“I’m Shari,” a gorgeous blonde woman said, standing and offering me her hand. “We were introduced yesterday, but things were kinda crazy, so I don’t expect you to remember.”
Shari was probably in her mid-thirties. She wore skinny jeans and a tight, v-neck T-shirt that dipped down to showcase the cleavage between her obviously enhanced breasts. I tried not to look, but her stiletto heels put her boobs right in my face.
Forcing my gaze up to meet hers, I shook her hand. “Jessica.” Then I felt like an idiot. “But you already knew that.” My cheeks heated. “Sorry, I… I can’t do words until after my second cup of coffee.”
She laughed. “I understand completely. Come on. I’ll show you around the kitchen.”
I followed Shari past swinging double doors into an industrial kitchen that smelled like breakfast and industrial cleaner. Taking my plate, she dumped last night’s leftovers in the trash and slipped the flatware into the dishwasher. Then she walked me through the giant pantry and gave me the rundown on the two restaurant-sized refrigerators before explaining where everything was in the cupboards.
I tried to pay attention to her words, but my curiosity finally got the best of me. “Are you someone’s ol’ lady?” I asked.
She stared at me.
“I’m sorry if it’s none of my business, or some sort of derogatory term, but I couldn’t help but notice that when Wasp was introducing the women last night, he referred to a lot of them as ol’ ladies, but you—”
“No,” she interrupted me. “It’s not offensive. It’s a term of endearment that a biker gives to the woman he wants to claim… to be exclusive with. I’m no one’s ol’ lady; I’m a club whore.”
Her tone was so matter of fact she caught me completely off guard. Feeling my eyes grow wide, I struggled to find the words to ask how she could claim such a demeaning term, but came up blank. “I think I need coffee now.”
Taking in my expression, she barked out a laugh. “Oh, Jessica, you are a breath of fresh air around here. Don’t you dare be scandalized on my behalf. I put myself in this position, and I’m right where I want to be.” She grabbed me down a coffee cup and pointed to a condiments tray. “Cream is in the first fridge.”
“But…” My brain wouldn’t stop spinning. Retrieving the cream, I prepared my cup as I thought over her admission. “I have so many questions.”
She grinned. “Ask away.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. I’d much rather you ask and get the truth than have you make judgements.”
“Oh, I’m not judging you.” I took a sip of my coffee. “I’m just curious about how this all works.”
“That’s easy. I have sex with the bikers of this club,” she replied.
“All of them?” I asked.
She laughed. “No. Only the ones who aren’t attached and who want to fuck me. I mean, I don’t force anyone. Well, that’s not entirely true. One of the guys does kind of get off on me tying him up and sitting on his face.”
I was taking another sip of my coffee and choked on it. She poured me a glass of water and waited for me to recover.
“So, you… sleep with the guys?”
“Absolutely not. I fuck ’em, but I sure as hell don’t sleep in their beds. I can’t have any of them getting the wrong idea and tryin’ to claim me.”
Nothing she said made sense. “But you said ol’ lady was a term of endearment—that it meant they were exclusive—don’t you want a relationship?”
“Nope. Been there, done that.” She raised her left hand, showing off the diamond solitaire on her ring finger. “Have the scars to prove it.”
This kept getting curiouser and curiouser. “You’re married?”
“Widowed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Paul was a good man; couldn’t have asked for better. I got to spend fourteen years with him, and they were the best years of my life.”
My heart went out to her. “Can I ask what happened?”
She gave me a sad smile. “Type one diabetes. He’d had it since third grade and we did everything we could to monitor it, but it finally got him in his sleep. One morning, I woke up and he was gone.”
