Page 43 of The Price of Love

“Hey.” I lift my arms and place my fists against my hips. “Are you saying I can’t pull off badass biker?”

Dimples scrunches up her face. “Dressed like you are. Yeah, you can a little. But I’m thinking in scrubs, nope.”

I grin. She’s right. In my case, the clothes make the woman.

“Never judge a book by its cover.” Storm throws her arm over the prospect’s shoulders again. “Right, Prospect?”

The prospect’s cheeks darken. “I learned my lesson,” she mumbles.

“Sorry.” I smile at the prospect. “But I need to hear this story.”

The prospect puts her hand over her face, but I can see her smile through her fingers. “In my defense, they set me up.”

I glance between Dimples and Storm, who are both chuckling. “It’s part of our initiation,” Dimples says. “Rouge.”

I laugh. Rouge’s riding skills are legendary, so I see where the story is going. “This should be good.”

The prospect shakes her head. “It’s not.” She puts her hand against her chest. “At least not for me.” Her smile gives her away, though.

“We always send Rouge out with the cocky ones,” Storm says. She claps the prospect on the back. “And this one walked in confident in her riding. Rightfully so. She’s got skills, but we like to make sure our prospects understand there’s always someone better.”

“And it’s fun watching them underestimate Rouge,” Dimples says. “What were you thinking when Storm sent you with Rouge and told you to keep up?”

The prospect smiles. “Honestly?”

“That’s what we expect of a Thorn,” Storm says.

“I figured she was screwing with me. So I strutted out to my bike, thinking it was going to be a lame-ass ride.”

“And Rouge loves to play along,” Dimples says. “She fumbles with her gear and drives out of the lot extra cautious.”

“That was the worst,” the prospect says. “I’m thinking, Oh, my god, is she going to tip over in the lot? And then we hit the pavement.” The prospect’s eyes widen. “Holy fuck. I’ve never seen anyone accelerate through the gears like she did. I was a mile behind her before I knew what the hell hit me.”

We’re all laughing now, including the prospect.

“Ya ate some humble pie that day, didn’t you?” Storm says.

“I sure did.” The prospect holds up her hands, which are balled into fists. “I was holding my grips so tight that I couldn’t unclench my hands for days.”

The good-natured teasing continues until I say, “The line’s going down. Are the Thorns ready to grab some food?”

“Are you going to escort us?” Storm gives me a crooked grin, and warmth spreads across my chest.

Jesus. I need to stop reacting to her. “That’s my assignment,” I say in my most casual tone. “I’m supposed to make you feel welcome.”

Storm takes a half step back and looks me up and down. “I approve of the Graces’ welcome wagon.”

There was nothing subtle about it, which leaves me tongue-tied.

Dimples elbows Storm. “Stop. You’re making her uncomfortable.”

“Sorry, I’ll be good,” Storm says.

I scan the nearby tables, but none of the others, except the prospect, seem to be paying attention to our interactions. That kind of familiarity between Dimples and Storm catches me off guard, but I sense they have a different relationship.

Shit. Are they dating? I thought Storm was flirting, but perhaps I misread everything. But it’s for the best. I don’t need a Thorn flirting with me. I need to fulfill my obligation, and it’ll all be over by tomorrow.

Storm whistles to get her club’s attention. “Let’s get some grub.”