TWENTY-ONE
Tequila
I've lost track of time while fixating on Throttle's ceiling. To be honest, I haven’t moved since I heard him leave two hours ago. Pretending to be asleep seemed like the only reasonable action.
There are worse things than having casual sex with your best friend, whom you're infatuated with, and knowing it meant nothing to him. Perhaps not nothing, but it’s not the same as how I feel.
I turn to my side, fixating on the door, yearning for his sudden reappearance and declaration of love.
Ugh.
Get over yourself, Tequila.
I slide into yesterday's jeans, but the sweatshirt I borrow from him completely engulfs me. I make my way downstairs, hoping to stay unseen.
“What’s up, honey?” Tank’s deep voice startles me, and I’m caught red-handed.
He smirks while looking at my too big top. My hair is a mess and I’m wearing Throttle’s clothes, and my makeup is smudged. What sets this time apart from the others I've slept in his bed? The guilt with sex written on me.
“Huh. Well, damn.” Tank rubs his bearded chin with another smug grin.
“This isn’t what you think,” I defend myself.
My cheeks and ears burn at the sound of his deep chuckle.
“Looks like someone did some lovemaking.”
Okay. It’s exactly what he thinks.
“Shit,” I mumble.
“About damn time.” Tank’s expression changes when he notices me wince, and then I wrap my arms around myself, watching the door, desperate to leave. I try to hide the disappointment even though my face is an open book. It always has been.
“That motherfucker. He’s my dude, but I’ll tear his dick off if he hurt you.”
I appreciate him looking out for me, but I won't cause a fight between him and his best friend. Besides, this was both of our decisions.
“Can you promise me you’ll keep this between us? Tank, please.”
He sighs, dropping his massive shoulders. “Sure, babe.”
"Thanks," I say, making a beeline for the door.
“Hey, T!” He calls out and I pause without turning. “He cares about you more than himself. You gotta know that.”
I believe him. But sometimes it’s just not enough.
Disregarding him, I quickly head to my car and my stomach twists when I see Throttle loading up his dirt bike. At first, he doesn't notice me as I unlock my door. Our eyes lock in a fleeting moment, filled with desire and sadness.
Time freezes.
He warned me things would be different. But I can’t pretend. At least, not right now.
With a last glance, he nods over at someone. Brass, their prospect, is leaning against his Harley, parked next to my car. Jesus, I didn’t even see him.
“I’m under strict orders from your boy to make sure you get home safely.”
Not this again. Since the Jasper incident, we have agreed that someone will follow me. But this is Brass's first-time playing bodyguard. I heard he’s been busy being tested by Chain. Whatever that meant.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” I try to slide into the driver’s side, but Brass lays his hand on top of mine, plastering it to the crisp metal.
“Look. He’ll have my ass if I go against his demands.”
I direct my focus toward Throttle. While he stares at Brass's hand on my own, his jaw begins to tic.
I roll my eyes. “Okay. But he’s not my boy. Everyone needs to stop saying that.”
“Sure. Although, he’s glaring over here like he’s your boy.” Brass smirks, swinging his big thighs over his motorcycle seat.
“Is this now a permanent secret service?”
His engine revs and roars to life. “Yep. Not sure why you need to be followed, but like I said, if I don’t, he’ll bury me six feet under.”
I steal one last glimpse of Throttle. His chest heavily rises and falls with his once kind eyes, turned dark despite the glow from the sun.
“Fine.” Do I want others to see my living situation? Absolutely not but, I won’t win this fight. If Throttle wants me to have a protective detail, then all right. It would be foolish for a member, let alone a prospect, to defy higher-ranking orders.
I drive but want to avoid my apartment right now. When I was in New York, I occasionally cruised for hours, blasting music and singing at the top of my lungs. If it weren't for the intimidating biker following me, I would keep going without hesitation.
The café I've frequented for late-night study sessions comes into sight as the trees become a blur, and I’m being pulled toward it.
Whenever I was sad, my mom would always bake me chocolate chip cookies. Since then, it’s been my go-to source of comfort. Right now, that's what I wish. To order a warm cookie at the café, sparking the nostalgia of my childhood.
Upon arriving in the parking lot, Brass pulls in and parks beside me. I'm unsurprised when he gets off his ride and approaches. I never thought he would stay outside. Though, time alone would be nice.
“Pit stop?” Brass closes the distance between us.
“I didn't want to go home. I'll be quick, so you can wait or come back.”
