As I pull into the clubhouse lot, I spot her new car—a beat-up Honda Civic that's seen better days. Relief and dread war inside me as I park beside it.
Time to see if Jenny Bradley is willing to play pretend.
Chapter 2 - Jenny
I'm sitting on the edge of my new bed in the small apartment above the clubhouse, staring at the chipped nail polish on my toes and trying to figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life, when a heavy knock rattles my door.
"Just a minute," I call, grabbing a hoodie to cover my tank top. I've learned the hard way that walking around the clubhouse without adequate coverage leads to unwanted stares from most of the guys. Most, not all.
Beast never stares. At least not when he thinks I can see him. But I've caught him watching me when he thinks I'm not looking, his dark eyes following me across a room before quickly darting away. It makes me clench my thighs in ways that are entirely inappropriate, considering he's my brother's friend and eight years older than me.
I swing the door open, expecting Tank with another lecture about "staying safe" or "being careful" around the club members. Instead, I find myself staring at a broad chest covered in a leather cut.
My eyes travel up—way up—until they land on Beast's face. His jaw is tense, beard neatly trimmed, and those dark eyes are locked on mine with an intensity that makes me step back.
"Jenny," he says, my name rumbling from his chest like distant thunder.
"Beast." I cross my arms, suddenly conscious of how small my apartment is and how much of it he fills just standing in the doorway. "What can I do for you?"
He shifts his weight, something I've never seen him do before. Beast doesn't fidget. He doesn't show uncertainty. He's a mountain: unmovable and solid.
"Can I come in?" he asks, glancing down the hallway. "Need to talk to you about something."
Curiosity overrides my better judgment. "Sure."
I step aside, and he enters my space, making my studio apartment shrink to the size of a shoebox. I've only been here for a week, having moved in after helping Amelia escape her abusive ex-husband. The place is still mostly empty—a bed, a small couch Tank found at a thrift store, a coffee maker, and not much else.
Beast stands awkwardly in the center of the room, looking too large for the furniture around him.
"You can sit," I offer, gesturing to the couch.
He shakes his head. "This'll just take a minute."
My heart rate picks up. Has something happened? Is Tank hurt?
"What's wrong?" I ask, unable to keep the edge of panic from my voice.
"Nothing's wrong," he says quickly, then grimaces. "Well, not exactly wrong. I need a favor."
I relax slightly. "A favor? From me?"
"Yeah." His massive hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. "It's... complicated."
I wait, but he seems to be struggling with whatever he wants to say. It's fascinating, really. I've seen this man knock someone unconscious with one punch during a bar fight last weekend, his face completely emotionless. Now he's standing in myapartment looking like he'd rather face a firing squad than continue this conversation.
"Beast," I prompt, "just spit it out."
He takes a deep breath. "I need you to be my girlfriend."
I blink, certain I've misheard him. "Excuse me?"
"Not for real," he clarifies hastily. "Just... pretend. For my mom."
A startled laugh escapes me. "Your mom? You want me to fake-date you for your mom?"
His eyes narrow slightly. "It's not funny."
But it kind of is. The massive enforcer for the Savage Riders, a man who's probably done things I don't want to imagine, is standing in my apartment asking me to play pretend to please his mother.
