Page 498 of Devil’s Disciples

His nose wrinkled. “Twenty bucks?”

“Yeah. You’ll lose our bet.”

He leaned away from the table and reached into his pocket. His hand slapped against the top of the table with a thwack! He moved it to the side, revealing a twenty-dollar bill. “That’s one bet I’ll never regret losing.”

“If I take that money, we’re in a relationship,” I said, trying not to smile. “There are rules.”

“Like what?”

I had no idea. I mulled it over for an instant, and then winged it. “Friends with benefits, or not, I won’t be cheated on,” I said. “Sex will be with me, and no one else.”

“Not a problem,” he said.

“Sex has to be consensual.”

“Not a problem.”

I twisted my mouth to the side and thought. Kissing him was undeniably fabulous. I needed to make sure we included it in the deal.

“Kissing,” I said. “We need to do it, all the time. We’re friends with benefits, and those benefits include kisses.”

“No argument here.”

I couldn’t believe It. Everything was coming together perfectly. Giddy with excitement, I considered if there was anything left to discuss.

I held his gaze. “I guess the only other thing is that this relationship needs to be more than just sex.”

“Like what?”

“Like this.” I waved my hand over the table. “Going to breakfast, hanging out, motorcycles rides, or whatever. Not just sex.”

“Like I said, I enjoy being around you a hell of a lot more than not being around you. Doing shit with you won’t bother me one bit.”

I reached for the money, and then paused. “Are you sure?”

He put his hand on top of mine, leaned over the table, and kissed me.

It was the best yes response I could have ever received.

182

Reno

The back wall of the Filthy Fuckers clubhouse was lined with a workbench. Covered with tools, spare motorcycle parts, and how-to manuals detailing the disassembly and repair of various eras of Harley-Davidson motorcycles, it was used as a meeting place, of sorts.

In the afternoons, Crip and Pee Bee leaned against the outside wall of the shop drinking beer. In the mornings and evenings, Crip was often inside alone, sitting on the edge of the bench, thinking.

I parked my bike just inside the shop and sauntered across the floor. Crip was leaning on the bench with a mug of coffee in his hand and his eyes fixed on the floor.

When I nearly reached him, he looked up. “Kind of early for a southerner to be this far north, isn’t it?”

Following our friends with benefits agreement, I’d seen Carma for three days in a row. Then, I got scared that I was becoming too attached to her. Too dependent. In response, I took three days off seeing her. Her absence didn’t set well with me. I’d been up all night thinking about her, our agreement, and whether it was going to work or not.

“Didn’t sleep worth a fuck last night,” I said. “So, I guess it’s late, not early.”

“Something troubling you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”