The thing about our club parties, whenever they went down, was that they somehow seemed to attract the most beautiful women within a fifty-mile radius. And considering that said radius included the heart of Los Angeles, that was really saying something.
I liked to say that while us on our bikes was our “true form” for the public, us when we were partying was our “true form” when it came to entertainment. We drank beer. We drank liquor. We gambled on pool games, dart games, and who would win a fight between us—with an actual brawl often taking place, ending not with a menacing blow, but a hand offering to help someone off of the ground.
And, of course, we had our fun with the girls.
I guess there was just something about saying that you partied with an MC that made everyone who was looking for something fun and loose want to come to our parties. As a military man, I never struggled to get girls, but these parties just made it abnormally easy.
Which, given the fact that I really couldn’t commit to anything more than one night and some light pillow talk, was probably for the best.
For this particular party, Lane had created a bracket for a pool tournament. The winner would get the week off from work but still get paid, a perk that appealed pretty nicely to some of the prospects and newer club members. Unfortunately for them, there was literally zero chance in hell of them winning. Even if they went up multiple balls and only needed to hit the eight-ball, the “pressure” from other officers would ensure that the finals were going to feature two of the officers.
I was getting ready to play my first game when a very cute, very underdressed blonde came up to me and put her hand on my knees.
“Hey, stranger,” she said. “I heard you were the military guy in the group.”
This is what I meant by it being stunningly easy. I had seen this tall, lanky blonde walk in, but I had literally done nothing more other than look at her. As far as I was concerned, she was just another member of the party. And yet, because I was a Black Reaper, she was the one taking the initiative—and doing so rather shamelessly, I might add.
“That is true,” I said. “And you are?”
“Thea,” she said, tossing her hair back. “Are you single, handsome?”
I laughed. For the vast majority of the men in this room, the answer was always “duh, I’m single.” Even some of the members who had girlfriends or wives—their old ladies, we called them—were single on these nights. So far, Lane seemed to be remaining faithful to Angela, and if I had mine, I suspected I’d do the same, but otherwise, freedom to love was the name of the game.
“Yeah, what about it?”
I genuinely didn’t care how she reacted. It wasn’t some flippant, narcissistic thing. I just had more interest in the pool game. The sex would be there when I wanted it.
“What about it?” Thea said, arching an eyebrow. “Do I have to explain in further detail?”
“Patriot!” Lane shouted. “You’re up against Tomahawk. Let’s go!”
I looked at Thea, put a hand on her shoulder, and smiled.
“Let me go kick some ass in pool first.”
I moved away from her to the cheers of the Reapers, grabbing my pool cue. But then something strange happened.
I imagined the previous interaction taking place with Kaitlyn.
That was silly, of course. For one, Kaitlyn actually had a sense of shame, and she wouldn’t have been so overt as to hit on me like Thea had. For another, Kaitlyn wouldn’t have come to a party like this. It would have been too far out of her wheelhouse.
Third... really? What the hell was I thinking? Why was Kaitlyn suddenly so strongly on my mind?
It didn’t matter. I’d had enough dealings with my subconscious to know that it acted strangely and very unpredictably. There was no reason for me to believe it would suddenly start being rational.
Not surprisingly, I crushed the prospect Tomahawk. Some of the prospects tried to play to their skill, but he had the good notion to keep his game to a lower level and lose properly. I shook his hand and winked at the end of the match, which he just smiled at.
Thea, seeing my victory, came up to me and put her arm around me.
“That was impressive,” she said. “You know, we have a few minutes before the next match starts up. Do you want to go someplace private for a bit?”
Like I said, easy. All too easy.
And then I looked down at my phone.
“How would Monday at seven work?”
It was Kaitlyn.
