4. Bobbie
Chapter four
Bobbie
This was a colossal mistake.
Seeing Arrow up close had obliterated my self control and destroyed my defenses. I should have known better. His presence had a way of making me soft and vulnerable.
It was wonderful to finally let my guard down around someone, to feel completely and utterly safe in their presence.
And at the same time, it scared the shit out of me.
Arrow would always be my Achilles’ heel. The chink in my armor.
After a brief—and somewhat heated—exchange with Pretty Boy, Arrow parted ways with him. Then we agreed that I would follow him in my Range Rover to his place.
“It’s not a five-star hotel experience,” he said, unlocking the front door of his home. “But there’s central heating and running water.”
If only he knew how luxurious that sounded to me. Living out of my car, I had learned the art of taking the world’s fastest sponge bath in record time during the winter months.
Arrow turned on the lights, illuminating a spacious interior, with a loft and golden oak floors. An earthy scent filled my lungs when I breathed in.
The first floor had been split into two sections.
One side was dedicated to the living room, with a flat screen television mounted on the wall, and some mismatched furniture that looked like Arrow had simply grabbed whatever he could get his hands on when it came to a couch or an armchair, as long as it was functional.
The other half of the room served as the kitchen. A rustic wooden counter top stretched the length of one wall, flanked by a refrigerator and a stove. The sturdy kitchen table was covered in tools and greasy machine parts.
“Ignore the mess,” Arrow said, clearing the table as quickly as he could. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“What is all this?” I asked, examining a chunk of metal that I couldn’t identify.
“Lawn mower engine. It’s been giving me fits for months, and I should just replace the damn thing but…”
He trailed off with a shrug, dumping everything in a box and shoving it into a corner with his foot.
“But you won’t give up on it,” I said.
Just like you never gave up on me.
Arrow dragged his gaze up to meet mine, leaning back on the counter as he crossed his arms.
“I’m too stubborn for that.”
I gave a thoughtful hum, leaning back against the table. Only a few feet of space separated us, but there was an undeniable tension lingering there. Crackling with electricity.
“I see some things never change,” I said. “In the group home, you would take apart the kitchen appliances when you couldn’t sleep. The poor toaster never quite worked right again.”
He huffed with dry amusement.
“That thing didn't work right to begin with. It’s a miracle we didn’t electrocute ourselves when we made toast every morning.”
His gaze slowly swept over me from head to toe, until heat flushed up my neck at his scrutiny. My skin felt too-tight, my stomach twisting in knots.
“Well, you must be doing well for yourself if you can afford a place like this,” I said, gesturing to my surroundings.
He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.
“It used to be an old barn actually. Infested with mice. And it reeked of pig shit. The farmer just wanted someone to take it off his hands, and he sold it to me for pennies on the dollar.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“So, you literally live in a barn?”
Arrow rolled his eyes and the faint hint of a smile flickered across his lips.
“Yeah, yeah, crack all the jokes you want. I guarantee I’ve heard them before. Many times over.”
I exhaled a soft laugh, smoothing my hand over the table’s surface. There was so much room to move and breathe here. It looked nothing like a barn. Arrow had completely transformed it into something better. Something beautiful.
“Did you fix it up yourself?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“I had help from my club. It took all summer, but we stripped it down to bare bones. Then we worked from there. By the time the snow started to fly, I was settled in.”
His club—his friends. They helped him to build a home.
I slid my hands into my jacket pockets, suddenly feeling like an intruder in Arrow’s life.
“What are you doing here, Bobbie?” he asked, quiet and low.
“You invited me,” I pointed out.
He angled his head with a look that clearly indicated he didn’t appreciate my evasive response. I swallowed hard and glanced away.
“How long have you been in Juniper Creek?” Arrow prompted. “What the hell are you doing feeding information to my club? And why the fuck are you mixed up with Huxley?”
“You don’t waste any time getting straight to business, do you?” I asked, trying to laugh off the seriousness of the moment.
But Arrow didn’t laugh. He regarded me with steady gray eyes, pinning me with a piercing stare.
“It just sort of…happened,” I admitted. “By accident. I was working at this hole-in-the-wall bar and I overheard a few things about The Filthy Rebels. I didn't think much about it. Bikers, alcohol, testosterone, and bars—a potent combo bound to stir up drama every time."
"And where did Hillbilly factor in?"
"He stopped by for a drink, asked a few questions. I happened to know more than I realized, and he was willing to pay me for the information I had. The rest is history."
Arrow remained silent, waiting for me to continue. I sighed, tugging at the cuffs of my sleeves.
“I blew up my life in Nashville, Tennessee,” I said. “I ran away, like I always do. And I stumbled into town. Then I saw you.”
A gleam of interest sparked in Arrow’s eyes, but still, he said nothing.
“You were thriving,” I said. “And I…wasn’t. I thought maybe you wouldn’t want the past to come knocking at your door again.”
“Bobbie,” Arrow chided gently.
Worry nagged at the back of my mind that I was ruining everything again. My brain itched. I tried to chew my thumbnail, but it was already down to a stub.
Then a crinkly noise caught my attention. I glanced up to see Arrow opening a bag of pretzel sticks and holding it out in my direction.
“You’re not supposed to bite your nails,” he said. “Remember?”
“Old habits die hard.”
With a grateful look, I accepted the bag, savoring the crisp snap as I bit into a pretzel stick. A satisfying diversion and alternative to my nail biting.
Arrow stifled a yawn, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Observing him from a distance during these past few years, it seemed as if he was doing a thousand times better than me. He had a place to live, a club that welcomed him, a job he enjoyed.
