Nitro’s hand stays on my lower back as we move toward the door. Beck keeps snapping candids, us grabbing jackets, laughing, Nitro holding the door with pure adoration on his face.
“You’re going to have an entire album by the end of the night,” I tell him.
“Good. You’ll thank me later. The day you chose yourself. The day you started your new life.”
He’s right.
This is the beginning of something.
As we spill onto the street, laughing and talking, I feel it settling into my bones.
Hope, joy, and the belief that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
With people who love me.
With a job that values me.
With a man who sees me, really sees me, and doesn’t look away.
Nitro’s hand finds mine, our fingers lacing naturally, and when I squeeze his hand, he squeezes back.
He’s older than me.
He’s a biker.
And I am a curvy girl who he shouldn’t want.
Yet here we are, invested in each other.
And I’m not running from it anymore.
Chapter Twenty
NITRO
One Month Later
My palms are sweating like I’m about to ask permission to marry Sin’s sister, if he had a sister, instead of throwing a party, as I stand at the door of the clubhouse Chapel.
Which is ridiculous.
I’m the VP of this club. I’ve faced down rival MCs, negotiated deals worth millions, and run security operations that would make most men piss themselves, but asking my president if I can use the clubhouse for my girlfriend’s birthday party? That’s got my heart hammering against my ribs as though it’s trying to escape.
“You gonna actually say something, or you just gonna stand there looking constipated?” Sin asks, that damn poker chip flipping between his fingers the way it always does. His mismatched eyes study me with amusement as I stand in the doorway.
I clear my throat, rolling my shoulders back. “Marley’s thirtieth birthday is coming up.”
“And?” He leans back in his chair, a slow smirk spreading across his face. The bastard already knows where this is going.
“I want to throw her a party here, at the clubhouse.”
The poker chip stops mid-flip. Sin’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline, and for a second, he stares at me. Then he lets out a low whistle. “Damn, brother. You’re really doing this, aren’t you?”
“Doing what?”
“Falling.” He gestures at me with the chip. “Hard. I’ve known you for what, fifteen years? Never seen you this solid about anyone.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “Are you gonna give me permission or not?”
