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“It’s not. I was young and dumb.” She popped the chip into her mouth. “Who wasn’t?”
He looked over the top of the laminated menu and pointed a chip toward her. “You knew about Shovelhead. That means you dated a Cutthroat recently. Spill, girly.”
Delphi set down the other half of the chip and leaned over the table. Brewer did the same, eager to hear the juicy tale. “Leave it alone, Brewer. You don’t want to hear.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” He searched her blue eyes, not letting the subject drop.
The waitress came back with glasses of water and impatiently tapped her pen against her little notepad. They paused and gave her their orders, both grateful for the return of privacy when she left.
“You were saying?”
Taking a sip of water, Delphi cleared her throat. “In high school, I dated a Cutthroat prospect. Last summer, I was dumb enough to get back with him for a month.”
“Who was it?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
It sure as hell mattered to him. He grew up in the club. If someone were dating a Snowshoe resident, he’d have known. MC men, especially prospects, didn’t keep their mouths shut very often when it came to the women they were banging.
“I don’t remember any of the guys mentioning dating a townie.”
“That’s because he never told anyone.” She scooped salsa onto her chip, half of it splattering on the table before it reached her mouth. She dabbed at it with her napkin, only spreading the mess. “At least not right away.”
“I guess I can buy that.”
“Anyways, he was one of the cool kids in my high school. I loved him. Or I thought I did.” She licked her lips. “But then one night at a party, it came out that it was all part of his initiation into the Greenback Cutthroats.”
“What was?”
“Grant dating me. Andrea—the girl you met at the bistro the other night and Miss Popular all throughout high school—used to be his girlfriend.” She shook her head. “His club president thought it’d be funny, so Grant started pursuing me. I resisted for a while. I mean, after all, my parents always warned me about dating a biker.”
“Yeah, we’re dickheads sometimes.” Brewer polished off another chip. “How’d you find out?”
“I got invited to a party and overheard him bragging to all his friends and MC buddies.” She rubbed her lips together nervously. “They ate up every nitty gritty detail he gave them. Some of it was true, the other stuff wasn’t. It was probably one of the worst days of my life. I swore off club guys after that.”
Brewer leaned back, the memories of his own high school coming back to him in waves. “Clearly, it didn’t stick.”
She smirked. “No. Bikers are the definition of bad boys. And a Snowshoe girl like me can’t resist for very long. When I came home last spring, I came to this bar, and one thing led to another.” She looked around the cantina. “My parents had just died, I was lonely, and Grant seemed like a good way to numb the pain. Obviously, I was wrong because he’s even more of a dick now than in high school.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Delphi.” He reached out and placed a hand on hers. He understood that pain well. “How’d they die?”
“Car accident. My mom died on impact and my dad a few days later from a heart attack.” She let out a strangled chuckle. “Ironic, isn’t it? He survived only long enough to die of natural causes.”
Brewer waved his hand at the bartender and was grateful when the man brought over a round of beer.
“Damn, that sucks.”
“It really did.” She took a swig of the bottled beer. “So, I went out with Grant for a few weeks.”
“Did it help you forget?”
Her eyes shadowed. “At first, yes. I’m not a party girl, never have been, but I couldn’t face what happened. My dad told me some pretty heavy stuff right before he died, and I thought I could find answers here.”
This got Brewer’s attention. “Like what kind of stuff?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “About paternity.”
Before he could compute the words, she went on. “One night, Grant got a little too physical.”
