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“I’m not going to stay here just because you demand it of me. I want to get back to the clubhouse before the sun fully sets.”
Is she hinting that she wants me to ask her to stay rather than just commanding her to do it? Would that make the difference in her staying or leaving? What would it mean for us if I did ask? Am I even ready to face any of that?
Since I can’t answer one of these questions, I step out of the way.
She walks past without another word, the SUV starting up and pulling out of the driveway a minute later.
I drop onto the couch, feeling utterly defeated and just as worried as I was earlier when I discovered she took off alone.
Boomer puts me out of my misery fifteen minutes later when he texts that she arrived safely.
Chapter 27
Alyssa
“Another glass of wine?” Boomer asks.
I shake my head, already feeling the effects of the two glasses I’ve already had.
“One more would be too much,” I tell him, my feet swishing through the water.
Boomer drops down beside me, dropping his own feet into the pool.
“Are you drinking because you’re upset, or because you finally feel comfortable enough to let loose a little around here?”
I shrug. “Maybe it’s a little of both.”
“One of those makes me extremely happy. The other not so much.”
Boomer looks out across the pool water, and I appreciate him not staring at me while I try to work through everything in my head.
“I made a huge mistake today, and I don’t know what the fallout is going to be,” I confess, the wine I drank earlier lubricating my words.
I cringe, considering never drinking again if this is what it’s going to make me do. Having this conversation with anyone connected to the club is a slippery slope. I don’t exactly need any form of loyalty from this man, but if I had to call on it, I don’t think I could exactly expect it to lie with me rather than Harley.
“You regret leaving Harley’s house?” he asks.
Boomer was out front when I pulled back up, and after putting his phone away, he insisted that I let him help me with my bags.
I can’t tell if he’s clueless or giving me an out from the conversation I started.
“We slept together,” I blurt, discovering that I really need to talk about it despite another man being the last person I should have this talk with.
He nods. He’s either not surprised, or he already knows. The thought that anyone would know what happened earlier between Harley and me makes me feel ashamed for it.
“You shouldn’t,” he says quickly, his words devoid of any judgment as if he can read my mind.
“Shouldn’t what?” I challenge, knowing I didn’t confess my shame out loud.
“You shouldn’t regret it. You had sex with an available man. You’re a woman who isn’t attached either. It’s natural. It’s how it’s supposed to be.”
I wish he was looking at me when he says these things, but he keeps his eyes focused on the tiny ripples our feet are making in the pool.
“He isn’t available,” I whisper, suddenly finding the water just as interesting.
“He’s physically available,” Boomer corrects.
“He regrets it.” Harley didn’t say as much to me, but the fact that he darted out of the room in the minutes I spent in the bathroom doesn’t make me think he felt any other way.
“His feelings about it aren’t your concern.” He turns his eyes to look at me now, and I manage to lift my head to look at him. “I’m guessing he was a willing partner?”
I huff a laugh. “He led the… charge.”
Boomer gives me a weak smile.
“He’s a grown man, Ali. His actions are his own responsibility.” He frowns when I shake my head. “If he can’t handle the consequences, that’s his own problem.”
“Consequences,” I mutter, thinking I have my own set that I’m struggling with.
“His feelings, his own regret. Maybe he considered them before you guys got to that point. Maybe they’re stronger than he thought they would be. None of it matters, or at least it shouldn’t for you. He has to be the one to deal with those. Just chalk it up to great sex, and leave it at that if you’re struggling with all of it.”
There’s so much to unpack with what he just said.
“What makes you think it was great sex?” I ask, focusing on that key point first.
“Wasn’t it?” he asks, looking a little flustered. “I mean, isn’t all sex great?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not.”
“Maybe he just looks like a man capable of great sex,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. My eyebrows raise.
I decide to throw him a bone because he’s growing visibly increasingly uncomfortable. “I think it could’ve been great sex.”
“Ouch,” he mutters with a slight chuckle. “Maybe keep in mind that he probably hasn’t had sex in a long time. Men who haven’t—”
