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Bou turned back to the bags she’d left on the floor. “I’ve brought us some steak. It will help get you back to normal.”
“Wonderful,” I murmured under my breath as she headed into the kitchenette. I wasn’t sure what normal was anymore, but if Bou wasn’t part of it, I wasn’t sure I wanted normal ever again.
I let my imagination wander into domestic bliss territory as the smell of steaks filled the apartment. I was getting too comfortable. Despite everything I’d said to Bou, I was beginning to think of let myself wonder what life would be like if it was always like this. No assholes on my back, no having to constantly protect my club, no dealing with lowlife scumbags. No more having to police the MC’s mamas, kicking out the skanky whores who’d just bring the MC to its knees with their various addictions. It was a blissful thought, but a dangerous one. I was turning into a pussy, sitting here waiting for my steaks to be served up. This wasn’t nineteen-fifties America, and I wasn’t some dutiful house husband. I needed to get away before I turned into someone I wasn’t.
The thought slipped from my mind as Bou appeared with two steak dinners in her hand. She was a fucking goddess, going out of her way to protect me and here I was, worrying about her changing me.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked as she handed me one of the plates. The pulled a beer from her pocket and handed me that too.
“Nothing, Why?”
She sat next to me and pulled out another beer for herself. “You looked far away, that’s all. Your face was all scrunched up, all intense like you were thinking of something important.”
“I was thinking how lucky I was to have been shot just outside your shop. If I’d have fallen from Betty anywhere else I wouldn’t be here... with you.”
Her eyes widened, and I swear I’d never seen anyone look for utterly fucking inviting. She leaned in to me. It didn’t matter how delicious the steaks smelled, they could wait. It was her I needed to taste. Her I wanted to savor.
Between us a phone blared out, bringing a metaphorical wall down between us. “It’s Celt,” she said apologetically before pressing answer.
She didn’t need to turn on the speakerphone for me to hear what he had to say.
“You alright sis? Everything okay?”
Everything meaning me. He knew I was dangerous. I was dangerous and I’d come close to bringing that danger to Bou. She deserved more. She fucking deserved everything. I needed to get out of here and stop with the delusional thoughts before I fucked things up for both of us.
17
Bou
The next morning, I was up alone, Wilde still sleeping on the air mattress with the cast propped on the coffee table. His legs were too long for that tiny thing, and I had a pang of guilt for making him sleep there.
Those thoughts wouldn’t do me any good, so I grabbed my boots and gloves and snuck past him into the shop. I tiptoed back to the kitchenette, where I stopped to gear up then left through the back door. Still trying not to wake Wilde, I pushed my bike onto the road before starting it up and riding away. Goggles in place, I welcomed the wind in my face and through my hair as an old friend.
Mornings were never cold near Park Ridge, but on this day, the wind had a bite. I didn’t care as I downshifted and opened the throttle to roll through the curve. Heat coursed through my veins with the thrill of the V-twin rumbling between my legs. It’d been too effin’ long.
As usual, I was the only person at the lookout ten miles north of town. The quiet morning sky was a deep purple as I kicked down the stand and hiked to my favorite boulder to watch the sun kiss the sky. Reds and oranges then yellow beams of light danced upward. I took a deep sage-scented breath and let it out slowly.
I squeezed my eyes shut. People other than Celt rarely came north of town to my shop, so Wilde and I had been mostly alone. For the past couple of days, we had been waltzing around in the little studio off the side of my shop. He’d started helping around the shop too, seemingly turning up just when I needed another hand. The place was so small, he appeared to fill it entirely. Even when we were in separate rooms, the hairs on my arms stood at attention just knowing he was close, somewhere in my shop, tempting me. Maybe Celt had been right, and I should have left Wilde in the ditch. He’d be dead by now at the hands of Rex or his boys, and I wouldn’t have been any wiser. My panties wouldn’t be chronically drenched, either.
Leaning back against the rock, I lifted my chin to the light and let it warm my face. In my addled brain, I counted, meditated as if I knew how, tried visualizing a beach, a grassy field, something, anything to take my mind off the solid rock of a man that I’d been trying to avoid. The attempt didn’t work.
At last, I gave in, slid my hand inside the front of my jeans to relieve the ache—a little. When my body locked up with my orgasm, I moaned. It was a weak attempt and only half satisfying, but a nice relaxing surge rushed through my body as my pussy’s walls contracted around nothingness. As I came down from the hormonal high, my brain started spinning again.
What was I doing? This couldn’t go on. I couldn’t do this again. It was madness, but as the days passed and Wilde and I became closer, I was finding it harder and harder not to bridge the gap between us. Before our steak dinner I was sure Wilde was going to kiss me, but then my phone had rung, spoiling the moment. Saved by the bell or had the bell only postponed the inevitable? It was clear that Wilde wanted me as much as I wanted him, but we both knew it would be a mistake. Once he was healed enough, he’d be gone and where would that leave me? I’d never had a broken heart because I’d purposely never given it to anyone, but with Wilde, if I wasn’t careful, he was going to take it. Plus he was still broken. He was a master at putting on a stoic face, but I knew he was still in pain. Of course he was. He’d broken his leg and had a gunshot wound. He was an idiot if he thought that any kind of physical pleasure between us wouldn’t put a strain on his body. And I was the idiot that wanted to let him try. I buttoned up my pants and watched the sun rise, thinking back to the phone call that had stopped... whatever might have happened. I was almost relieved. Almost. It had been Celt asking if everything was fine. I’d been half a second away from jumping Wilde on the sofa, but I could hardly say that to Celt, so I’d muttered “Everything’s great!” instead.
I recalled my brother and the warnings he’d shared from, of all people, my not so favorite, Rex. I’d never put my finger on why I didn’t like the man, but he made my skin crawl. Rex was the first one who found Pops after he’d been shot, and he gave credit to the AX3 gang for that loss too. If Wilde was on the run from the AX3, maybe he’d have been on Pops’s side. I still wanted nothing to do with gang mess. I’d always lived on the outside. No reason to dive in now.
Looking up to the bluing sky, I said, “Pops, what am I supposed to do? I can’t give him up to the AX3 but I can’t keep him at the shop either. I wish you were here. I know you’d have had this sorted out on day one. I’m sorry I’m making such a mess of things.”
I try to imagine what Pops would have done if he was in my shoes. For a start he wouldn’t have thought about jumping Wilde on the sofa. But would he have brought him in that first night? Yeah, he would have, but then he’d have made arrangements to get Wilde out of there the second Doc had patched him up. With a deep sadness I knew what I had to do.
Wilde needed to go. I pulled out my phone and texted Doc.
Bou: When can we get the cast off?
As I waited, I dropped my head into my hands. There wasn’t a reply, so after a moment, I stood, mounted my bike, and rolled back toward town, feeling a little clearer in the head. I parked at the back of the shop and checked my phone.
Doc: Broken leg. He’ll need a cast for six weeks. Five if he heals quickly.
