Page 33 of Misadventures of a Biker

“We do. It’ll be finished next week. It’s more of a mansion than a home, though.”

“When can we see it?” he asked.

Vinnie lived in Herb’s neighborhood, Pelican Bay. It was a gated community that butted against a private beach. A mixture of condos, single-family homes, and duplexes intended for the elderly, it was an expensive place to live by anyone’s standards. It wasn’t, however, sixty million dollars’ worth of expensive.

“Did he tell you what we were asking for it?”

“Sixty?”

“Million,” I said.

“Yah don’t fuckin’ say,” he said in a snide tone. “I thought youz were gonna take sixty bucks for the bastahd.”

I shrugged. “Just thought I’d make it clear.”

He glanced into the mirror. “Yah think I’m a fuckin’ gidrul?”

I didn’t know what it meant, but I was sure it wasn’t good. I shook my head. “No.”

“I know people who know people who might have a little fuckin’ money they need to spend,” he said. “Set up a time for me to see the fuckin’ place, would ya?”

I laughed at the thought of Teddi meeting Vinnie. “Sure thing, Vinnie,” I said with a laugh. “I’ll set it up.”

Chapter Ten

Teddi

Monday mornings were bad by design. Monday mornings filled with thoughts of rejection were much worse.

I’d spent the entire weekend sobbing. Although Devin inspired my emotional meltdown, it certainly wasn’t his fault. His decision to deny me sex was merely the straw that broke the camel’s back.

A lifetime of trusting the wrong men, being used, and putting faith where it didn’t belong came to an ugly head. To cope—or to keep from coping—I guzzled wine and binge-watched rom-coms on Netflix for the entire weekend.

Convinced my relationship woes were by my own making, I stumbled into the office hungover and tired. Wearing sunglasses to hide my puffy eyes, I strolled toward Devin’s workstation, convinced I could walk past without so much as looking at him.

Just through the door, I looked up. Devin was standing at his desk, stretching his arms. A few days’ growth of beard covered his angular jaw. His pressed shirt clung tightly to his wide chest. The outline of his muscular biceps was draped by his shirt’s sleeves, but little was left to the imagination.

I admired him as I strolled toward his desk, wondering if his weekend was as gut-wrenching as mine.

“Good morning,” he said as I approached. “How was your weekend?”

My lips parted slightly. I wanted to speak. To tell him how much it hurt to be rejected. Explain what it was like to feel there was something wrong with me. To know deep within my heart of hearts that when I decided to give myself to a man, it would only be a matter of days, weeks, or months before I was reminded that relationships, for whatever reason, simply didn’t work out for me.

Brimming with emotion, I strolled past him without so much as acknowledging his presence. After making a cup of coffee, I sat in my office and stared at the door. Knowing he was fifty feet from where I was sitting—but that I couldn’t even bring myself to talk to him—ground against my every nerve.

I picked up my phone’s receiver and dialed Kate’s extension.

“Good morning,” she said upon answering.

“Get in here.”

“Be right there.”

The receiver no more than fell into the cradle, and Kate ducked through the door. “Spent the weekend not answering calls and texts. I’m guessing it was a good one?”

“Shut the door.”

She shut the door and took a seat on the other side of my desk. “Sunglasses are a nice touch. Were you up all night with you know who?”