I’m sorry, Ma. You’re right—you did raise me better than that. Now tell me what’s going on.”
“Thank you.” Her tart reply made me smile. My mom had so much sass. “But I think face-to-face is better. Come over Thursday for dinner, and we’ll talk then.”
“But Ma—”
“Gotta go. I’m supposed to meet Melanie for lunch. We’ll talk Thursday. Love you, honey.”
“Lo—” I started to reply, but she’d already ended the call.
What the hell was that? My mind ran through the possibilities. We’d already established Grandma was all right. I’d talked to my brother, Austin, last night, so I knew he was fine. Maybe it was about her job? My mom had worked as a court stenographer ever since we moved to Reno. It was too soon for retirement. Maybe she got laid off? But was that something she’d want to wait to tell me?
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