When I take a step, he grabs my elbow. “Where you go, I go.” He sniffs the air. “Besides, I’m not missing whatever that delicious smell is.”
The aroma of desserts and coffee lingers outside.
“I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit.”
“You’re it. You lead.” He holds out his hand for me to go first.
Guess not.
The café is ideal. Quiet and not busy. I spot a place to sit in the back corner and smoothly move into the small booth. Brass follows, but it’s something comical considering he has to squeeze into the tiny, cramped seat.
A woman, her hair a dark shade, comes over and stands before our table. “Hi! What can I get you both?” Her eyes land on Brass and she blushes.
“I’ll have a vanilla latte, please,” I tell her. “With a warmed chocolate chip cookie.” Heat hits my cheeks, feeling like a child.
With a smile, our server nods, turning to Brass. “And for you, sir?”
Oh boy. Was it getting sweltering in here?
“I’ll just take a coffee. No sugar. No cream. Thanks, darling.” He winks and she about falls over. Can’t blame her. He’s mysterious. Tattooed. Muscled. Hot. And something about his light eyes against his brown skin makes them shine fiercely.
After she scampers off, I lock eyes with my new bodyguard.
“Given that we're here together for eternity, knowing Throttle, I owe you an apology for what happened the other night.”
With a smug expression, Brass leans back. “Mmm. I don’t recall. Which night was this?”
I tilt my head. “Please don’t make me say it. The embarrassment is still seeping from my pores.”
He laughs. “It’s all good. You don’t owe me a thing.”
“But I used you. It was wrong of me and I’m sorry.”
“If a sexy woman wants to take advantage of me by straddling my lap, then by all means, use away.”
As the server sets down our orders, we exchange smiles and thank her. Brass giving her an extra wink.
When it’s just us again, his expression switches to serious. “I know this is none of my business, but… your man thinks he’s doing the right thing.”
I study my napkin as if it will hold answers.
“That’s not me saying I agree with him. I think he’s being a dumbass and you should kick him to the curb.” He rests his tatted hand on top of mine, engulfing it. “But if you love the pretty boy, give him time. His stubborn ass will realize that by him trying to protect you from himself, he is hurting you.”
That may be. It's foolish of me to just sit here and wait for him.
“I didn’t know you were so logical in the L.O.V.E. department.” I slip my hand away, taking a sip of my creamy goodness, smiling from the top of the rim.
“Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot of time to think.”
I break off a piece of cookie, handing it to him and he tosses it in his mouth. “Why is that?”
Brass becomes still, his demeanor shifting. No longer grinning, he now wears a harsh frown that suggests it's all he has experienced in his past. But he seems like a good guy behind all that hardness and maybe one day we can be friends.
Two men enter as the bell on the door jingles. Without one of their brief glimpses, I would have disregarded it. But I had a strange feeling it was more than just a passing glance. It's not my intention to judge, but from their appearance, I’d guess they haven't been to a hippie café before. They are both dressed in black hoodies, black jeans, and wearing stocking caps. A little odd. Unless they're a couple who enjoy coordinating their outfits. Which I’m doubting.
“You good?” Brass follows my gaze.
“Yeah. It’s nothing.” I shake off any bad vibe. “I appreciate you having teatime with me. It was nice.”
“Anytime. You’re a cool chick, Tequila. I know your boy will come to his senses.”
“Well, maybe I won’t be waiting for him anymore.” Saying it out loud crushes me, and the dull ache in my chest returns.
Baby steps.
“That a girl. Show him you ain’t interested in his stubborn ass.” Brass takes another look at the random guys who are now sitting on the window stools. “Why don’t we get out of here, huh?” He slaps some cash on the table.
With a nod, I slide out of the booth, feeling Brass's hand on my lower back. Something tells me he thought those men being here were odd too but said nothing.
While passing by, one of them makes eye contact and grins at me.
Creepy.
Brass pulls me toward him, never skipping a beat, and refuses to release me until I'm secure in my car. It's likely insignificant. Though, with the club, you can never be too sure, and I have a newfound appreciation for my bodyguard.
Once we reach my building and start climbing the stairs, Brass keeps a vigilant eye in all directions. “Tequila. What the—”
“Yeah, I know it’s not the Beverly Hills Hotel. Let’s not talk about it right now, okay?”
He wants to press further but decides against it. “Fair enough.”
