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But when he’d finally said it, even listing the ways she was better than him, she’d looked him straight in the eyes and saidNo. She wasn’t attracted to an education, or a job, or any of that, she’d said. She wasn’t even all that captivated by physicality, she’d said—and then assured him with a grin that she thought he was hot.
She was mainly attracted to a person.Whosomeone was, notwhatthey were. How they treated other people. How they treated her.
And she was attracted to him.
She’d gone into detail about what she saw in him, why she was attracted, and honestly, he’d never seen himself through eyes like hers before. She’d said she saw his thoughtfulness. She’d said she liked how he really listened when she spoke, and how complete his focus was when they fucked.
She’d said he waskind.
Nobody had ever said that about him before. Probably, until last night, he wouldn’t have taken it as a compliment if anyone ever had. There was a little circuit in his brain that said kindness was weakness, but Petra had broken that connection last night.
Now he wanted to be everything she said he was.
One thing he hadn’t brought up, because he hadn’t been able to think of a way to say it that came with a guarantee it wouldn’t offend her: the way her sexuality intimidated him. Fundamentally, he didn’t care that she was bisexual. In fact, in a way it was pretty hot. But it did tweak his jealousy and, he guessed, his ... self-concept? a little. That she didn’t have a ‘type’ factored into it as well. Just so many people she could be attracted to, so many experiences she enjoyed that he couldn’t possibly give her.
And those damn dildoes. But that was a him problem, and he knew it. So he’d kept it to himself.
She wanted him, and she liked him, as he was. He’d focus right there and not worry about the other shit.
Her torso swelled with a big breath and she pushed up and rolled off him. He let out a long, sharp, embarrassingly high-pitched moan as his semi-soft cock slipped out of her. Before she could settle in at his side, he slipped the condom off, tied it, and flung it toward the wastebasket near her dresser—and mostly made it. It draped over the rim. He’d have to remember to flip it all the way in.
As he rolled to his back again, Petra’s fingers traced the scar over his side. “What happened here?”
Jay lifted his arm, and she settled in against him, her fingers still playing over the raised skin, where the nerves were a little numb.
The answer to her question could provoke a complicated, possibly dangerous conversation, but Jay was trying this new thing were he didn’t let self-doubt get in the way of what he wanted—at least with Petra—so he said, “A few years ago, I got shot. Lost a kidney.”
Her head came up at once, and she stared at him. “You got shot and lost a kidney?”
He nodded, trying to see every twitch and tremor in her expression.
“Who shot you?” She set her hand on his scar again, and her eyes shifted there as well.
“How much do you want to know?” It was way too early to let her into Bulls’ business, he knew that. But he had no idea how or where to draw the line with Petra. When any other girl asked a question about the club, he shut them down right away, but he hadn’t been trying to bewithany other girl.
She met his eyes again. “This is Bulls stuff, I suppose?”
It was and it wasn’t, but those details, he was sure, were too ‘inside baseball,’ no matter how much she wanted to know. So he simply nodded and said, “Yeah, it’s club stuff.”
Nodding, she watched her hand trace the scar again. She hadn’t answered his question.
“Does that bother you?” He worked at keeping his voice calm.
“Well,” her gaze returned to his. “I’m not thrilled to know you can get shot doing club stuff, but I guess I’m not exactly surprised. I know enough about the Bulls to know violence is involved occasionally.”
“And it’s not a problem for you, what I do?”
“Being completely honest, my best answer is I don’t think so. But I’ve never been with anybody who does what you do, so I don’t have a good sense of how it will be. Everything I know comes from TV.”
He laughed. “I can be completely honest and tell you we don’t use our guns anywherenearas often as they do on that show—or in any show that has bikers. Except, like,Mask. You ever see that old movie?
“The one with Cher? She’s the mom of a kid with a facial birth defect?”
“Yep. My old man says that’s the best Hollywood’s ever done representing MCers as they really are—and yeah, it’s pretty close.”
“Well, now I have to watch that again.” She tucked in again, resting her head on his chest. “Will you watch with me?”
“Netflix and chill?” he chuckled, relieved beyond measure that they’d turned away from serious talk about his scar or how he’d come to get it, or what that meant about his life. “Sure, I’m down. I have to work today, though.” Reaching over to the nightstand, he grabbed his phone. “Shit. It’s after nine. I’m on at 11.”
