Chapter 7
Twenty minutes later, we were still intertwined. Though conversation was minimal, my satisfaction ran high. The subtle scent of arousal and her delicate perfume hung in the air. I wanted her again, yet I was loathe to intrude upon our peace.
“So, does this make us a couple now?” Effie’s sweet, breathless voice interrupted the stillness of the room.
I tensed and my contentment shattered. She stirred in my arms and tipped her head back. Hope gleamed in her gorgeous eyes. I averted my gaze. A dozen replies raced through my mind. None would be what she wanted to hear. I liked Effie more than I should, but a relationship between us was not feasible .
I wanted her, truly, but we could never be a couple.
There were logistical factors to consider, like the fact that we lived in two different cities, two different states, and existed on two different sides of the law. Then there was the age difference, her mother’s disapproval, and most of all, the danger. While there was a bounty on my head, she wouldn’t be safe. Even once that target was removed, I lived a dangerous life. I cared about Effie too much to risk her.
She waved a hand in front of my face, pulling out of my arms to rest on her elbows. “Hello? Earth to Slice.”
I focused on her again. Perhaps, she saw something in my eyes. The denial on my face. She was very smart. It was one of the things I loved about her. Whatever the case, her hopeful gleam dulled, replaced by betrayal unbearable to see. Even before I spoke, she knew my answer. Her vulnerability wouldn’t sway me.
But she was stubborn, too. She swallowed. “Slice?” Her eyes were huge, her defenses completely down. Her lips trembled. “This was more than a one-night stand, wasn’t it?”
I couldn’t bring myself to give a direct response. “You already know the answer.” She exited the bed and I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Effie—”
“Save it,” she snapped. Her voice wavered and I felt like the biggest prick alive. “You just wanted to have s-sex with me! Now it’s happened and you’re done with me.”
She stomped around the room, collecting her clothing.
“Sweetheart—”
“I am so fucking dumb! I can’t believe I thought you actually liked me.”
“I do like you, Effie.” At the admission, I blew out a breath. I didn’t want to give her false hope even as I fought the urge to get up and pull her back into my arms. Swear to her I’d love her forever. Fuck, want her forever. “I just want casual flings. I don’t do anything serious.”
“You could’ve said that before you fucked me!” she yelled, angrily swiping at her eyes.
Her tears almost broke me; a goddamn headache formed. I rubbed my temples. “I didn’t think I’d have to state the fucking obvious. You and I have been friends for over a year. I’ve never once mentioned I had a woman or wanted a woman.”
For several seconds, her sniffles were the only sound in the room as she tugged on her clothes. “Whatever,” she finally muttered, gathering the rest of her belongings and storming out of the room.
The slamming door rang out like a gunshot.
Guilt rushed through me. “Fuck.”
In a romance story, I’d race after her, breathlessly whispering my undying love, vowing that no force on earth could separate us, as the sun set and painted the sky with vibrant hues. Yet, life didn’t work that way. Life wasn’t cheesy, flowery bullshit that chicks loved. Someday, Effie would recognize that my actions, though seemingly harsh now , saved her from my fucked-up world.
First, we needed to get through the signing, when we’d be forced to play nice and be around each other all day.
How fucking lovely.
I had never been a romantic. My parents were wildly in love, but they were the exception to the rule. Cassie, Heath, and my friends’ toxic relationships were the norm. Seeing them—especially Cassie and Chad—stopped me from believing in the power of love and all that jazz. Mom and Dad sometimes gave me hope, then I’d think of my sister and her man and remind myself that Mom lucked out when she found Dad. Their love and devotion was pure and unfettered, born from genuine respect and friendship.
Mom wrote her romances based on her relationship with my father. Finding a man like Lennon Monroe who would put me on a pedestal and place me above everyone and everything would never happen. It was straight out of a fairytale—she had the wedding pictures to show the white carriage that carried her to the church and then her and Dad to their reception. She’d looked like a princess and he her knight-in-shining armor. The knight he was and had always been.
I felt so stupid. In the aftermath of my night with Slice, I realized I’d fantasized about him as not only my lover, but my prince in a cut. The man of my dreams who’d sweep me off my feet and spend the rest of his life devoted to me. He’d appreciate my devotion to him, just as Dad adored Mom’s.
Slice’s rejection doused my dreams in cold reality and reminded me that I didn’t really believe in true love. I was just lost in the moment. Now that clarity had returned, I remembered my actual outlook. Deep respect, not love, bloomed with someone you cared about. Or learned to care about.
