“You are such a gossip,” I complain. “I’m not giving you details.”
“Why not?” he whines before shifting in his seat to face me. “How can I live vicariously through you without details? Tell me he looks good without his shirt on. Does he have a six-pack? Is he hung like a horse, or is he packing a gherkin? Is he good with his tongue, or is he a wet noodle? How many orgasms did he give you? Did he give you an orgasm? Tell me he didn’t finish first and leave you hanging? Is that what he did? He had his fun and left you bereft?”
I’m laughing by the time he finishes shooting questions at me. “You’re impossible. He looks amazing naked. He has abs; you’ll have to imagine them. He’s not packing a gherkin. His tongue was wonderful. I had several orgasms. Are you happy?”
Tony flops back into his seat and stares at the ceiling with a wistful expression. “Yep, that will hold me for a few hours.”
I shake my head and stare out the window. “Why aren’t you happier?” Tony asks, which draws everyone's attention. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. “I would think a night with your crush would make you happy.”
I shrug. “It was amazing, but I’m afraid it meant more to me than it did to him.”
“Did you spend the night in his bed?” Izzy asks me.
Her blunt question has me turning from the window to stare at her. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“Because guys like Bush don’t sleep with women unless that woman means something to them,” Izzy persists. I see the others in the car nodding their heads in agreement.
I snort. “You’re telling me that you think Bush and the others don’t have sex? I find that hard to believe.”
Izzy shakes her head. “These guys have sex. Lots of sex. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about actually sleeping with women. Falling asleep with a woman in their arms and waking up with her the next morning. These guys don’t do that unless the woman is special to them.”
“She’s right,” Rattler chimes in. “Bikers tend to kick the women out of bed after sex. They don’t let them stay.”
“Is that what you did before you met Randy and me?” Bianca asks Rattler.
He chuckles. “I met you when I was still a prospect. I was a prospect for a long time before I got the patch. So, my experience comes from watching them. Puma, Wildcard, and Dice never let the Kutte Bunnies sleep in their beds. Doing so can create problems.”
“What problems?” Tony asks.
“Attachment,” Chill responds. “Rattler is right. Bikers get a lot of sex. They can easily get one or more women into their bed for a night of sexcapades, but they learn early on to kick them out as soon as the fun ends. If they don’t, the woman gets ideas thatshe’s about to become the biker’s Old Lady. Bikers don’t like it when a woman stakes her claim.”
“Depends on the woman,” Rattler says with a smile at Bianca.
Chill chuckles. “Yes, men like to stake their claim when they find the right woman or man.”
“And men like it when the right woman stakes a claim on them,” Hunter chimes in, grinning at Chill.
She rolls her eyes, but I can see the hint of a smile playing around her lips. “Yes, well, the point is, Bush is a biker. Keeping you in his bed all night is not something to take lightly. I’ve known Bush for years. I’ve stayed here often, and he’s come to Vegas several times. He’s never been one for casual sleepovers. But you don’t have to take our word for it. Talk to him. Ask him what’s in his head. It’s better than wondering.”
I consider her suggestion for the remainder of the trip, but Tony’s next question catches me off guard.
“You’re worried about what Bush wants, but what do you want?” he asks. “Are you considering staying here and being with Bush if it turns out he wants more than a few nights of fun?”
I open my mouth to answer, but close it again. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about leaving home and moving to the States. It’s too soon to think about, isn’t it?”
“Fashion Week lasts for only a week,” he reminds me. “We have only a few days before we’re supposed to head back home.”
I’m considering my options as we arrive at the event venue hosting our fashion show. I can’t worry about the future; I need to focus on the present. Exiting the SUV, I shove my worries about Bush and a possible future aside. Fashion Week needs to be my primary concern.
My heart pounds as Tony and I step inside with the others.
The freight elevator carried us to the fourth floor. Its slow and steady movements are a reminder that it wasn’t built for speed or comfort. That's a good thing, given the size of ourgroup. Viper and Bianca both stand tall and regal at the front of the car, with Hunter and Rattler standing guard in the back. Izzy, Chill, Tony, and I fill up the remaining space.
The ride up allows me to study Viper’s transformation. She no longer looks like a kick-ass biker bitch. She looks like a supermodel. Her silky, blonde hair cascades down her back and over the fitted jacket that accentuates her slim figure. She towers over the rest of us in her spiked heels. Combined with her tight jeans, they make her legs look unrealistically long. The loss of her kutte doesn’t diminish her strength. She still looks like she could take on five men without breaking a nail.
After we all pile out of the elevator, I search for Darlene. Tony finds her first and calls her over. Darlene’s eyes widen when she gets her first look at Bianca and Viper. She rushes over to us.
“Who are you?” she asks them, her eyes travelling from their head to their toes.
