“Can I think about it?”
“Course.” He drains the last of his coffee and stands, and I have to crane my neck to keep looking at him. “You got my number. Just text me when you’ve got ideas.”
“Okay.”
He hesitates, and for a moment I think he’s going to leave. Then he moves around the table, and before I can process what’s happening, he’s leaning down, his hand warm and solid on myshoulder. “We’re gonna make that asshole regret ever letting you go, Small Town,” he says softly, his breath stirring my hair. “I promise you that.”
And then he’s gone, striding out of The Grind with that same commanding presence, leaving me sitting here with my cold coffee, racing heart, and the lingering warmth of his hand on my shoulder.
Tiffany appears at my table approximately three seconds later. “So,” she says, not even pretending to be subtle. “Is he single, or?”
I surprise myself by smiling, a real, genuine smile that feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Taken,” I tell her, testing the word out. “Very,verytaken.”
And as I pack up my things and head out into the Vegas morning, I try not to think about how much I wish that were actually true.
This is fake.
This is purely pretend.
But my racing heart doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo.
This is only going to end one way, with me getting hurt all over again.
But for some reason, I can’t find it in me to care right now.
First, I’ll make Derek suffer, then I’ll deal with the inevitable fallout from this fake-dating scenario.
Because if there is one thing I am sure of, there will be fallout.
And it’s bound to be nuclear!
Chapter Nine
NITRO
The Next Day
The rumble of my Harley beneath me feels like a heartbeat—steady, powerful, alive. I’ve ridden this bike through every kind of storm Vegas can throw at a man, but right now, rolling up to pick up Marley with my Las Vegas Defiance cut on my back, I’m more nervous than I’ve been in years.
Maybe ever.
I kill the engine in front of Sage’s house, and the sudden silence feels deafening. My hands grip the handlebars as if they’re the only thing keeping me tethered to this earth.
This is it.
No more hiding behind the Honda Accord and plain black T-shirts. No more pretending I’m just some regular guy who drives Uber for kicks. Marley is about to see a piece of me I’ve kept locked away from her—the part that wears a leather cut with Las Vegas Defiance MC stitched across the back, the part that calls a motorcycle club family, the part that lives in a world she might not want anything to do with.
I swing my leg over the bike and stand, my boots hitting pavement with a solid thud. The cut settles against my shoulders as if it’s a second skin, familiar and heavy with meaning.
Every patch tells a story.
Every thread represents blood, loyalty, and brotherhood.
The front door opens before I can take three steps.
Marley freezes in the doorway.
I watch her face cycle through confusion, recognition, and something I can’t quite read. Her green eyes go wide behind those quirky glasses, traveling from my boots up my jeans to thecut, lingering on the Las Vegas Defiance MC patch, then finally landing on my face.