I believed Slice had grown to care about me in the same way, but I was wrong.
Our relationship wouldn’t have been sunshine and roses, but I thought he’d give me a shot. Nothing good came easy, and couples in lasting relationships put work in. Foolishly, I believed my feelings were mutual. It crushed me at how wrong I was. I was just an easy piece of ass to him, a college girl with a raging crush and nothing more than another notch on his belt.
I was such a fucking idiot.
An angry tear leaked from my eye, and I swiped it away. Unfortunately, more quickly followed. My sniffles rang out through the elevator. I was so thankful I was alone to compose myself before I reached the hotel room. No way I could explain my emotional state to my mother; I simply didn’t have the energy.
Thankfully, when I entered the room, she was nowhere to be found. Relieved, I quickly removed my clothes and shoved them back into the suitcase. Once I was in the buff, I trudged to the bathroom, to wash off the sweat and the stench of sex—of Slice—clinging to me.
In the shower, I cried freely. My tears mixed with the hot water raining down on me. I didn’t regret sex with Slice; it was the best I ever had, and I doubted anyone would ever measure up to him or his bedroom skills. Yet, I beat myself over thinking he, a bad-boy biker who modeled on the side, would settle for me . He likely had a wealth of options. It wouldn’t surprise me if the game he played with me, he used on many other women. Get their contact info, befriend them, and then charm them into bed.
“Stupid!” Angrily, I scrubbed my skin.
I wasn’t a romantic , but I’d fallen hard for Slice. Not love. Maybe. Hopefully. But like . Definitely, I’d fallen in like. Though I didn’t read my mother’s books, I couldn’t help but fancy myself his heroine, a regular girl claimed by an outlaw biker who’d give her the world. Instead, he gave me a night of passion I’d never forget and promptly ended things.
“Fucking idiot,” I hissed, the insult directed at him and myself.
As na?ve as I was for thinking that Slice and I could have more between us, never once had he told me he wasn’t looking for something serious. Stomping on the heart of your boss’s daughter certainly wasn’t the smartest move. If I was more vindictive, I might open up to my mother, just to fuck things up for him. While I was no angel, I wasn’t a raging bitch either. I wouldn’t mess with his career just because he screwed over my emotions.
No, I’d play nice at the dinner tomorrow night, and the signing the day after. At both events, I’d pretend nothing happened. I’d look through him as if he didn’t exist. I’d wear my red bandage dress he hadn’t appreciated and flirt the entire evening with as many hot guys as possible!
Fuck him!
Misery pooled inside me.
Only when my tears stopped did I exit the shower. I dried my body and hair, then wrapped the towel around myself and returned to the room. Getting my toiletry bag, I pulled out my leave-in spray and an oil mixture of rosemary, coconut, and argan oil. My curls loved it. Once I slathered every strand in the stuff, I started to French braid my hair. Halfway done with the first one was when my mother stumbled in, loudly humming a melody I didn’t recognize. She escalated to singing. My mother was many things, but an excellent singer wasn’t one of them.
“Mom?”
The singing ceased, much to the delight of my ears.
“Effie, darling?” she slurred, breaking into a smile when she spotted me on my bed. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
I finished the first braid and gathered the rest of my hair to start the second. “No, Mom, you didn’t.”
“Good.”
With my comfort settled in her mind, she began prattling about her night, unaware I’d witnessed part of it, including how careless she turned because of alcohol and the danger she could’ve been in. I wondered if she’d bring up her trip to the MC.
“…But after dinner, my readers and I weren’t ready to end the night, so we ordered a few rounds of drinks,” she shared as she removed her jewelry.
Done with my hair, I began fidgeting. “What’d you get?”
Probably something fruity. She loved tropical drinks and spawned my love for sweeter alcohol. Once I turned eighteen, she allowed me to drink at home, if it was a mixed drink, and I limited myself to three. Her imposed rule morphed into my permanent preference, and I liked her drinks far more than the cheap beer I’d drank at high school parties.
Not that she knew I touched a drop of liquor outside of our home before I was a legal adult.
“Sangria,” she answered. “Oh my gosh, sweetheart, it was so good. We must go there before we leave Austin so you can try it yourself.”
“That sounds great,” I replied halfheartedly.
I wanted to show more interest in her night, but my mind kept drifting to Slice. So, I just nodded along and offered small, noncommittal responses. That was until she got to her foray at the Austin chapter of Red Rum MC.
