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It’s possible my biological brothers love their wives. Maybe their women swoon for them. But I doubt it.
Meanwhile, my club brothers fell for women who fit them just right. Some were lonely and looking for love to fix their broken hearts like Nomad. Others were perfectly happy being single like Ruin. Most had cut themselves off from their hearts. Yet, when they saw the right women, they couldn’t deny the magic. Not even Hobo could tell his heart no.
I trust that magic as I walk with Austen around her mother’s fancy estate. She doesn’t need to make sense. I have no checklist. I’ve dated a dippy hippie chick before. There was the sweet teacher’s aide. And the slutty bartender. And the tightly wound professor who refused to call me Walla Walla even when I made her come apart in bed.
I’ve enjoyed my time with many great women, but none shined like Austen does.
After circling the property, we end up in the heated stables, where four horses remain cozy despite the drizzle outside.
Once again, Austen forgets to be shy. Her expression shifts as she strokes the animals, whispers to them, and seems in her element.
“I’m having another local vet take my clients already on the schedule,” she explains, picking safe topics like she has since we started walking around together. “I’ll pay for their services since my clients can’t really afford what other vets charge.”
“And you don’t need the money,” I say, taking a chance and stroking her hair.
Austen goes stiff, watching me with big eyes. I offer her a relaxed smile, which she mimics. Her awkwardness peels away, and I witness the flirty woman craving my touch.
Before I can taste her lips, she steps away from the horses and settles on a bale of hay resting in the walkway. I take the spot next to her, leaving our knees touching.
Sensing Austen getting nervous, I ask, “Do you ride them?”
Her expression goes blank, and she looks away. “That part of me is gone.”
“Why?”
“Riding makes me feel wild,” she says and then shrugs. “Powerful might be the right word. I can’t afford to behave that way.”
I study her, wanting to kiss her lips. Yet, I sense she might run away if I make a move.
“I don’t get it,” I finally admit. “Why can’t you be powerful?”
“Being wild is why Hunter and I got hurt. I didn’t keep my guard up.”
“No, that’s not why situations like that play out.”
“You don’t know.”
“I think I do. I’m a rough guy with rough friends. We have parties at the Pigsty every Friday. Women get drunk and wild. No one ever hurts them, even though their guards are down. Occasionally, local men show up to have a good time. If they break our rules, we break their bodies. So, no, you weren’t hurt because you got rowdy or were too beautiful or tempted them. They did that because they were fucked up inside. Most men wouldn’t do what they did because what they did isn’t normal.”
Austen must know I speak the truth. She’s likely heard the same sentiment plenty of times. She isn’t a child, and her pain isn’t fresh.
Yet, my words rip away the awkwardness between us. She smiles in that inviting way. Her eyes shine with affection. I feel her craving me closer. I’m not forcing this moment. She wants it, too.
My hand cups her jaw as I lean in to press my lips against hers. Before I can kiss her, Austen leans back. At first, just a little, so I move closer. She isn’t pushing me away or saying no. However, the more I lean in her direction, the more she tilts back until she nearly falls off the bale of hay.
“Good Lord, Austen,” I say, steadying her before her ass ends up on the ground. “You can just say no.”
“But I don’t want to say no,” she whimpers and hurries away before realizing she’s going in the wrong direction.
I hate the expression on her face when she notices how I’m between her and the exit. Austen looks more terrified now than during the fire.
“Stop,” I say when she looks ready to run past me. “You stay there, and I’ll stick to my spot. We’re just talking.”
Austen bursts into tears, stops herself, seems calm, and then starts crying again. “I’m ruining everything.”
“No, you’re just working yourself up when there’s no reason to.”
Her panicked expression offers me no hints. I’m not sure if she’s scared of me, the situation, or the past. Austen and I remain strangers. I can’t tell what’s happening in her head.
