And another.
I hope she isn’t watching her phone, seeing those little dots bounce that tell her I’m typing, but no content comes through.
This is why bikers should never try to behave like boyfriends, because we’re clueless at it.
But this is my Hail Mary pass. My one shot at getting the tone right, and comment right, that could put us both back on the path to…
To what? A happily ever after?
I shake my head and put my phone down. What the fuck am I doing messing with Maren’s feelings?
At least, that was the epiphany I had around four thirty this morning. Maren ended whatever the two of us was in the grocery store, but the truth is, or was, that it was just a premature execution of something I intended to do once I was over fucking her.
But even that, now, feels disloyal and wrong and, frankly, pathetic in the cold light of day.
Because I’m starting to think Maren isn’t one of those women you fuck and forget.
Give me a gunfight, a deal with a cartel, or a room full of hostile cops while handcuffed, and I know exactly what to do and say. But this?
Apparently, that’s where my wheels fall off.
So, I settle for something simple.
Me:You had every right to be.
I stare at the screen and immediately wonder if that’s enough.
Three dots appear almost immediately, and my mouth twitches again despite myself.
I rub a hand over the back of my neck while I try to figure out why it feels so damn good to see those three dots and know that Maren is at the other end of it, thinking about me, talking to me.
Maren:Still, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like I did.
“Who’s got you looking at your phone like that, Prez?” Vandal asks as he walks by.
Lock gives a pointed look at my denim. “Guessing by that, it’s nudes.”
I adjust my cock, which, admittedly, is half-mast given I’m thinking about Maren. “Y’all can fuck right off.” I head towards the corridor leading to my room.
“Definitely nudes, if he needs privacy,” Havoc yells, and I flip him the bird over my shoulder.
“Prez has got a girlfriend,” Sunny sings in a childish voice.
I stop, turn, and glare at him.
Sunny laughs as he raises his hands in defense. “Just messing with you, Prez.”
I shake my head and keep walking before any of them gets the smart idea to run their mouths again. Then, I unlock my clubhouse bedroom.
It’s pretty bland. I pay Donna, one of the older club girls, to clean it for me each week. She makes sure my bedding is laundered and then cleans everything else. It’s never a mess, but it also lacks any kind of character. There’s a spot on the wall crying out for one of Maren’s paintings. Maybe one day, it’ll be possible to walk into the bait shop and buy whatever one is hanging there.
I toe off my boots and flop down onto the bed, before typing.
Me:I’m old school. Can I call you?
Three dots appear again almost immediately.
Which tells me she’s waiting for my replies as much as I’m waiting for hers.
