Texting the Wrong Bikers (Never Just One #9)

Chapter 1

Sadie

The second bottle of wine is already open by the time Dani starts making fun of Brielle’s Instagram again.

“She really captioned a mirror selfie with healing era,” Dani says, sprawled across my couch.

Her toned, tan legs hang over the side, toenails painted bright orange, a toe ring on the pinkie.

An anklet circles her ankle, jangling when she moves to show me the photo.

“Healing from what? Being a homewrecker?”

I choke on my wine, laughing so hard I nearly spill it down the front of my oversized sweatshirt. “Stop.”

“No, seriously.” Dani holds up her phone dramatically. “Look at this woman. She’s standing in front of a bathroom mirror in a silk slip, holding a green juice like she’s Gwyneth Paltrow.” She looks at me with a wry smirk. “I bet she got one of those vagina scented candles.”

The lamp beside the couch throws warm golden light across the living room, soft against the dark windows and the steady rain tapping against the glass.

Owen’s cartoons are still paused on the TV from earlier, frozen in bright colors glaring out in the dim room.

Dani and I scrolled, looking for a rom-com to put on, only to decide we wouldn’t pay attention to it anyway and gave up, resorting to wine, pizza, and gossip, instead.

Down the hall, Owen is finally asleep after approximately nine thousand requests for water, another story, and detailed questions about whether motorcycles could outrun tornadoes. Motorcycles are his latest obsession, last month it was monster trucks.

Dani snorts at the phone again. “Also, I hate her face.”

I roll my eyes, trying to suppress my smile. I’m enjoying this juvenile bitching more than I should. “You hate everyone’s face.”

“Not true. I like your face,” Dani slurs slightly.

“That’s because I buy you wine.”

Dani snaps her fingers. “Correct.” She leans forward, picks up the bottle, and tops our glasses, sloshing some over the sides.

I laugh again, curling my legs beneath me. It feels good. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much without immediately feeling guilty afterward.

Rain rattles softly against the windows, and thunder rolls somewhere in the distance. Owen would be thrilled if he were awake. It helps me to relax. I don’t need to worry about him waking up. He always sleeps soundly during a storm.

Dani tosses her phone onto the coffee table. “Okay, enough about Ethan and his twenty-three-year-old emotional support blonde.”

“She’s twenty-four now,” I mutter.

Dani stares at me. “The fact you know that is deeply upsetting.”

“I saw it on Instagram accidentally.” I sip my wine, not meeting Dani’s eye.

“You stalked her,” Dani says this with relish.

“I observed publicly available information,” I reply, missing the nonchalance I was aiming for as I pronounce observed as ‘ob-sherved.’

“You cyberbullied yourself,” she corrects, clicking her tongue.

I groan, dragging a throw pillow over my face. “I hate that he’s living with her already.” The words come out quieter than I intend. I don’t feel angry anymore. Just tired.

Dani’s expression softens slightly, she reaches over, bangles jangling, and squeezes my hand. “Sadie.”

“I know.” I stare at the ceiling. “I know he sucks. I know she’s annoying. I know I should be over it by now.”

“You found out your husband was sleeping with his secretary for over a year,” she says flatly. “You’re allowed to still want to key his car.”

“Surely not anymore. It’s been a year since I found out, and almost six months since the divorce was finalized.”

“Betrayal and heartache like that isn’t something that you get over quickly, or that has a set timeline. Just give yourself time. You’ll stop thinking about that prick soon.” She nods with certainty, downing the last dregs of her glass and already topping us up again.

I smile weakly into my wine glass. The truth is, it’s not even Ethan I can’t stop thinking about half the time.

It’s me. Or at least the version of me that disappeared somewhere between marriage, motherhood, and trying so hard to be enough for someone who stopped loving me years before he actually left.

Dani studies me over the rim of her glass. “You know what your problem is?”

I arch a brow. “My terrible taste in men?”

“Well, yes. But more specifically?” She points at me. “You need to have sex.”

I nearly inhale wine. “Jesus Christ!” I sputter.

“I’m serious.” She sits up a little straighter now, locking into this idea in typical Dani fashion. If I don’t quickly steer her off course, she’ll become fixated, like a dog with a bone.

“I’m recently divorced.” Weak, but I can’t think of a better excuse after this many wines.

“And?” Dani looks unimpressed. Unsurprisingly, since I was just saying how long it’s been.

“And I have a child. Not many men are interested in single moms, not to mention how I would even find the time to date?”

“So do like… half the women on Tinder. They still get laid,” she replies deadpan.

I snort despite myself.

Dani sits forward, her long raven hair shimmering as it escapes the clip she’s twisted it up in. She somehow manages to look glamorous sitting cross-legged in yoga pants and an old t-shirt.

“It’s been too long,” she says.

I take another sip of wine, studying the frayed edge of the couch as if I only just noticed it.

Dani isn’t one to give up easily. “How long?” I hesitate. Dani narrows her kohl-rimmed eyes. “Sadie.”

“Three years,” I mumble, taking a bigger gulp this time.

Her jaw drops and she exclaims, “Three?”

“Lower your voice!” My eyes dart to Owen’s bedroom door, even though I know he’s dead to the world, soothed by the rain.

“Oh. My. God.”

“It wasn’t exactly an active marriage toward the end.” I adjust to sit upright, folding my legs underneath me, mimicking her.

“Sadie.” Dani’s pity makes unbidden tears spring to the corner of my eyes.

