Page 1 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

Chapter 1

Sadie

The second bottle of wine is already open by the time Dani starts making fun of Brielle’s Instagram again.

“She really captioned a mirror selfie with healing era,” Dani says, sprawled across my couch. Her toned, tan legs hang over the side, toenails painted bright orange, a toe ring on the pinkie. An anklet circles her ankle, jangling when she moves to show me the photo. “Healing from what? Being a homewrecker?”

I choke on my wine, laughing so hard I nearly spill it down the front of my oversized sweatshirt. “Stop.”

“No, seriously.” Dani holds up her phone dramatically. “Look at this woman. She’s standing in front of a bathroom mirror in a silk slip, holding a green juice like she’s Gwyneth Paltrow.” She looks at me with a wry smirk. “I bet she got one of those vagina scented candles.”

The lamp beside the couch throws warm golden light across the living room, soft against the dark windows and the steady rain tapping against the glass. Owen’s cartoons are still paused on the TV from earlier, frozen in bright colors glaring out in the dim room. Dani and I scrolled, looking for a rom-com to put on, only to decide we wouldn’t pay attention to it anyway and gave up, resorting to wine, pizza, and gossip, instead.

Down the hall, Owen is finally asleep after approximately nine thousand requests for water, another story, and detailed questions about whether motorcycles could outrun tornadoes. Motorcycles are his latest obsession, last month it was monster trucks.

Dani snorts at the phone again. “Also, I hate her face.”

I roll my eyes, trying to suppress my smile. I’m enjoying this juvenile bitching more than I should. “You hate everyone’s face.”

“Not true. I like your face,” Dani slurs slightly.

“That’s because I buy you wine.”

Dani snaps her fingers. “Correct.” She leans forward, picks up the bottle, and tops our glasses, sloshing some over the sides.

I laugh again, curling my legs beneath me. It feels good. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much without immediately feeling guilty afterward.

Rain rattles softly against the windows, and thunder rolls somewhere in the distance. Owen would be thrilled if he were awake. It helps me to relax. I don’t need to worry about him waking up. He always sleeps soundly during a storm.

Dani tosses her phone onto the coffee table. “Okay, enough about Ethan and his twenty-three-year-old emotional support blonde.”

“She’s twenty-four now,” I mutter.

Dani stares at me. “The fact you know that is deeply upsetting.”

“I saw it on Instagram accidentally.” I sip my wine, not meeting Dani’s eye.

“You stalked her,” Dani says this with relish.

“I observed publicly available information,” I reply, missing the nonchalance I was aiming for as I pronounce observed as ‘ob-sherved.’

“You cyberbullied yourself,” she corrects, clicking her tongue.

I groan, dragging a throw pillow over my face. “I hate that he’s living with her already.” The words come out quieter than I intend. I don’t feel angry anymore. Just tired.

Dani’s expression softens slightly, she reaches over, bangles jangling, and squeezes my hand. “Sadie.”

“I know.” I stare at the ceiling. “I know he sucks. I know she’s annoying. I know I should be over it by now.”

“You found out your husband was sleeping with his secretary for over a year,” she says flatly. “You’re allowed to still want to key his car.”

“Surely not anymore. It’s been a year since I found out, and almost six months since the divorce was finalized.”

“Betrayal and heartache like that isn’t something that you get over quickly, or that has a set timeline. Just give yourself time. You’ll stop thinking about that prick soon.” She nods with certainty, downing the last dregs of her glass and already topping us up again.

I smile weakly into my wine glass. The truth is, it’s not even Ethan I can’t stop thinking about half the time. It’s me. Or at least the version of me that disappeared somewhere between marriage, motherhood, and trying so hard to be enough for someone who stopped loving me years before he actually left.

Dani studies me over the rim of her glass. “You know what your problem is?”