“Oh my God,” Karlie says, her eyes going wide. “How’s it going?”
I shrug, helplessly. “They keep to themselves. Jackal helped me dig out some fence posts. And Shade tried to help me clean the gutters, but I told him no. Anyway, I popped out to do some grocery shopping, and when I came back, the gutters had been cleared and all the crap from them was on the compost pile Nanna used.”
Karlie laughs. “Please. While Shade might keep to himself, Jackal definitely doesn’t. He talks to everyone. It’s like God took the world’s chattiest man and made him best friends with someone who chooses to be silent. Have they invited you over?”
“No.”
Karlie leans in. “You ever want them to? Because no one has managed to get either of them into bed, yet. You’d be the talk of the girls if you pulled it off.”
I twist the lemonade straw as I try to bite down the battling feelings the question provokes. At first, there’s fear of being alone in an enclosed space with two bikers. But also, the idea of it being Jackal and Shade causes a quiet excitement in my belly.
I sigh and shake my head.
Wanting a biker is what got me into this mess. Even allowing my brain to drift for a moment is reckless and goes against the work I’ve been doing on myself.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Karlie says. “Spill.”
“I just want what’s mine. What Ireallywant. Something that genuinely feels good and right for me. Everything else feels so…contaminated. Like I became a character of what I thought men wanted from me.”
Karlie’s expression shifts. Not quite empathy. Something…sharper. “Are you saying therestof us are contaminated?”
“God, no. That’s not what I mean at all.”
“Because I’m still very much a club girl,” she says, sitting back. “Still like what I like. Still enjoy being wanted. Still enjoy the sex. Still want a biker to care for me. If you’re saying that makes me messed up?—”
“I’m not!” I reach across the table for her hand, holding it tightly. “I swear I’m not judging you. I’m not judging anyone.”
Except, perhaps, myself.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I swallow back the tears of frustration. Of not being understood. “I swear. I’m only talking about me. I spent so long performing and faking. Pretending I was game for anything, when the truth is it broke a piece of me each time I did something I knew I didn’t want to, but smiled anyway. I’m notjudging you. I’m trying to understand why I can’t trust myself to make good decisions for me.”
“Okay,” she says. “I hear that.”
I wipe my cheek.
“Hey.” She nudges my foot beneath the table. “I guess our experiences were different. Because even in the club, I’ve always known myself. I understand that you didn’t.”
A shaky breath escapes me. “No. I didn’t.”
“Then carry on doing what you’re doing. Live in your house. Stay away. Touch grass and deprogram.”
“Thanks, Karlie.”
“No worries. And because I love you, I won’t talk about Jackal again for the rest of lunch, so you don’t have to blush, and I don’t have to pretend I didn’t see it.”
“I do not blush.” But I put the back of my hand to my cheek, just to check.
She leans toward me. “But, honestly, if I lived across the street from those two? I’d be dreaming about getting sandwiched every damn night.”
Heat floods my thighs so fast, I choke on my next sip of lemonade.
Karlie grins, as if she knows what she’s doing. “I mean, they’re smoking hot, clean, steady jobs, steady roles, and weirdly private. Honestly, I think they’re gay. Or bi. Defo into each other. Never into the club girls.”
I’ve seen them together, Shade watching Jackal’s hands, Jackal watching Shade’s mouth. Their quiet protectiveness of each other. And yet, I’ve never seen them touch or flirt or kiss or do anything other than act like club brothers.
“I’ll say this last thing, Isla. I’m not suggesting you go jump between the two of them, but I am saying that wanting something isn’t bad. Even fantasizing about something but never acting on it isn’t bad. Whether it’s Jackal and Shade oranyone else. You’re allowed to be attracted to whoever you’re attracted to.”
