Chapter 9
Hannah
No backing out.
I wake up to the sun shining through my blinds and wonder what time it is. Thankfully, I’d taken today off, knowing I’d need to recover. So, time doesn’t really matter.
I lay in bed, disoriented and heavy with sleep. As much as I want to stay under my warm covers, my mouth feels like sandpaper. I sit up, immediately realizing I’m naked.
The events of last night flashes through my memory.
Oh, no.
Sarge. The bar. The ride home. The kiss. Pulling my knees up, I bury my face against them, cheeks burning. He probably thinks I’m just some kind of throttle hussy only after a patch.
But there was that kiss. A man who kisses like that has to see me as more than a hangaround or club whore.
At least, I want to believe he does.
He also said something about wanting this to go differently, which gives me a tickle of hope that he sees more between us than just a ride home.
But I also wish I didn’t feel the way I do towards him. All I wanted was a night out—not to meet someone, and definitely not to catch feelings. Feelings are messy. They’re dangerous. They creep in when your guard slips, and before you know it, you’re exposed, waiting for the knife in your back.
I’ve built my walls too carefully, patched every crack more times than I can count, just to let some man stroll in and tear them down simply because he made my pulse race.
And then there’s Martin. I’m still annoyed at him for ditching me, even though the night had ended better than I could have imagined.
I grab my phone and notice a missed call and two texts from him. One’s just drunken gibberish. The other: “You good?”
Yeah, Martin, I’m good. No thanks to you.
I toss my phone aside for now and head to the bathroom in search of some ibuprofen. Catching my reflection in the mirror before opening the medicine cabinet, I let out an awkward laugh. My makeup is so smeared, I look like fucking Gene Simmons.
My hand closes around the bottle of ibuprofen, and I decide that I can deal with the disaster that is my face later; I’ve got priorities, and my body is basically begging for water.
The second my feet land downstairs, I down a full glass in seconds, immediately going in for a refill, and then stare into the fridge.
Nothing looks good. Greasy fast food sounds like heaven, but the thought of putting on a bra and going out into the Arizona sun is enough to make me search my fridge harder.
Eggs and toast it is. Both soaked in butter, that should be grease enough. I manage to cook them over easy in under 5 minutes, and I don’t even wait for it to cool before biting in.
The first mouthful makes me moan out loud. The carbs and fat feel like magic, reviving me after punishing my liver. I devour everything, refill my water again, and shuffle back toward my room.
I laugh to myself—Sarge would be proud of me for hydrating. I drag my feet up the stairs, thinking of what he might be doing right now.
But the moment I reach the doorway, reality hits: I have no way to contact him.
My stomach sinks. I don’t even know his real name, let alone a number or social media. The unease of possibly never seeing him again stings.
But maybe that’s exactly what should happen. I built these walls for a reason—to keep men like him out. The ones who seem charming at first, only to betray you the second you let them in.
Still... what if this was part of his plan all along? If he really wanted to see me again, he would’ve gotten my number, right?
Then again, I didn’t get his either. But do I want to see him again? Ugh.
It’s all just... frustrating. My logical side keeps shouting, “Stay safe, stay distant.” While the stubborn, reckless, and hopeful part of me swells with possibility. With wanting.
I want to believe he’s different. Maybe he’s not here only to take advantage. That maybe he actually cares, or could. That tiny, wild spark gives me butterflies and precisely enough hope to be dangerous.
I pace, trying to rein in my thoughts. It’s too soon for all of this. Wanting him shouldn’t feel this urgent. It shouldn’t make me feel both exposed and alive at the same time.
And yet, it does.
Damn it. It absolutely does.
Okay... say I manage to see him again, but without any expectations. Zero strings. I need rules, boundaries, and safety from... whatever this is. I can do that, explore without getting attached.
Somehow, calling Martin is my best option. I need to confront him anyway.
It’s just after 10 a.m., so he should be awake.
I take a deep breath, letting my fingers hover over the phone before dialing.
My nerves activate, and I catch myself hesitating.
Part of me wants to back out, to tell myself it’s safer to stay in my bubble, to pretend last night never happened.
But another part, the part that aches in ways I didn’t know were possible, pushes me forward.
I hit call.
“Hey, what’s up? You have fun last night?” he answers brightly.
“Just woke up. Working on feeling human again.” Trying to keep my tone casual. “I had a pretty good time, actually, but where the hell did you go? You just left me at the bar. When I got back to the pool tables, you were gone.”
“Oh, shit. Sorry, Hannah. I met a girl, and ended up at her house party. Should’ve told you, but I was... well, properly wasted.”
