Beth’s eyebrows fly up. “Patch punched you in the face again? What did you say this time?”
“Nothing that wasn’t true,” he responds with conviction.
I gesture towards the stairs. “Go grab a shower, bro. You’re covered in blood. We might need to take you to a doc-in-a-box or something.”
Rick opens his mouth, but Beth cuts him off. “Don’t start talking about Patch not fixing your face again. You know his rule. If he had to mess your face up, he’s not gonna fix it.”
I press my lips together to keep from smiling because that’s a weirdly effective way to keep someone from being an ass. We watch my brother wander off and Beth orders me another drink. All in all, the night is not ending badly.
I’ve rarely drink alcohol, but I’m three drinks in by the time Bear and Patch return. He throws Beth an annoyed look when he sees the empty glasses in front of me.
Bear reaches over and gently slips the drink out of my hand. “I think you’ve had enough for one night, Nat.”
When he leans on the bar and smiles at me, I loop my arm around his neck and pull him down for a kiss. He doesn’t resist, and I enjoy every minute of it. When I pull back, he’s still smiling.
“You know that you’re going to be all kinds of embarrassed about kissing a giant fucker like me when you sober up.”
I make a grab for the drink he took from me and set further away. His reflexes are quicker than mine. When I growl at him, he laughs.
“Come on, darlin’. Let’s put you to bed.”
When I stand and almost topple over because my ankles get caught on the legs of the bar stool, Bear picks me up, tosses me over one shoulder, and carries me upstairs. It’s not the romantic experience I always thought it would be. It’s making me want to throw up all the alcohol I just drank.
I think I might have passed out because the next thing I know, I’m tucked into my bed still fully clothed, with Bear pulling up the blankets. I reach out and cup his cheek in my hand. “You’re a really handsome man. You know that, right?”
His happy smile falters for an instant and he pulls my hand away but doesn’t let it go. “Everyone looks amazing to you when you’ve been drinking.”
“I like it when you call me darlin’. It makes me feel special.”
He leans over and kisses my forehead, murmuring, “Go to sleep, you’re drunk.”
The next thing I know, the door to my bedroom is closing, and I’m sad because I’m being myself just like Beth said, but he still doesn’t want me.
Chapter 8
Bear
Last night blew my mind. The way Natalie smiled at me, pulled me down for that kiss, the one I’ve been fuckin’ dreaming about since the first day I set eyes on her. Now, I’m not stupid. I know that she wouldn’t have been doing those things if she had been sober. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t enjoy every single second of her treating me like someone who mattered rather than just a gigantic freak.
Standing in the shower, my hand wraps around my thick cock, and I stroke myself to memories of how soft and sweet her kisses were. How she didn’t make me feel broken, especially when she cupped the side of my face and told me that I was handsome. My fuckin’ heart skipped a beat at her tender touch. How good it felt to live out my deepest, darkest caveman fantasy of throwing her over my shoulder and walking off with her. That last thought is all it takes for me to shoot my load, unloading all my pent-up sexual frustration in one go. I stand there with one hand against the shower wall and the other squeezing out the last of my cum. When I’m dry as a bone, I grab the shower head, rinse off the mess I made and continue with my shower.
This woman is making me a fuckin’ mess and I need to rise above it. She’s my best friend’s long-lost sister and that means she will never be mine. She’s not mine to want, to jerk off to, or even think about this way. I’m a dirty fucker for doing it and I need to stop.
I dress fast, like if I give myself too much time I’ll start thinking again. That’s a bad idea. Thinking leads to imagining her smile, the way she looked at me like I was something she wanted. Thinking leads to wanting. Wanting leads to what happened yesterday with me and Rick.
By the time I make it down to the main room, breakfast is already laid out. The prospects have done their job—eggs piled high in warming trays, bacon stacked, toast sweating under heat lamps. Freshly brewed coffee that could strip paint sits in metal urns at the end of the table.
A couple of brothers are already eating, half-awake, talking about routes and bullshit that doesn’t matter. Rick’s not here. He’s doing the early run today. He’s still not properly talking to me after our fight, but we exchanged enough words to organize today’s deliveries.
And Natalie.
One thing we’re both in agreement on is that after yesterday, she’s staying at the clubhouse today. I don’t want her out on deliveries.
I grab a plate and start loading it up without really thinking about what I’m taking. Eggs, bacon, toast. Muscle memory. I’m halfway through pouring coffee when I feel it—that prickle at the back of my neck that tells me she’s close.
I glance up.
She’s standing just inside the doorway, hesitating like she’s not sure she’s welcome. Her hair is pulled back messily, and she’s wearing one of Rick’s hoodies that hangs off her shoulders. Her face is pale, eyes a little glassy.