Now that I had a chance to get a closer look at him, I noticed the dark circles hollowing his eyes, the strain in his face, and the faint tremor in his hands.
“Insomnia?” I asked.
He sighed.
“Yeah. And don’t change the subject. We’re talking about you.”
I wrinkled my nose.
“I hate talking about myself. You know that.”
“Too bad. Why are you snitching for my club, Bobbie?”
I plucked a few pretzels out of the bag, breaking them into little pieces over and over.
“Because I…wanted to protect you.”
Arrow frowned, brows lowered, muscle twitching in his clenched jaw.
“I don’t need your protection. I need you alive.”
“Not to play devil’s advocate or anything, but it looks like you’re doing just fine here. You don’t need me at all.”
I turned away to dump the pretzel bits into the sink, brushing my hands clean. Arrow didn’t say anything for nearly a full minute. When I turned back to face him, he gripped the counter behind him until his knuckles turned white.
As if he was physically holding himself back.
After a moment, he released a breath and shook his head.
“There are so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t even know where to begin.”
My heart fluttered against my ribs at his words, but I quickly reined in my reaction.
“We haven’t seen each other in years and the first thing you want to do is argue?”
“No,” Arrow said.
The hoarseness of that single syllable lingered in the air. His chest heaved with each breath, and his gaze swept over me again with unfiltered, raw desire.
I was supposed to keep my distance. I was supposed to stay away.
Instead, I stepped closer. Damn this man and whatever magnetic pull he had over me.
Reaching out, I traced the patches on his chest, along with the frayed stitches, and the well-worn cracks in his leather vest.
The Reckless Order MC.
Psycho.
Instantly, Arrow brought his hand up, curling his fingers around my wrist. His skin was scorching hot, but his touch was gentle and light.
"Why do they call you that?" I whispered. "Psycho?"
He shrugged.
"It's just biker shit—like a code name."
"But it's not without meaning," I countered.
Arrow licked his lower lip, deliberating.
"Normally, your road name is given to you. But I chose mine, before anyone else could do it. And people think twice about messing with you when they assume you're batshit crazy."
"Do I have to call you that?" I asked.
Arrow smoothed his thumb over my knuckles and shook his head.
"Call me whatever you want."
I kept my gaze lowered, following the path of my fingers as I trailed along the collar of his shirt. Then I met the warm skin of his throat, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
God, I missed him. I missed him so much that my bones ached with it.
But kissing him would be a bad idea.
Hell, being under the same roof together was problematic enough.
I want to call you mine, I thought.
The response weighed heavy on my tongue, but I was too scared to say it. To voice my desire, when it would likely wreck the one and only friendship I still had.
Arrow settled his hand on my hip, pulling me closer until our bodies were flush together. I bit my lip to stifle a whine at the contact. I could feel him—all of him. Every ridge of muscle. The way his ribs expanded when he sucked in a sharp breath at my touch.
“I made a promise to you,” Arrow murmured.
I scoffed and shook my head.
“That was a long time ago. We were kids—barely thirteen years old. And we didn’t even realize what we were doing.”
“I knew,” he replied, without hesitation. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”
Arrow brought his other hand up, cradling the back of my head in his palm. His lips brushed the corner of my mouth in an almost-kiss.
A sob lodged in my throat. Fuck, it felt so good just to be held.
There was always some part of me that remained guarded when I dated anyone else.
I hated that look on their face when my mental illness inevitably leaked out.
When the understanding dawned on them that I wasn’t quite right in the head.
But Arrow had witnessed everything. My meltdowns. My lowest depression and my highest manic episodes. My mood swings, careening through one emotion after another.
And the way he looked at me never changed.
“Promises are made to be broken, Arrow,” I said, my voice cracking.
“Not this one,” he replied.
Closing my eyes, I swayed into him. Arrow dipped his head to kiss my neck, sending an electric surge of pleasure zinging through every nerve in my body. I whimpered, fisting my fingers into his shirt to steady myself.
He moved his hand from my hip, sliding down to cup my ass with a firm squeeze. I gasped, slotting his knee between my thighs, squirming and desperate for friction.
“The last time we saw each other,” I said, fighting to focus through the haze of ecstasy clouding my senses. “We were in a psych ward. Do you really think we have what it takes to make a good marriage?”
Arrow lifted his head to look at me. His pupils were dark with arousal, and there was no mistaking the growing bulge in his jeans, pressed to my hip. He said nothing for a moment, tracing my waistband with his knuckles.
Then he unbuttoned my pants, holding my gaze as he slid his hand inside my underwear. A moan fell from my lips when his callused fingertips brushed my clit.
“I think our marriage would never be boring."
The huskiness of Arrow’s voice sent a flood of throbbing heat between my thighs. I clutched his wrist, digging my nails into his skin as he moved lower, stroking my slit. With agonizing slowness, he sank into my pussy, knuckles deep.
Arrow gripped the back of my neck, preventing me from looking anywhere else except him. He pressed his fingers upward at just the right angle to steal my breath away and curl my toes.
“I may lose my mind someday,” he said. “But I’m not losing you, Bobbie. Not again. I’ve waited a long time for the privilege of calling you my wife. And if—when—we end up back in that damn psych ward, I want the paperwork to show that we belong to each other.”
The last shred of my resolve to stay out of Arrow’s life crumbled to dust.
My family had abandoned me. My relationships never lasted longer than three months at the most. I couldn’t hold down a job.
But Arrow wanted me. Even after all these years. He wanted me with everything he had and more.