We make it to the hall that leads to my apartment, and Frank, unsteady on his feet, stumbles toward me. With a quick tug, Brass pulls me behind him, sobering Frank with fear in his eyes. Honestly, I understand. He can be well… intimidating.
I place a hand on one of Brass’s biceps before this big, scary biker attacks the poor man. “It’s okay. It’s only Frank. He’s harmless.”
“Yes. Listen to her. I’m old and helpless.” He grins widely. “Was just going to ask if you friendly folks can spare some change.”
Brass surprises me by pulling out a fifty from his wallet, but I figured he was a gentle giant.
“Oh, wow. You’re a kind soul. Bless you, boy.” Frank wobbles downstairs, leaving only me and Brass standing in front of my chipped door.
“That was sweet. You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugs. “Everyone has a backstory.”
I smile, unlocking my apartment. “And thanks for this.”
“You don’t have to thank me. Just doing my prospect duties. Now, get in there and lock up. You send me a text if you leave, got it? Throttle will have my head if I let you leave here alone.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure.”
After he leaves, exhaustion finds me as I lie on my bed. Just as I close my eyes, my phone vibrates beside me, revealing Angel's name, but I choose to disregard it. A nap sounded too good. To think, though, how much safer it’s been with Jasper gone, makes sleep easier. Throttle taking care of him doesn’t scare me like it should, but that in itself is terrifying.
I jolt awake to more missed calls and texts from Angel.
Angel: Excuse me. Do I need to call in the club brigade because you know I will?
Angel: Never mind. Talked to Brass. He’s your protective detail? Not bad (wink face)
Angel: Okay, seriously! Now I’m worried again.
I smile, texting her back.
Me: Woah. Calm down. I fell asleep. Please do not sick the dogs.
Angel: Well, thank the gods she’s alive.
While yawning, I walk to the kitchen and grab the leftover sushi before sending one more text. As I plop a savory piece in my mouth, the sound of a thump at my door makes me jump and causes me to drop the take home box.
It can’t be him. Can’t be Jasper, right?
As I peer through the peep hole, relief washes over me, but not entirely.
Throttle leans against the wood. I curse as I open it but stand my ground, crossing my arms over my chest as he approaches with his towering six-foot frame bearing down on me.
“Hey.” He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck.
“Hi.” I stare up at him, but the light in his eyes is dimmer. Much dimmer.
“Just, um. I wanted to see if you were okay.”
He’s making sure my heart wasn't in pieces on the floor because I'm in love with him and we slept together, fully aware it wouldn't hold any significance for him. Yeah, I’m great. Maybe pissed off. More at myself.
His broad shoulders slump. “Can we talk?”
“I have to study, but you can text me later,” I say, giving him a faint smile. I go to close the door, but he stops it with his boot.
“Tequila.”
A silence hangs between us as we continue to gaze at each other. Sadly, he was correct. Last night changed things.
“Throttle. It’s fine. We had sex. Whatever. No big deal. Let’s just forget about it and move on. That’s what we agreed to.” I plant my palm on his chest, hoping to push him out the door, but he doesn’t budge. “Lord. Are you made of stone?”
A surge of electricity courses through me as he pulls me toward him, clutching my hand. His soft touch is paralyzing, and being near him means being surrounded by his scent, a reminder of the arms I yearn to be in.
“Tequila…” The tender contact to my cheek causes my eyes to flutter closed. He can’t do this. It’s not fair.
“I deserve better,” I whisper.
“You deserve the world. Just not mine.” Did he imply I don't belong in his life at all, or only when it concerns being with him?
My gaze darts between his golden one, attempting to grasp his exact intention. Regardless of the fine print, if that’s what he wants, then I’ll give him that.
I sigh in defeat. “Yeah. That’s for the best.” My chest aches and tears are about to roll down my cheeks any second now.
“Fuck, T.” He tries to tilt my chin to him, but I shake it off.
“I think you should leave.” And there. The tear teasing to escape, slips.
“I never meant for this to happen.” His voice etching into my soul.
I respond with a pained expression, watching him vanish as the door shuts.
The potential end of our friendship is Earth shattering.
Me: You have my full permission to kick Throttle’s ass.
Angel: Hell yes! Throttle’s my boy. My brother. But I will take him down.
Angel: Are you okay? Maybe it is finally time for you to move on.
I think about how to respond. If I want to respond.
Me: Yeah.
Maybe this time, I mean it.