Page 41 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

Owen barrels inside. “Mommy! There’s a dog,” he says breathlessly.

“A dog?” she repeats.

He nods eagerly. “A big one.”

I snort softly. “That’d be Moose.”

“Can I pet him?”

“If you ask his owner first,” Sadie agrees.

Owen immediately sprints back outside. Sadie watches him go, with an automatic softness across her face, and I feel weirdly soft and protective. She looks so fucking good like this. She’s not even trying to impress us, to seduce us; she’s just natural and real, so different from the club bunnies constantly performing, trying to be the woman they think we want—no wonder Trigger’s spiraling.

Sadie nods distractedly as Chief explains more about the clubhouse and what we’ll do to find out who left the note. Her eyes flick slowly across the table, looking at each of us in turn. Something thoughtful crosses her expression, as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle.

I feel my stomach tighten slightly as I realize that she’s noticing us properly, our tones, our energy, the familiar way we’re talking to her, as if we’ve not just met. Did Trigger tell her the truth? I glance sideways at him. Judging by his face, absolutely not.

Sadie’s eyes narrow slightly as she looks at me. “What?” I ask lightly.

She hesitates. “Nothing.”

Bullshit, I think, but I change the subject, discussing her usual routine. Shadow notices, too, of course, he notices fucking everything.

Sadie keeps glancing at us strangely now during our conversation, as if she recognizes something she can’t place. Suddenly, I realize exactly where this is heading.

Oh, this is bad. Very bad.

“Have we met before?” she asks me.

“Only in your dreams,” I reply with a wink.

It does nothing to stop the cogs turning. For a moment, I think she’s going to ask outright. But then she shakes her head, as if dismissing the idea as too crazy to consider.

Chief takes another drink of whiskey. “We’ll work out schedules later.”

I should absolutely keep my mouth shut. But of course, I never do as I’m supposed to, I can’t help myself. “We can decide which one of us you’re in the mood for. Though the dangerous one shouldn’t get the first shift,” I quip.

Silence. Complete fucking silence. The second the words leave my mouth, I realize what I’ve done. Trigger goes completely still beside me. Chief closes his eyes briefly.

Shadow mutters, “Jesus Christ.”

Sadie blinks. Once. Twice. Then, slowly, her voice icily measured, she asks, “What?”

Fuck. I grin weakly. “So. Funny story—”

Her eyes widen. I watch the entire realization crash through her all at once. The different personalities. The changing tones. The shifting flirting. She wasn’t just talking to Trigger; she was talking to all of us.

Her face turns bright red, and she buries her head in her hands. “Oh, my God.”

Trigger stands so fast his chair screeches violently backward across the floor. “Dash.” His voice is dangerously low.

Sadie looks absolutely horrified now. “You all—” she shakes her head.

“Nobody planned it,” Chief says.

“Technically,” I offer carefully, “It was kind of an accident.” It sounds lame because how can you accidentally text someone for hours every day for a whole week?

Sadie stares at all four of us, completely mortified. “You were all texting me?”