Chapter 12
Hannah
My name is Hannah.
It’s been almost a week since I’ve seen Sarge. Five days, to be exact.
Martin has been absolutely no help at all with getting his number.
Part of me wonders if he’s even tried. You’d think, with him being on this little mission to shove me back into the dating pool, he’d be working harder at it.
But no. He’s probably too distracted by his latest flavor-of-the-week. .. whatever her name is.
Letting fate work its magic naturally takes too long for me. I keep trying to control the situation like that’s going to fix it. Change the outcome. When life rarely goes your way, you get used to trying to force it to.
I tried to be casual. Really, I did.
But I still shamelessly reached out to Martin twice this week, asking if he’d had any luck. Both times, his answers were short and vague. Nothing beyond a “nothing yet.”
Which, translated from Martin-speak, probably means I didn’t bother to ask.
Such a great communicator. It’s honestly a mystery why he can’t keep a girlfriend.
Life has otherwise slipped back into its usual rhythm, which is equal parts comforting and infuriating. I’ve been distracting myself with work, letting the routine swallow me whole. It’s a welcome escape. A way to avoid certain thoughts.
My past.
My mother’s voice in my head.
An extremely mysterious, unfairly sexy biker who led me to my door, told me to lock it, and left me standing there with a kiss that ruined me for every other man.
Nothing specific, of course.
Ellie has been my other saving grace this week.
She knows me all too well. Knows when to pry and when to stay quiet, and she hasn’t asked about Sarge once.
I know she’s dying to, but I love her for holding off.
The moment I say his name, it’ll all come rushing out of me, and right now I can barely keep my nerves at bay.
Last night, she and I had one of our usual dinner dates at our favorite sushi place. We’ve been going there since they opened a couple of years ago.
At first, we were convinced there had to be a catch. Giant rolls big enough to split, prices cheap enough not to cry over, and a happy hour? Suspicious.
Turns out, there’s no catch, we were just lucky enough to find a hidden gem. We sit, eat, and gossip. It’s our little ritual. Choosing my family is hands down one of my favorite parts of being an adult, and Ellie is mine.
I’m still feeling the glow from our girl date last night, so I decide to get out of the house for a bit.
The weather is offering one of those rare desert days that feels like a gift.
October in Arizona is hit-or-miss, but today?
Perfection. Warm sun without the oven-baked heat, just enough of a breeze to flirt with the idea of fall.
It’s too good to waste. So, I slip into a white embroidered halter dress, the hem brushing just above my knees, and pair it with wedge heels to complete the look. Cute, but simple. My straight hair falls loose down my back; no need to tame it today.
I check my outfit before heading out the door and pause, looking at the woman in the mirror. “Pretty,” people always said. “Hot,” the less creative ones added.
They always seemed to see something I couldn’t. Growing up under a mother who believed appearances were everything and then being with a man who treated me like I was always almost enough, doesn’t exactly build confidence.
Therapy helps to unlearn the self-loathing that was programmed into me. Some days, I even believe it. I drag my palms down my sides, fingers lingering over the soft indent between my ribs and my hips. Slowly convincing myself to love my hourglass shape.
The little bit of extra weight adds to my curves, to the way my body moves, the way it feels like mine. Instead of hating these curves, I’m learning to embrace them. Quite literally, right now.
I’m thankful for how far I’ve come. Feeling pride instead of shame when I see myself is huge. I give myself a mental pat on the back before grabbing my bag and heading out the door.
Turning the corner out of my neighborhood, a low and throaty rumble comes from somewhere up ahead. My pulse jumps. The flutter in my stomach is so sudden it feels ridiculous. Butterflies? No. More like frantic birds, throwing themselves against the bars of their cage.
Do I look? Do I not?
God, Hannah, get a grip. You’ve talked to men before. You’ve been hit on before. But apparently, the rumble of an engine is enough to turn me into a lovesick idiot.
So, I look.
Of course, I look.
And my heart sinks just as fast. Wrong bike.
Too light in color. Wrong rider. Definitely not Sarge. Except... the patch on the guy’s back says Saints of Hell. One of Sarge’s club brothers.
My feet pick up pace before my brain can catch up. Should I talk to him? Ask if he knows Sarge? Is that crazy? Too forward? Fuck it, it’s all crazy. I’ve been slowly losing my mind for six days, getting nowhere near contacting him.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m hurrying down the street. Not running, but close enough that I’m a little out of breath by the time I reach him. He’s still sitting on his bike, checking his phone.
Now or never, Hannah.
“Hi,” I blurt, way too brightly. My smile feels too big, too forced. “My name’s Hannah, and this is going to sound odd, but... I believe the guy I met last week is in your club? He goes by Sarge.”
The biker tucks his phone away and turns slightly toward me.
His kutte reads GRIMACE. The name doesn’t match him.
He’s tall and muscular, with dirty blonde hair to his shoulders.
He’s handsome in a rugged way, like he should be in a forest chopping wood.
His blue eyes are kind, even while they’re looking me head to toe.
“Huh. So, you’re the girl.”
The girl. My chest does a stupid little flip. Has Sarge... mentioned me?
“Yeah,” Grimace continues, sitting up straighter. “You could say I know him.”
Relief nearly knocks me over. Finally, a connection.
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with him all week.
Would it be possible for me to get his number?
Or... maybe you could pass along a message for me?
” For fucks sake, I feel like one of those spam calls—we’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty.
Grimace shakes his head, smirking. “Can’t be handing out my President’s number, not even to a pretty thing like you. But yeah, I can pass along a message.”
I nod a little too fast. “That makes sense, of course. Um... could you just... could you tell him I’ll be at Rawhide tomorrow night?”
The words tumble out before I can make them sound less pathetic. “So, yeah. Not sure if he’ll be there, but um... I will.”
Fantastic. I’m absolutely going to go bang my head against the nearest wall after this.
He chuckles, like he knows something I don’t. “He’ll be out on club business, but I know if he can swing it, he’ll be there. I’ll pass along your message, though, easy enough.
“Thank you,” I breathe out. “Really. It was nice to meet you.”
“You too. Be safe now.”
What is it with bikers and safety? Sheesh.
I nod politely. “Yeah, you too.”
I turn toward the coffee shop and stride with purpose. The faster I put distance between Grimace and me, the faster I can hopefully forget how incredibly awkward that was.
Still... small victory. I have to give myself that. After a week of jack-shit information from Martin, I finally managed to get a message to Sarge at least.
By the time I push open the door to Wired, my grin is so wide it feels glued to my face.
“Hi, Hannah,” the brunette barista greets me from behind the counter. “Same thing as always?”
“Actually... let’s do an iced Chai latte, with whole milk and three stevia, please,” I say, already reaching for my wallet.
She grins. “Nice to see you smiling. And before caffeine, no less. Impressive.”
I laugh awkwardly and head for a window seat. What am I supposed to say? Oh yeah, I’m suffering from puppy-love over a man whose last name I don’t even know?
I set my cup and book on the table, then stare out at the street instead of enjoying either. My mind is stuck on Grimace and what he said. “So you’re the girl.”
The phrase loops in my head. Was that good? Bad? Only teasing? I have no idea.
Not to sound dramatic or anything, but tomorrow feels like an eternity away.
I open my latest romance novel, letting my mind slip away to this week’s book boyfriend, and try not to think of one very hot and hard-to-reach biker.