STUCK WITH HIM (Southside Skulls Nomads #2)

Chapter 1

ROMY

Friday. It was four fifty-five and, in my time, that was close enough.

I downed the last of my water and grabbed my bag. Nobody in this office was going to notice me slip out five minutes early. Half of them were already cracking open the wine in the kitchen, gearing up for whatever bad decisions lawyers make on a Friday night. Affairs, mostly. I'd put money on it.

Me? I was going home to finish a jigsaw puzzle. Alone again, because Jeremy, my useless soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, was off fishing with his buddies. Again. I'd wanted to have the talk this weekend. The final one, but you can't dump someone who's never there.

And the worst part? I'd let half my friendships rot trying to keep that man happy. Weekends I should've spent with the girls, I spent waiting for him to come home smelling like fish bait and beer.

My parents always thought I was the clever one. Maybe academically, but considering my life, I thought stupid might suit me better.

I filled my water bottle one last time at the filter. My mouth had been dry for weeks. I'd started taking creatine at the gym and apparently drinking my bodyweight in water was part of the deal. But the trade-off was needing to pee every twenty minutes, which was its own special hell.

I pushed into the ladies and every stall was taken.

Shit.

I didn't desperately need to go, but I had a rule… always pee before driving. The one time I got stuck for forty minutes with a full bladder cured me of skipping that step. But I was leaving early. The roads would be clear now so I'd be fine.

For half a second I considered the men's.

Then I thought about Walter Wainwright. Walter, who stood too close.

Walter, who commented on my gym clothes when I came in with my bag.

Walter, whose daddy was Harris Wainwright whose name was on the building.

The senior partner in the firm, which meant HR couldn't touch him no matter how many of us complained.

Fuck it. I'd hold it just this once.

I rushed down to the parking lot. My little Ford Fiesta sat there looking as tired as I felt. It had been running rough lately. Sputtering at lights, making sounds I pretended not to hear. Like everything else in my life, held together with denial and good intentions.

Jerry had promised to look at it a month ago, but he barely looked at me so I knew that was never going to happen.

I’d get more looks from him if I were a fish. And if I got to choose I’d be a fucking shark and bite his fat head off.

I tossed my bag on the passenger seat, turned the key, and pulled out before the rest of the city had the same idea.

The road stretched ahead, mostly empty. Freedom was a Friday night with no one waiting at home.

How fucking sad.

At least the puzzle was almost done.

I hit the onramp and the road opened up like it wanted me to hit the right pedal and get this trip done. The sun was out, my window was down and I had the radio playing old rock. Bob Seger, “Against the Wind.”

I felt like I had the wind behind me, not against me. Maybe I should do something exciting this weekend that didn’t involve the gym or staying home with me, myself and I.

The air smelled like summer was coming, and freedom too. Not Walter Wainwright's stinky cologne. I let out a little whoop. Yeah, life wasn't so bad when I looked at it through my pink shades.

I glanced in the rearview. A whole line of cars stacking up behind me, filtering on from every side street and lot in the city.

I was the first out of the gate. One good decision today.

I took a sip of water, feeling smug. I'd be home in twenty minutes. Puzzle. Sweatpants. Maybe some trash TV. The exciting life of a woman whose boyfriend couldn't even be present enough to get dumped.

Then the road curved and there it fucking was.

A river of brake lights. Red as far as I could see, and nothing moving. Not even a crawl. A dead stop.

"Oh, fuck."

I slowed, crawled, then stopped like everyone else ahead. A truck closed in behind me like a trap snapping shut. There was nowhere to go and no exit for at least a mile.

Just my luck. The one Friday I leave early. The one time I skip the bathroom. The universe had jokes and none of them were funny.

Then I heard it.

A Harley. Loud and obnoxious. That deep potato-potato rumble that vibrated in my chest and rattled my side mirror. The guy rolled up in the space beside me. Even on a bike he had no way through.

I glanced over because I couldn't help myself. Then I scrunched up my nose and looked away. The noise was unbearable. Just sitting there, engine rumbling like I didn’t already have something better to listen to.

For fuck’s sake, buddy, we're all stuck. Just shut it down.

But he didn't shut it down.

I put my window up and jabbed at the radio, scanning for the local traffic station. Something must've happened up ahead. Probably an accident or road repairs because what better time to do them than Friday rush hour, right?

Either way, I needed to know how long I'd be sitting here in the heat since I had to close my window so I didn’t breathe some biker's filthy exhaust fumes.

