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It was the kind of scenario I would swear out was my ultimate fantasy.
But, I guess that was the ultimate fantasy before I met one Remy—Remington—Hot-biker-guy.
I really needed to figure out what his last name was. As good as that fan site had been in describing all the members of the club, their research hadn’t given everyone first and last names.
One could probably make an argument for the sex and all the fun, lovey-dovey sex hormones. And, yeah, that was likely no small part of it.
But it wasn’t everything.
Because the sex part had been a very new development, and I had already been obsessing over the man long before that.
The physical stuff just cemented what I had been suspecting all along. That Remy was borderline perfect. And that we, together, were, well, fire.
Because, you know, it didn’t matter how compatible you were with someone if the heat wasn’t there. It was a big reason why Myles and I would only ever be friends. We were as close as close could be. But there was no fire between us. And there never would be.
So he was just like a platonic soulmate to me.
And I was the same to him.
It would always just be a close friendship.
But with Remy?
Flames.
A goddamned wildfire.
I felt scorched all over even hours after he’d left.
“The dick was that good, huh?” Myles asked, shooting me a knowing smile from across the pool where he was drinking his crushed pineapple and vodka drink out of a hurricane glass we’d found in the bar cabinet in the dining room. There were even cute little colorful umbrellas that we’d slipped in. Like if we made everything fancy enough, we could forget all about the kidnapping and threats on our lives, and pretend we were just on a friends vacation.
“Myles!” I hissed, already feeling that ugly flush creeping over my chest and up my neck.
“Oh, that blush is really mingling with the beard burn to create a lot of incriminating evidence,” he said, eyes dancing. “Come on. We always talk about a good dicking.”
“Um, you always talk about a good dicking.”
“And after a drink or two, you always tell me about yours too.”
“I should have known you had ulterior motives,” I said, looking down at my mostly-drank glass. “This tasted stronger than usual.”
“Loose lips spill dick secrets,” Myles said, shrugging. “It was good, right?”
“Amazing,” I conceded because, yes, we did share. And while I would never share actual secrets between me and a lover—things like dick size or personal, private kinks—I felt like it was okay to admit that it was good.
“I knew it. Just from looking at him. He walks like he’d win every dick-swinging contest from here to Maine.”
“And across to California,” I agreed. “Maybe even up into Canada.”
“Damn girl.”
“And it seems like it isn’t just a two-time thing,” I added, taking another long sip of my drink.
“Yes. I love that for you. So, is he just talking hook-up stuff or…”
“Or,” I said. “I think. I mean, when I said I wanted that a hundred more times before I made a decision on how good it was, he seemed to agree.”
“Hey, that’s a start, right? I mean, it’s not a ring and a promise of forever, but the only people who say shit like that this soon are narcissists who are love-bombing the hell out of you. It’s better that it starts like this. More real. And it gives you time to make sure you are interested before you get committed.”
