Page 71 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

Watching them together should be an uncomplicated pleasure. Instead, a familiar ache settles somewhere beneath my ribs.

A few nights ago, I walked into the bar and saw something I’ve been trying very hard to forget ever since. I hadn’t intended to interrupt. I certainly hadn’t intended to become a witness to Sadie fucking two of my best friends on the clubhouse pool table. Unfortunately, once an image embeds itself in your head, wishing it away rarely works. Since then, every attempt to focus on club business has eventually led me right back to the same place. Back to Sadie and the soft slope of her hips, the way her eyes locked onto mine as she reached her pinnacle, yet she didn’t look away. Her expression was excited, aroused, and inviting. I know I could have joined them right then and there, and God, did I want to, but there’d be no going back. Sadie isn’t the kind of woman to want the kind of sex I participate in; few are. Sure, she’s clearly open-minded, but I can’t imagine my unique tastes doing anything but scare her away. Even so, I can’t stop myself from fantasizing about it, about her, about what it would be like for her to totally surrender to me.

Trigger’s already halfway in love with her, whether he admits it or not. Shadow isn’t far behind. Dash hides his feelings beneath jokes and charm, but I’ve known him too long to miss what is happening beneath the surface. As for me, I’ve spent the last two weeks pretending that none of it affects me, convincing myself that if I focus on surveillance footage, security plans, and finding the bastard leaving notes at Sadie’s house, I can avoid acknowledging what has become painfully obvious. My strategy to avoid falling under her spell like the others has been a complete failure.

I haven’t looked twice at another woman since Sadie entered my life. More troubling still, I haven’t wanted to. That realization irritates me because I know exactly where this road leads, and I have spent too many years building a reputation as the man who keeps his head when everyone else loses theirs to find myself in this position. I’m the calm one. The reliable one. The leader.

Those labels have followed me for years, and none of them leave much room for becoming another idiot chasing after a woman. Especially this woman. Especially when three of my closest friends are already orbiting around her.

A shadow falls across the table, pulling me from my thoughts. When I glance up, I immediately know something is wrong. Sadie lowers herself into the chair opposite mine and wraps both hands around her coffee mug, but the easy warmth that she usually radiates is nowhere to be found. The dark circles beneath her eyes seem more pronounced than usual, and there is a tension in her shoulders that wasn’t there yesterday.

“Got a minute?”

The fact that she even has to ask makes me want to smile.

“For you, always.”

She blinks, giving me that same look of surprise she saves for when I’ve said something charming that catches her off guard. I wasn’t trying to be charming, just honest. For a few moments, she says nothing, staring down into her coffee as though deciding where to begin. The hesitation alone tells me this matters. Sadie is not generally the sort of person who dances around a subject once she has decided to bring it up.

“What happened?”

She exhales slowly. “It’s Ethan.”

The name is enough to sharpen my attention. I lean back slightly, giving her room to talk.

“He keeps calling.”

My jaw tightens. “How often?”

“Almost every night.”

That isn’t good. The fact that she looks uncomfortable even discussing it makes it worse.

“Drunk?”

She nods. “Most of the time.”

I stay quiet. People usually tell you more when you let silence do some of the work.

“He complains about money constantly now,” she says after a moment. “At first I thought he was just venting, but lately he’s been asking if I’d consider stopping the alimony payments for a while.”

My eyebrows rise despite myself. “He asked you that?”

A humorless laugh escapes her. “It gets better. He actually asked if I could loan him money.”

For a second, I genuinely wonder whether she’s joking. The expression on her face tells me she isn’t. “What did you say?”

She finally looks up. “What do you think I said?” she asks dryly, with the faintest smile.

“Fair point.”

Unfortunately, her smile vanishes almost as quickly as it appears. Sadie rubs her forehead and stares out across the yard. “He just feels different lately.”

The words linger between us. Different can mean many things. It can mean unstable. It can mean desperate. It can mean somebody whose life is beginning to come apart at the seams—someone who could become dangerous under the right amount of pressure. Neither of us says those words aloud. We don’t need to.

Before I can respond, Owen’s voice carries across the yard. “Is that your whore dress?”

Sadie and I fall into stunned silence. I slowly turn my head toward the swing set while Sadie closes her eyes and mutters something under her breath. Owen’s talking to one of the club bunnies who’s looking equal parts shocked and amused.