But I could definitely fuck her better than Tazecould.
I could be fuck buddy of the century, if that’s what she needed to rid her mind and body of any fucking memory of TazeMurphy.
The more I thought about it, the more my instincts told me that if I walked right up to Roni in this crowd, got close, put my hand on the small of her back or on her hip as she danced, put my lips to her ear to tell her how fucking sexy she looked in those leather pants, how fucking good she smelled—fuck, that goddam sex kitten smell of hers, I could almost smell it from way over here… Yeah. She’d be leaving here with metonight.
And the more I thought about it, the more it gave me a raging fucking hard-on.
But my instincts also told me to stand back and watch. So that was what I did. I watched Roni watch the end of the show, dancing all the while, just like she did when she was sixteen—slow, sexy and free, like she didn’t care who was watching—her attention locked on thestage.
And then I watched Ashley Player walk right up toher.
My chest tightened until I could barely fucking breathe… as I watched him kiss her, then hug her—for way too fuckinglong.
And Iremembered…
I remembered how Roni flirted with Ash at Jesse’s wedding. How she made out with him at Katie’s stagette party; how she danced with him on the coffee table in her bikini. How she wore that hot-as-hell red dress to the wedding reception, looking for his attention. How she’d sat next to him at the fire pit afterwards—and I’d gotten the fuck up and left. And when I’d seen her later that night, how she’d acted like she didn’t even care he’d blown heroff.
I remembered how she chased after Ash the entire wedding, but late that night she’d ended up with meinstead.
So, what? Did she really want Ash this wholetime?
Was she fuckinghimnow?
Or allalong?
Jesus. Andfuck.
I watched Ash take her hand and drag her off backstage, my jaw so fucking tight I couldn’t believe I didn’t break anyteeth.
And I decided, right here and now, that I did not fucking needthis.
This fucking stupid-ass pet project of mine, this misguided-as-fuck mission to save Roni Webber from Taze—or from her fucking self—was a surefire one-way ticket to Crazy Town, population fuckingme.
12:16am.
I walked out the door of the nightclub wanting to kick my own ass. Made my way back to my bike, got on, androde.
I rode through the city, right through my neighborhood and just kept going. Headed back out of town. To Piper’s place, maybe, back to the clubhouse, wherever. I just needed toride.
Because what the fuck was it about this woman, this one woman, that had burrowed its way the fuck under my skin when I was nineteen and neverleft?
And now had me acting like some obsessedteenager?
I’d raced to that nightclub in the middle of the night, at a moment’s notice, to seize some imagined opportunity to rescue her from herboyfriend?
Riiiiight.
Who the fuck did I think I was kidding, and when, exactly, had I started lying to myself about my feelings for RoniWebber?
Today? Thisyear?
Fucking yearsago?
And when was I gonna get it through my damn head that she wasn’t mine toprotect?
12:50am.
Orsomething…