The station crackled in. "—backed up along the expressway due to a multi-vehicle incident near?—"

I turned it up and tried not to think about my bladder. But the more I did… Oh, fuck. Stop thinking Romy. Stop, fucking thinking.

And shut that fucking bike off because it’s vibrating right through my seat.

Silence.

Thank god for small victories.

Biker bozo finally shut down his shitbox and my seat stopped vibrating. Any longer and I'd have peed myself. That wasn’t a joke. That was becoming a real possibility.

I turned the radio down and let my head fall back against the seat. I closed my eyes and tried the breathing thing. In for four, hold for four, out for four. Same technique I'd been using to get through living with Jeremy past his expiration date.

Why was I still with him? He wasn't funny. He wasn't kind. He wasn't even good in bed. In fact, if it wasn't for the fresh fish he brought home most weekends, he didn't bring much else to the table. Literally or figuratively.

Tap, tap, tap.

What the fuck. Was there no peace? Not even in a traffic jam?

I looked toward the sound. Biker bozo was tapping on my window. And smiling at me like we were friends. Like he hadn't just spent the last five minutes rattling my fillings with his exhaust pipe.

I gave him my best don't even think about it face. Then I reached over and pushed the door lock down. I held eye contact while I did it, then looked away.

Bitchy? Sure. But I was dealing with stuff right now that no man could fix. Especially not one in leather who thought a smile entitled him to my time.

Tap, tap, tap.

Again. And it didn't stop. Somehow it was more annoying than the bike.

I looked back, and he pointed at the door lock. He was grinning even wider now.

I knew what he was saying, but I shook my head.

And… fuck me… he pulled on the door handle.

The door was locked. He watched me lock it. It was obvious I didn't want to open it. He saw me push the fucking knob down. With eye contact. What part of no was unclear?

He was starting to feel like Walter Wainwright on a Harley.

Except, biker guy was hot. Like, really, really Fucking Hot with capital letters. Square jaw. Eyes that crinkled when he smiled. Arms that looked like they could pick me up and carry me away. And I might not even complain about it.

And he was still smiling. Like me being difficult was the most entertaining thing that had happened to him all day.

That made it worse, because my face betrayed me. I felt the corners of my mouth twitch. I pressed my lips together hard, fighting back the goofy grin threatening to break through.

Don't you dare, Romy. Don't you fucking dare.

I knew I was making a mistake when I pulled the lock back up.

But I was good at mistakes. So why not one more?

"Yes?" I said, opening the door slowly with my professional face on. I scanned him from head to boots from behind my glasses.

Oh, fuck. They were a light tint. He probably saw my eyes tracking every inch.

"Sucks, right?" he said.

"Um. Yeah." Obvious opener. I thought he'd lead with something better.

"You haven't heard what caused this?"

So he wasn't flirting. He just wanted information. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed.

"Multi-vehicle accident," I said. "Could take a while to clear."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. Right?"

"Can't even get my bike through. Skinny fucking roads." He paused. "Oops. Excuse the language, Miss…"

I didn't say a word. He wasn't getting Miss Who that easily.

The silence got awkward. He waited as I held my tongue.

"Well," he said. "Looks like we're neighbors for a while."

My mouth had gone dry so I took a sip from my bottle. Then cursed myself. This was not the time to be drinking more water.

"Gets hot sitting still in black leather," he said.

"Maybe you should take them off." It came out before I could stop it. His eyebrows went up. Heat hit my cheeks. "Just the vest," I added quickly.

Guys like him probably didn't need much encouragement. That wasn't what I intended.

My door was still open. It was cooler that way, so I turned in my seat to face him. He seemed like a talker and I needed the distraction. Anything to drown out the little devil on my shoulder going psst, psst like a taunt. The more I tried not to think about my bladder, the louder it got.

"So, Hunter," I said, reading his jacket. "You're a Southside Skull."

He laughed.

"What?"

"You got that half right."

I raised my shoulders. It was all written there. I didn't guess any of it.

"Borrowed a brother's jacket. Hunter… that's him. Mine's in for repairs."

I hadn’t actually borrowed it. I had grabbed it by mistake and hoped like hell that Hunter would never find out.

"The jacket or the bike?"

"Both."

"So you borrowed his bike too?"

"Nah, we've got lots of bikes. Took the one closest to where I was standing."

"Wow. Maybe I should just jump in my neighbor's Cadillac instead of my car."

"Your neighbor has a Cadillac?"

"No. Figure of speech."

"Okay." He grinned. "Name's Rush."