“Sounds complicated.”
“Definitely,” I admitted. Complicated. That was a good word. And Joe was a good guy . . . a guy who deserved better than fake. What the hell had I been thinking? I wasn’t my mom—I didn’t use men. At least, not on purpose. “If you’d asked me two days ago whether there was anything between us I would’ve said no way. There’s still not anything real . . . I like you a lot, Joe, so I’m going to be honest—he messes with my head and I don’t know where to put that.”
Joe nodded slowly, then gave me a pained smile.
“You know, I’ve spent years wondering why the hell I couldn’t meet a woman who wouldn’t play games. Now here we are and you aren’t playing games. Kind of sucks.”
I shoved against his shoulder, wishing I was a little less fucked up as a person. His arm tightened around me in a friendly squeeze.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s make a deal—you figure your stuff out, and if I’m still around and you’re interested, you let me know. But I’m looking for something real and I don’t think you’re in a place where that can happen just yet. You need to work through whatever hang-ups you have about Redhouse first.”
“Is this the ‘let’s just be friends’ speech?” I asked, my voice wry. “I hear that’s the kiss of death.”
Joe laughed.
“No, I’d like to be more than friends—but I’m not an idiot. If you aren’t ready to date, I can’t change that. I’d rather you figure things out with Puck now.”
“There really isn’t anything to figure out,” I replied, my voice melancholy. “He and I don’t have a relationship and we never will. I think you’re right, though—I need to get my head straight. Until then we could still hang out and have fun, though.”
“Maybe.”
The sound of bikes cut through the air, their single headlights flashing across us as they pulled into the parking lot. Growing up in Teeny’s house had taught me a lot of things. By the time I was fifteen, I could take a hit, give a blow job, and cook for thirty men on a moment’s notice . . . I’d also learned to recognize the sound of certain motorcycles, particularly if they belonged to someone important. Things had been bad for me back home, but they’d have been worse if I hadn’t known to hide when the worst of them pulled in for the night.
Puck and his Silver Bastard brothers had just arrived. I knew it for a certainty, even though I hadn’t seen their faces over the glare of the lights. Guess old habits die hard.
“Your break is about over,” Joe said quietly. “I’ll walk you back.”
He stepped off the table and turned to me, lifting me down. We walked back over the road and crunched across the gravel as the Bastards backed their Harleys into line. I refused to let myself look for Puck. So what if I was weirdly hung up on him? Life is full of things we want that we shouldn’t have.
Cheesecake. Chocolate lava brownies with ice cream for breakfast. That last beer you have after the other beers . . . you know which one I’m talking about—the one that turns a little headache into the hangover to end all hangovers.
Maybe that was a problem. I had a giant, five-year Puck hangover.
Puck was dangerous in a decadent, indecent, cheesecake-at-midnight kind of way. That night in my room, he’d stopped when he’d realized he was hurting me—and believe me, I’d appreciated the gesture—but we’d only scratched the surface of what a man like him would expect from a woman. It had been too much for me, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t his norm. My attraction to him was a dead end. For the first time in my life I had things to lose if I didn’t pull my head out of my ass, so it was time to start pulling.
By now, the Bastards had finished parking their bikes and started walking toward the bar, meeting us halfway there. They were like a pack of wolves, falling in and surrounding us, and I felt myself tensing up. I didn’t like being surrounded by big men wearing leather.
Just one more reason to avoid Puck.
Of course, avoiding him would be hard, seeing as how he was right next to me. Joe on my right, Puck on my left. This was a whole new level of awkward, and that horrible tension between me and Puck flared back to life in an instant. I stole a glance at him, but the darkness hid his expression. Probably just as well.
Joe reached over and caught my hand in his, surprising me. Puck made a low, growly noise. I shivered. Despite everything I knew was wrong with him, he could still get me going without even trying. Joe squeezed my fingers—a gesture of comfort—and I had to bite back a nervous giggle. Not a “this is funny” kind of giggle. More of a “I’m going to laugh now because otherwise I may fall apart completely” sound.
So. Now I had Joe on my right and Puck on my left, which you’d think would be awkward. In reality, it was actually super-duper extra awkward, which was significantly more awkward than I’d realized was possible. Tension grew and swirled among the three of us, tangible and pungent. Through it all, Joe kept hold of my hand—he might never be my lover, but he’d be a hell of a good friend. One who apparently wasn’t scared of bikers, which was a big plus. I tried to sneak a peek at Puck but still couldn’t make out anything in the dark.
Probably just as well.
Not counting Puck, there were four other Silver Bastards giving us a friendly escort, and they’d left a prospect with the bikes. He’d stand out there in the night—watching—for however many hours they were inside, all for the chance to become part of the club.