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As she thunks down beside me, close enough for me to smell the girly-scented shampoo she uses, I curl my hands into fists and ask my question. “Did Jesse…take advantage of you?”
Her face pales. “Fuck, Boone. What kind of question—?”
“Did he?” With everything she said back at the bar, I got the clear impression something as fucked up as that went down between them. Which is why I cannot understand how in the hell she’s still hanging around the asshole.
If she wasn’t coasting on losing her shit earlier tonight, he’d be a dead man right now.
Mel shakes her head. “No. I mean, no. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience…but I was really fucked up. And we’ve had sex before.”
“Doesn’t mean a guy can’t rape someone he’s had sex with before,” I counter. She’s smarter than this.
She blanches, then recovers quickly, anger evident on her face. “Hey. We were getting it on, and I’d just shot up. I started to spiral, like really hard. I did change my mind…but it was too late. I don’t think he heard me, or noticed how messed up I was. He was way messed up too, and just really caught up in the moment.”
“That’s not what you said in your sudden moment of clarity back there.” I jerk my head, indicating back at the bar. “You seemed to blame him. And I think that’s the truth. Look, shit happens when you’re fucked up. I know. But regardless of how high I was, ever, I never forced myself on a girl. Shit, there’s been many times I could’ve. They probably wouldn’t have even remembered the next day. But that’s beyond fucked up. Even if he didn’t realize right in that moment…he sure as shit knew afterward.”
She’s fidgeting with her pink bandana. Agitated. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. So much shit went down that night—I’ve swept it all away. It may come up during a bad moment here and there, but it’s so far down on my list of concerns. Of what matters. Of what counts…” she trails off, lost in her own thoughts. And I realize this convo needs to happen when she’s clear-headed.
I change the subject before I get so pissed off I end up hunting Jesse down. “What’s with the pink bandana?”
“Uh-uh, that’s two questions.” She waggles her slender finger at me.
“The first doesn’t count. Because you’re still battling the truth, I don’t think you can actually answer.”
This makes her even more frustrated, and she tugs the bandana from her wrist and holds it out. “Because women can’t join the MC, my friend and I decided we’d wear our own colors. We’d be our own little MC together. So that’s what it is.”
I smile. “So you really are a Pink Lady.”
She rolls her eyes. “We’re so much more bad-ass than that, dude.”
I snag the bandana and loop it around my fingers. “Is this the friend you lost?”
Keeping my gaze on the pink material, I avoid looking at her. Wait for her response. I’m sure of the answer, but I want to hear it from her. If she’s so close to this person, then I’m positive I’d have met her by now.
“Yeah,” Mel says. “Which means I’m an MC of one now. How lame.”
“She died recently. She’s who you lost before you got sent to Stoney. Why what happened with Jesse takes a backseat by comparison.” I glance up. Her dark eyes are far away. Unfocused. Her pupils are barely visible little dots. Shit, how much has she done?
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says. “Let’s put twenty questions on pause, all right. There’s something else we need to get out of the way.”
“What?”
She takes the bandana from me and sets it on the table behind her, then swings a leg over one of mine. Her knee presses between my thighs. Heat builds in my stomach, an ache in my nuts, and I push away from her.
“Don’t do that,” she says, and places her palm against my chest. I’m sure my heart is knocking so hard she can feel it. “Don’t. Okay? We don’t have to make love or fuck. But you need to let yourself off the hook some. Give yourself some release, Boone. Or one day, you’re going to kill one of those guys in the ring.”
Her breathy words zing right to my dick. The traitor. Somehow my brain skips right over the crucial stuff, hearing only “make love” and “fuck.” Not the part where she’s actually concerned about me, which is now starting to register as she slides her hand down my chest.
I plant my hand atop hers, stopping its progression. “I appreciate your concern for your fellow backyard brawler,” I say, circling my fingers around her wrist. “And for me. Honestly, Mel. I get what you’re trying to do. And you think it’s some kind of favor…but—” Dammit. Last time I rejected her, she got hurt. How the hell will she respond all messed up like this?
Luckily, she skips ahead for me. She tugs her hand out of my grasp. “Fine. I got it. Not into girls, right?” She sinks her hands into the couch cushions and pushes herself backward, leaning her head against the sofa pillow.
I feel my face screw up, and I twist around to confront her. “What? You think I’m gay? I thought we already covered this. I told you—” What the hell? How…who…my brain is going over every kind of signal I could’ve possibly sent to indicate this. “Are you getting me back for that first day, when I assumed—” I cut myself off, realizing that the day we met, I made an asinine comment about her and the friend she’d lost. Damn. I’m such a dick sometimes.
But she laughs as she rests her hands on her stomach. My gaze is drawn right to her bare midriff. The tantalizing layer of flesh peeking out above her low riding jeans and her inched up shirt hem. I swallow hard, adverting my gaze.
“Okay, okay,” she says. “Not gay. Just celibate and highly constrained.”
From my peripheral, I watch as her fingers push her shirt up another inch. Trace the smooth skin of her stomach. “So…explain this celibacy thing to me. Are you not allowed to even pleasure yourself?” She flicks open her jeans’ button. God, have mercy.
