“Betty’s Diner?”
“Perfect.”
I climb on behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. The engine rumbles to life, and we pull out, gravel crunching under the tires as we head back toward civilization.
The ride takes about twenty minutes, the forest giving way to open road and then to the outskirts of town. Titan pulls into the parking lot of Betty’s Diner, a chrome-sided building that’s been here since the fifties. Red vinyl booths are visible through the windows, a neon sign advertising breakfast served all day.
Inside, the smell of bacon and coffee hits me like a blessing. An older waitress with gray hair and a name tag that says “Dolores” waves us toward a booth.
“Sit anywhere, honey.”
We slide into a booth near the back. The vinyl is cracked and patched with duct tape, the table slightly sticky, but it’s familiar. I’ve been coming here since I was a kid.
Dolores brings coffee without asking. “What can I get you two?”
“Everything,” Titan says. “Eggs, bacon, hash browns, pancakes. All of it.”
She writes it down and looks at me. “Same for you?”
“Just scrambled eggs and toast. And more coffee.”
“You got it, sweetheart.”
She disappears, and Titan dumps sugar into his coffee, three packets worth.
“How are you not bouncing off the walls?” I ask.
“Fast metabolism.” He grins. “Plus, I need the energy to keep up with you.”
My face heats. “Titan?—”
“What? It’s true.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Last night was incredible. You know that, right?”
I do know. But hearing him say it makes my chest tight.
“It was just one night,” I say quietly.
“Doesn’t have to be.”
“Yes, it does.”
The food arrives, and we eat in comfortable silence. Titan demolishes his plate like he hasn’t eaten in days, while I pick at my eggs, my appetite suddenly gone. But the coffee helps, hot and strong and exactly what I need.
By the time we’re done, the sun’s fully up and the diner is starting to fill with the breakfast crowd. Titan pays at the counter, and we head back out to his bike.
“Clubhouse?” he asks.
“Yeah. I need to shower again and change into my own clothes.”
The ride back takes less time than I’d like. Too soon we’re pulling into the clubhouse parking lot, where a dozen bikes already sit in neat rows. My purple Softail is there among them.
“Your bike’s back,” Titan says.
“Yeah.” I climb off and look at it, suddenly overwhelmed by everything. Last night I rode to the bar thinking I’d get drunk and forget about my problems. Instead, I slept with three men, and now everything is more complicated than before.
“You okay?” Titan asks.
“Fine. Just tired.”