I stare down into my wine glass. “We had sex once after Owen turned one.”

Dani blinks slowly, waiting. Dani has been good to me since the divorce, coming back into my life like a breath of fresh air after so long apart.

My other married friends distanced themselves, as if infidelity and divorce were catching.

Dani hasn’t pressed me for details before, and I know she won’t judge me for telling her this, so I find myself admitting things I haven’t fully admitted to myself yet.

“Honestly?” I laugh weakly. “It felt more like a goodbye pity fuck than actual sex.”

The silence afterward feels heavier than I expected. It isn’t awkward, just sad. Dani reaches over and squeezes my knee. “Honey.”

I shrug, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” Her voice softens. “You’re twenty-nine years old, you’re hot, and you’ve spent years acting like your life ended because some emotionally constipated realtor decided to develop a midlife crisis.” I laugh helplessly. “You need to get back in the saddle.”

“Please never say that again.” I glance up, meeting her eyes, and there’s a devious glint in them, the kind of look that used to let me know we were in for a wild night out back in our college days.

“Fine. You need dick.”

“Dani!”

“What?” She gestures wildly with her wine glass, bangles clinking against it. “I’m trying to heal you.” I’m still laughing when she suddenly points at me dramatically. “The gym guy!”

My stomach tightens instantly. “No. No, no, no.” I hold up my hands, shaking my head.

Dani grins wickedly. “The gym guy,” she repeats smugly. “Tyler.”

I roll my eyes, but heat creeps into my face anyway.

Dani’s talking about Tyler Dawson. A personal trainer at my gym, the one Dani convinced me to join in the hopes of getting my post-divorce revenge body.

Tyler, with his too-white smile, too-tight shirts, and arms like he was grown in a protein-powder lab.

He’s objectively ridiculous. Unfortunately, he is also objectively hot.

Dani gasps suddenly. “Wait.” She clicks her fingers while she thinks. I make the mistake of looking guilty. “Oh my God, you have his number. He gave you his business card, didn’t he?”

I bite my lip.

“Didn’t he?”

“He gave it to me a couple of weeks ago,” I reluctantly admit.

Dani lets out the loudest, most offended sound I’ve ever heard. “And you did nothing?”

“It wasn’t a big deal.” I shrug. “He’s a personal trainer; it’s a business card. He was offering to train me.”

She shakes her head. “He only offers to train the hotties. He literally wants to sleep with you.”

I choke. “Dani!”

She flicks her wrist dismissively. “Oh, please. That man practically dry humps the air every time you walk past him.”

I laugh so hard that wine nearly comes out of my nose.

“He’s waiting for you to text him,” she continues. “You realize that, right?”

I bury my face in my hands. “He was probably just being friendly.”

“Sadie. The man touched your waist and said, ‘let me know if you ever want private sessions’ that’s more than a casual interest in a client.”

I hesitate. “I don’t know…”

“What have you got to lose? He’s hot, in a very human motivational podcast kind of way, and he’s interested. You don’t need to find Mr. Right, you just need to get back out there. He’s the perfect rebound guy.”

I bite my lip, unable to believe she’s actually wearing me down. “I guess…”

“Although,” she adds thoughtfully, “his eyes are slightly too close together.”

I look up immediately, horrified laughter bubbling out of me. “What?”

“Now you’ll never unsee it,” she cackles.

I throw a cushion at her, which she still manages to catch. “You’re awful.”

I’m still laughing when she grabs my phone off the coffee table and throws it into my lap. “Text him.”

My stomach flips instantly. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“What would I even say?”

She shrugs. “Something flirty.” As if it’s that easy.

I groan. “I don’t know how to flirt anymore.”

“That’s because you’ve been spiritually dead since 2019,” she chuckles, dodging as I throw another cushion, which sails past her head.

Dani tops off both our wine glasses. Rain crashes harder outside now, thunder rumbling low and heavy across the sky. The room feels warm and soft and safe, my cheeks flushed from wine and laughter. For the first time in months, maybe years, I don’t feel quite so hollow.

Dani points at the phone again. “Sadie.”

I stare at Tyler’s business card, slotted inside my phone case. I haven’t even built up the courage to save his number in my contacts yet. I glance at the almost empty bottle of wine, then at Dani. “This is a terrible idea.”

She grins, looking just like she did the first day we met, the roommate I clicked with all those years ago. “The best ones usually are.”

I type the number into my phone. “There, I’ve added him. Pour me another,” I say, gesturing to the glass.

“Now we’re talking,” she replies, pouring the remainder of the bottle into my glass.

Another glass of wine later, my nerves feel pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. Dani is half lying across the couch again now, feet tucked under her on one side, curled up like a cat, grinning at me expectantly while I clutch my phone as if it might explode.

“Just send something simple,” she says.

My thumb hovers over the screen. Tyler Dawson, not ‘gym hottie’ or ‘potential new fuckboy’ as Dani suggested. My pulse flutters strangely.

Maybe this is stupid. Maybe his giving me his card meant nothing, and I’m about to make a fool of myself. Maybe Dani’s right, and I just need to remember I’m still alive outside of being someone’s ex-wife.

Before I can overthink it, I type:

Free to play?

Dani gasps like I’ve committed a crime. “Oh, that is filthy. You sly minx!”

Heat floods my face instantly. “Shut up.”

“Send it,” she says daringly in the same tone that used to convince me to do ‘just one more shot’.

“I hate you.”

She sticks out her tongue, metal stud sparkling. “You love me.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and hit send.