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Where the hell is that bunch of hockey boys when you need them?

“Could have fooled me,” Brianna grunts, then takes a calming breath. “Look, I don’t know you. I doubt it, but you might even be a nice guy when you’re not drunk. But the way you acted at Micky’s was unacceptable and quite honestly, it freaked out every woman in that bar. You need to get yourself help or you’re going to end up behind bars.”

He scowls at her before glancing back at me with narrowed eyes and taking off. “Holy shit,” I say to Bri. “You really put the fucker in his place.”

“Yeah, I did,” she grins then admits, “I’ve actually been thinking about that a lot. I’ve had the whole speech planned out for weeks now.”

“I can imagine,” I laugh, as we pick up where we left off.

“I can’t believe you were going to let him off the hook.”

I shake my head. “It’s not like I wanted to, but the guy gives me the creeps. I just wanted him gone.”

“Yeah, I get it,” she says. “But I think guys like that who think it’s okay to act that way toward women need to be put in their place.”

“Agreed,” I sigh. “Let’s just hope we never have to see the bastard again.”

We cut our run short and head home before getting on with our day. I finish classes just after lunch and am about to head home when I get a call from Bri. “Hey, where are you?” she asks.

“On my way home. Why?”

“Oh good,” she says, a little too giddy, which puts me on edge. “You know how we were talking about doing something to prove to Jax that you’re committed?”

“Yes,” I say slowly, a strange anxiety pulsing through my veins.

“Awesome,” she sings through the phone. “I’ll meet you in ten.”

Damn her. That’s the second time she’s left me hanging. If only I could read her mind.

Bri gets home a few minutes after me and grabs my car keys before physically putting me in my passenger’s seat and driving off. “Where are you taking me?” I ask, warily.

“Can’t tell you. You’ll think about it too much and chicken out.”

I groan but don’t bother pushing her on it. I know it’s no use, she’ll never crack.

“Hey,” I ask as she hums away to herself while navigating the afternoon traffic. “Did you steal my favorite black lace panties?”

“Eh?” she grunts, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I don’t want your dirty-ass underwear. Who knows where that shit’s been?”

I roll my eyes. “So . . . that’s a no?”

“Hell yes, it’s a no,” she laughs, focusing on the road while trying to glance at me at the same time. “Did you check the laundry? Sometimes the machine eats my socks or maybe it got stuck behind the vanity in the bathroom,” she suggests with a secretive grin. “I’ve lost a few things behind there.”

I ignore her later comments. “I’ve checked everywhere, even the washing machine, and they’re not there. I’ve pretty much turned the whole house upside down.”

She cracks a grin, and I know exactly what she’s going to say before the words come tumbling out of her mouth. “Maybe Jax stole them. He might have become sentimental about his conquests over the past three years. He probably has a drawer full of used panties with a polaroid picture of each girl attached.”

I can’t help but laugh as I swat at her shoulder, imagining it so clearly, but she couldn’t be more wrong. “Jax isn’t a creepy fetish guy.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Just saying. How well can anyone truly know another person?”

The conversation is cut short when she starts reverse parking my car like a pro, and I gape at her efforts, more than impressed. We hop out of the car and she loops her arm through mine while leading me through a maze of stores. She stops by a liquor store and grabs a bottle of vodka before silently continuing her journey.

My nerves start to spike. Where the hell is she taking me?

“Better start drinking,” she says, handing me the bottle. I reluctantly take it and crack the seal before taking a burning sip.

Bri takes a turn into an open store, and I have to backtrack to get a good look at the sign above, unveiling her plans to me. “What?” I shriek. “You want me to get a tattoo?”

“No, I want you to get your nipples pierced,” she says with as much sarcasm as she can possibly muster up before breaking out into a wide grin. “Yes, dumbass. You’re getting a tattoo,” she continues, “And you better make it something good. Something symbolic between you and Jax.”

“Oh my God, Bri. This is insane,” I tell her.

“No, sweet cheeks. It’s fantastic.”

I have to admit, her plan does have a little merit. If Jax can see that I’m dedicated enough to get something permanently put on my skin to symbolize how much I love him, then surely he can see that I’m here for good, right?

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