Page 7 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

Trigger tosses the phone back toward me. “Go on, your turn.”

I catch it one-handed. The screen glows brightly against my palm while the room somehow settles more quietly around me. Dash watches openly, grinning like an idiot. Trigger looks entertained. Shadow’s pretending to read again, but he hasn’t turned a page in ten minutes.

I type before I can think too hard about why I’m bothering.

Careful. You might not be able to handle what happens next.

The typing bubble appears immediately. Disappears. Returns. Then:

Sounds a little threatening. Are you a bad boy who’s going to punish me?

Trigger barks out another laugh.

Dash nearly slides off the couch. “Oh, she’s flirting flirting.”

I ignore both of them. Outside, lightning flashes pale blue through the windows, illuminating the room for half a second. Thunder follows almost instantly. The storm’s right overhead now.

The response bubble appears again.

Maybe I’d like it?

The room shifts after that. Subtle but immediate. Trigger leans forward slightly, forearms braced against his knees now instead of lounging back carelessly. Dash’s grin sharpens. Shadow finally closes his book completely.

And me? I stare at the screen longer than I should.

Because suddenly this doesn’t feel like random entertainment anymore. I realize that there’s an actual real woman somewhere out there, sitting in the dark, holding her phone and smiling at these messages. The thought shouldn’t interest me. Plenty of women flirt with us, and yet something about this mystery woman intrigues me. But I’m also worried, she’s lucky she texted us. If her texts had gone to some weirdo, then she might be putting herself in harm’s way. I send my reply, hiding it from the guys.

I could be anyone, don’t be too trusting.

The phone buzzes again.

You seem different over text.

Dash points at the screen immediately. “See? She already knows she’s talking to somebody different.”

Trigger grins, reading the messages. “Why are you warning her off, Chief? We were just having fun and you’re turning into a boring old man.”

“Fuck off,” I grunt.

Shadow ambles over, leaning on the back of the couch behind Dash. “Careful.”

I know what he means. This stopped feeling harmless about ten minutes ago.

Dash steals the phone before I can answer.

Maybe you just bring it out in me.

Trigger groans loudly. “That is disgusting.”

“She’ll love it.”

The response comes quickly.

Jesus. That was smooth enough; you probably practiced it in a mirror first.

Dash clutches his chest dramatically. “She gets me.”

Trigger laughs into his whiskey. Rain crashes against the roof overhead hard enough to drown out the music for a second. Lightning flashes through the clubhouse windows, washing the room pale blue before darkness settles back in.