"Done," Beast says without hesitation. "I'm good with my hands."
The innocent comment makes me rub my thighs against each other, body and cheeks warming up. I turn away, pretending to inspect a crack in the wall.
"And one more thing," I say, my back still to him. "This stays between us. Tank doesn't find out it's fake."
"He's going to kill me either way," Beast mutters. "But yeah, agreed. No one knows but us."
I turn back to face him. "Why would he kill you if it's fake?"
Beast gives me a look that suggests I'm being intentionally dense. "Tank doesn't want any of the club members near you, especially me."
"Why especially you?"
His mouth twists into a sardonic smile. "Because of my 'reputation,' as you so delicately pointed out."
"Oh." I feel my blush deepen. "Well, it's not his business who I date, fake or otherwise. I'm twenty-four, not fourteen."
"Tell him that," Beast says, standing up. The couch sighs in relief as his weight lifts from it. "So, we have a deal?"
I should say no. This is a terrible idea that can only end in disaster. But there's something thrilling about the prospect of spending time with Beast, even under false pretenses. And if I'm being honest with myself, the idea of making Tank uncomfortable is a small bonus.
"Deal," I say, offering my hand, his massive palm engulfing mine.
"Dinner's at six tomorrow," he says, moving toward the door. "I'll pick you up at five-thirty."
"Wait," I call as he reaches for the doorknob. "Shouldn't we, I don't know, get our story straight? How we got together? How long we've been dating? Your mom's going to ask questions."
He pauses, turning back to me. "Right. Uh, we met when you arrived with Tank last week. We hit it off. Started seeing each other a few days ago."
"That's it? Not very romantic," I tease.
"We can figure out the details tomorrow," he says gruffly. "Wear whatever you want. Mom's not fancy."
With that, he slips out the door, leaving me alone with the lingering scent of leather and motor oil.
I collapse onto the couch, my heart racing for no good reason. What the hell did I just agree to? Pretending to date Beast is playing with fire. He's dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with his role in the club and everything to do with the way my body responds to his presence.
And Tank... Tank is going to lose his mind when he finds out. He'll assume it's real, and that Beast is just using me like he uses all women.
The responsible thing would be to call Beast and back out now.
Instead, I find myself walking to my nearly empty closet, rifling through the few clothes I brought with me, wondering what would impress Beast's mother, and maybe, just a little bit, Beast himself.
I'm in so much trouble.
Chapter 3 - Beast
I check my watch for the third time in as many minutes as I approach Jenny's door. Five twenty-eight. Not too early, not too late.
I've never been nervous about a date before, and this isn't even a real one, yet my palms are sweating like I'm sixteen again. I wipe them on my jeans before knocking.
My usual attire—jeans, boots, Savage Riders cut—has been modified for tonight. I've swapped the cut for a clean black button-down shirt that feels too tight across my shoulders. No visible weapons, though the knife in my boot is non-negotiable. I even trimmed my beard more than usual.
All for a dinner that's based on a lie.
I knock three times, the sound echoing in the empty hallway above the clubhouse. Music and voices drift up from below, the usual Friday night gathering getting started early. I'd hoped to slip out unnoticed, but the odds of that happening in a building full of nosy bikers are slim to none.
The door swings open, and my brain short-circuits.
