Chapter 8
Dickheadness and miserable motherfuckery tended to keep a man awake at night. Once Effie left, I didn’t sleep one goddamn wink. Zero. Zilch.
Fucking nada .
That door slam lived on repeat in my head, competing with replays of my evening with Effie. I went over all our interactions from the moment we met a year and a half ago until the moment I finally took her in my arms. A few irrefutable facts settled into my brain. One, she’d wanted to fuck me and asked no questions. The tit pic entered my evidence. Yeah, it was to alleviate my fucking guilt, but I clocked it as a win for me. Two, she never once told me she wanted something more. I thought we were on the same page. Had I known—had she opened her goddamn mouth beforehand —I would’ve kept my cock in my pants.
A flaming fucking lie, but whatever. This was about making my pain go away, not finding a way to agree with her take on the situation.
Three, she had a helluva lot of goddamn motherfucking nerve shoving all the blame on me. I didn’t force her. I didn’t make any promises. And I’d pulled away from her weeks ago. She was the one determined to have me.
The more I justified my position, the more sleep eluded me. Too many times to count, I had to stop myself from texting her. Several times, I picked up my phone, hoping to find a message from her. By the time the sun rose, I felt meaner than a fucking bear and lower than a goddamn snake.
At the last event, Daria paid for my accommodations for the night before the signing and the night of. This year, she threw in an extra day for me, and I was grateful. I couldn’t imagine having to face Effie the morning after I’d been such an asshole.
After a quick shower, I felt marginally better. Concerned I might run into Effie in the restaurant, I opted for a drive-thru meal. Quick, greasy, and filling. Once I parked, I dug in. The cup of Joe was weaker than I liked, but it had to do until I straightened this shit out. Maybe, later, I’d find a nicer restaurant for us, so we could talk like grown-ups instead of school kids flinging accusations and blame. Neither one of us had been upfront and now we were suffering.
An irrefutable truth of my own? I didn’t want to lose Effie. Her friendship. She wasn’t mine to lose. I didn’t want her to be mine. Not at all. Never in a million years. She was young, sweet, and disappointingly innocent. Though she’d had two lovers, she still expected roses and romance…
Romance?
Romance.
Just because she wasn’t mine—and I didn’t want her to be—didn’t mean I couldn’t steal her away after tonight’s dinner, and wine and dine her. Daria paid for our tickets, so she, Effie, and I would sit at the same table. Readers were attending as well, but I could whisper sweet nothings to Effie in between talking to everyone else.
Romance wasn’t my specialty. When I had a woman, she never wanted for shit. Except, maybe , sweet nothings outside the bedroom. Even that was debatable. I laid good dick and feasted on her pussy. If I couldn’t find poetic words, I was forgiven.
Effie required more. She needed romance, and her mom’s books would help me.
Grinning like a lunatic, I walked across the parking lot to the trash can right outside the restaurant’s entrance. Before returning to the hotel, I stopped at Barnes and Noble to purchase a copy of Daria’s latest book. Should’ve done that days ago since my appearance centered around her male lead—Moose. I could’ve bought the copy from Daria. That risked running into Effie. Just deciding to read the book would also reflect badly on my fucking ass. Besides, when the corporate office contacted Daria and informed her that her books were approved for sale in their physical stores, Lennon called me. He told me to tell everyone to go to their local Barnes and Noble to buy her book, so they’d turn a profit and continue to be offered on shelves.
Back in my hotel room, I glanced at the blurb on the back cover of Ink you’re a motherfucking biker. Keep your eyes and ears open on the way to that place tomorrow since I already know you’d decline having Striker send some of his boys. Strength in numbers, you know?”
Striker wouldn’t agree anyway, but I didn’t point that out.
“Yeah, Dad. I’m declining the offer. It’ll bring more attention to me. I don’t want to put Effie in danger.”
That slipped out before I realized it.
A moment of silence went by. “Thought that woman’s name was Daria.”
“Effie’s her daughter,” I said with a sigh.
“She knows about you?”
“Some. Not that it matters. It was just a fling. She’s too fucking young for me.”
“How old?”
“Twenty-one. As I said, too fucking young.”
Dad’s counting annoyed me. “I consider myself reasonably educated, boy,” he finally said. “You’re twenty-seven. I think you’re about six years older than her. Not a big age difference.”
“It doesn’t matter, Dad,” I snapped. “It’s over. We hooked up and I sent her on her way. She hates my fucking guts, but she’s Daria’s assistant. She’ll be there.”
“Good. As long as no one can connect her to you, she’s safe.”
“I took her dancing,” I admitted. “At the club,” I added. “Introduced her to Striker. I claimed her to cut down on the bullshit.”
“Fuck, let me call Striker. Tell him you two had a big blow up and you ended things. She wanted more than you could give. Might be a lie, but don’t want that sumbitch accusing you of pulling the wool over his eyes.”
Dad didn’t know how close to the truth he’d come.
“Meanwhile, stay in that fucking room until it’s time for the signing. Before I left OKC, I called a president from another club. Unaffiliated with us, but not our enemies. Asked him to send any brothers he can spare to assess the situation. Don’t completely trust Striker, anyway. As for Riker, don’t be so hard on him. He’s a little high-strung, but he’s an okay motherfucker if you know the right words to say to him.”
Or threw enough money at him. Riker saved me, so my annoyance should’ve made me feel like a selfish prick. But, nope. Riker was a motherfucker.
“After I call Striker, I’m going to call the other president and see if his brothers are on the way. If so, how close they are to arrival.”
“Okay, Dad.” My idea to smooth things over with Effie was blown to hell. Tonight was my only chance to do so. Tomorrow, we’d be so fucking busy and there’d be so many people around—including her mother—I wouldn’t get the chance. “Anything else?”
“Remember: order room service. Don’t go to whatever fucking dinner you mentioned. Stay the fuck in that room, son,” Dad reiterated. “You’re in serious shit. When that signing thing is over, get to Striker’s. Drifter and Riker kept on to Vegas. I need to give them a head’s up, so they don’t run into trouble on the road. Hang tight. I’ll be there in time to ride back to OKC with you Saturday night.”
After ruining my fucking day, my father disconnected.