“Ah, well. I should’ve expected it. It’s not unlike you to disappear with a girl. Just wish you had given me a heads up. But... yeah, I might have met someone after you left.”
“You’re right, that was shitty of me. But please, Hannah, tell me it wasn’t the guy you bumped into at the bathrooms.”
I roll my eyes. “No, not him.”
“Thank God. Wait, was it the one who was asking me about you out front?”
“Actually, yeah, and he ended up giving me a ride home, so I didn’t need to pay for a Lyft.”
“See? It all worked out. So, did you ride him when you got home?” He laughs at his own joke.
Only he could find a positive side to leaving me.
I groan. “No, I did not. He just gave me a ride home. That’s it.” Well... not exactly, but he doesn’t need those details. “Would you happen to have his number? Or know someone who might?”
“I don’t, but someone else might. I can ask around. His name is something with an S, I think?”
“Yes. Sarge,” I say, the name giving me instant butterflies the moment it leaves my lips. “Thanks. It would mean a lot.”
“Sounds like someone’s putting herself back out there,” he says, his voice taking on a teasing, sing-song quality.
“Yeah, yeah. Brag all you want. Just, please ask.”
“Alright, I can do that.”
“Thanks. I’m going back to bed now.”
“Enjoy your hangover, mortal. Tylenol’s your friend.”
“Bye, Martin.”
I hang up, flop back on my bed, and stare at the ceiling. Willing my phone to ring with Sarge’s name on the screen. But I know it won’t.
I can’t believe I didn’t get his number. What kind of idiot kisses someone like that and then lets them get away without making sure it happens again?
The anxiety prickles at me. Maybe he doesn’t want to make it happen again. Maybe that’s why he didn’t offer a way to reach him. Maybe for the president of the Saints, a kiss in a girl’s driveway is just another Saturday night.
I pull the blankets tighter around me, hoping I’m wrong. As I drift back toward sleep, I keep replaying that kiss over and over until it’s the only thing I see behind my eyelids.
When I wake again, the light in my room is softer, later in the day. Grabbing my phone, I see it’s 1 p.m., and I’ve got five missed texts from Ellie.
Shit.
I didn’t tell her I went out last night. She’s going to kill me.
I hit call, bracing myself.
She answers on the first ring. “Girl, where the fuck have you been? I haven’t heard from you all day. I was about to send out a search party.”
“Hello to you too. I was sleeping off last night. Martin may have dragged me out to a dive bar, and I didn’t get in until... well, technically this morning.”
“Excuse me? You went out and didn’t tell me? Rude.”
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry. But Martin’s on this mission to throw me back into the dating game, and I could only handle one of you last night. If you’d shown up, I’d have been ambushed.”
She snorts. “I can’t argue with you there, but it would have been double the fun.”
Rolling my eyes, I reply, “I’m not convinced on that, but you’d be proud of me, I may have accidentally met someone when Martin abandoned me so he could go to a house party with some girl.”
“Excuse me? First off, I need to give Martin a piece of my mind for leaving you. See? You should have brought me with you. I wouldn’t have left you alone for some skank.
” She huffs, “But, yelling at Martin can wait, right now, you need to tell me every detail about this someone you ‘accidentally’ met.”
So, I spill.
Ellie gasps dramatically. “Mind-blowing kiss, huh? And you waited until now to tell me? I thought I was your best friend.”
“You are. But I needed sleep. You know how much I love sleep.”
“Uh-huh. You just didn’t want me squealing in your ear all morning.”
She’s not entirely wrong there. I did want to sleep, but I also fell asleep against my will.
“So, when do you see this Sarge guy again?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I forgot to get his number.”
“What?”
“My brain was on vacation after the alcohol and the kissing, okay?”
Ellie groans. “Unbelievable. Just another reason why you need me. I would’ve made sure you had that number before you even got on the bike. Right after I got a picture of his ID—for safety reasons.”
“I know. I’m sorry, oh mighty best friend.”
“Damn right. Now, which bar was this?”
“Rawhide.”
“I’ve heard of it. Okay, this upcoming Friday night, don’t make plans. We’re going back, we’re finding him, and I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. No one kisses my best friend like that and doesn’t hand over his number.”
“Ellie...”
“Nope. Don’t argue. Friday. 8 p.m. I’m picking you up.”
“Fine.”
“You’ll thank me later. Also, your vagina is going to shrivel up and die if you don’t break this dry spell soon.”
“Ellie!”
“What? I’m just saying.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. Because honestly... I’m excited.