“Oh, and get this, Effie, I went to an actual MC!” she squealed, bouncing on her heels like a toddler as she continued her drunken rambling. “A real biker girl is a fan of my books. Can you believe that? Anyway, she gave us a tour of the MC, and I talked to a flesh and blood biker. He thought I was flirting with him, but the president—such a kind man—smoothed things over.”
I nearly snorted. Kind wasn’t how I’d describe Striker. Discomfort still lingered at his crude comments while I’d waited for Slice to return from the bathroom. I’d be content to never see Striker again.
In one way, I was glad my mother went out and socialized. At home, she locked herself in her home office and neglected to take time for herself. She rarely saw friends. Yet, I couldn’t escape the dread I felt at the thought of how tragic her night could’ve become, had Striker been more of a dickhead or Slice and I hadn’t been at the club. Slice might’ve been a douchebag, but he certainly would’ve stepped in to defend her, even if the president hadn’t.
“Mom, you have to be careful,” I said gently, twirling the end of my braid around my finger. “I mean, it’s great that you’re having fun, but that could’ve ended really badly.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “I’m a grown woman, Effie. I can handle myself.”
Doubtful, but I bit my lip to hold back from saying more. My mother had a way with the written word, but she was a little… unaware …when it came to the real world.
Humoring her, I plastered on a smile. “I know, Mom. I just want you to stay safe.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’ll be fine,” she reassured me, sitting on the edge of my bed and reaching over to pat my hand. “You’re so much like your father, always looking out for everyone. But just focus on enjoying your time here.”
“Yeah.” My smile faltered. “Enjoying my time.”
My mother always booked an additional day after the signing to recuperate and explore before we returned home. Normally, I looked forward to that one vacay day. But this time, I just wanted to get back to Corpus Christi and wallow in self-pity until my sadness went away.
To the surprise of no one, she didn’t catch the misery in my voice. She was still too caught up in recounting her night. Her lack of focus on me was a blessing and a curse. I could’ve used a little motherly love. However, I’d also have to scramble to come up with a cover story.
“Help me unzip my dress?” she asked once she’d filled me in on every detail.
I nodded, and she scooted back. The conversation seemed finished, yet, while I was sliding her zipper down, she started to prattle about her run-in with the last person I wanted to hear about. It was hard not to groan in annoyance. My beautiful, bubbly mother was a chatterbox who held nothing back, but tonight, I wish she’d left me in the dark.
“Oh, and I gave Cassie’s number to Slice just before the Uber arrived. I hope he called her; she needs a good man in her life.”
A good man?
Hah.
The mention of his name was like a knife digging into me, and the last comment twisted the blade. The thought of Slice and Cassie together sickened me. Even though I’d torn up the number, now that he was done with me, he could always ask my mother for it again and claim he lost it. Or maybe, he’d saved it before he allowed me to tear the paper into bits and pieces.
My gaze misted and I blinked rapidly. “I don’t think Cassie will ever leave Chad.”
I wouldn’t break down over Slice, especially in front of my mother.
“She just hasn’t met the right guy.” She turned around to face me. “Slice might be it.”
One look at my face and she froze. I tensed, preparing for the onslaught of questions. Yet, they didn’t come. Instead, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close. After a moment, I relaxed, snuggling against her. A stray tear escaped my eye, which I quickly swiped away. No matter how old I got, her embrace would forever be a healing balm. There’s nothing like a mother’s love, as the saying goes.
I sniffled.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t cry. Cassie will come to her senses, one day,” she murmured, pressed a kiss to my forehead, and pulled away. “Get some rest, Effie. We have a long day tomorrow.”
She rose, shed her dress, and went to the bathroom, leaving me alone on the bed.
For years, my mother’s ditziness and hyperfocus on fixing Cassie’s dumpster fire of a life blinded her to my emotions, and the reasons behind them. This time was no different.
I pushed back the covers and laid down. Staring at the ceiling, I willed my mind to quiet. To forget. Without a doubt, the signing would be rough and test my strength. Yet, I’d get through it, and never again allow someone like Slice into my heart. Never again would I chase a man because of a girlish fantasy I’d cooked up. From here on out, I’d focus on myself, on my studies, on being my mother’s part-time author’s assistant. Love would be a future endeavor—if it was even destined for me.
And yet, despite my silent pledge, the memory of Slice’s touch lingered. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I drifted into a restless sleep.