Page 5

It was hard to say if I’d played into her hands or if she was up her own ass enough to miss that red flag.

I’d wondered more than once why the hell I was still living with her. It was pathetic.

When we first met, we’d clicked like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The fact I had a Harley excited her. She was funny and smart. From what she told me about her job as a paralegal, she was a hard worker. Starting out, the sex had been hot, and she was down to try new things in the bedroom…occasionally.

Once we moved in together, a slow shift started. Sarah liked riding on my Harley, but now she’d only go on short rides. Early on Saturday or Sunday mornings because hardly anyone else was on the road. Bikeweek and Biketoberfest weren’t for her.

I parked outside our building. While I climbed the stairs to the third-floor, I forced myself to have an open mind and stop dwelling on how things had changed.

Inside everything was dark. I flipped on lights as I moved to the kitchen, surprised she wasn’t home.

My cell rang. Sarah’s name lighting the display.

“Are you on your way?” I asked.

“I’m afraid not,” she said.

“What do you mean? You told me to be home for dinner at eight.”

“Yeah, that was before my boss insisted everyone on this case stay late.”

My brows drew together. “Will court be in session tomorrow?”

“That’s just it. Tomorrow’s the last day of hearings before Thanksgiving - hence the late night for a lot of us.”

I nodded. “You want me to make something and save you a plate?”

“No, the firm ordered in. I didn’t want you to get worried. I gotta run.”

I debated hitting the clubhouse, but that would be another temptation I didn’t need. Club bunnies could sniff out a man whose woman wasn’t putting out like bloodhounds on the hunt.

I was many things, but I wasn’t a cheater.

That was what made me feel so awful about befriending Mickayla. Chatting with her strengthened our friendship - and that felt wrong. I had to stay away from her. Hell, at my age, I didn’t have the stamina to keep up with a woman like her anyway.

“It’s Thanksgiving Day and we’re taking my car out to my parents’ place. Do you have to wear that today?” Sarah asked.

I wore my Riot MC cut over my Black Keys T-shirt. This wasn’t the first time Sarah asked me not to wear it. To be fair, most clubs insisted that colors weren’t worn unless members were on their bikes. The Jacksonville chapter didn’t enforce that and I viewed my cut as being as much a part of me as my beard. It went where I went.

But not if Sarah could help it. Not for the past four months.

I considered grabbing a hanger and taking my cut with me. No, that wasn’t happening. If I put it on a hanger this once, she’d insist on it every time.

“Well?” she asked.

“I’m not taking it off.”

Her head ticked back a touch. “You’re mad. I don’t understand what the big deal is. You don’t need it today. You’re not riding your bike.”

I crossed my arms. “You’re right. We aren’t on my bike and that bugs the fuck out of me. Perfect day for it. Great weather, not much traffic. Saves you gas along with the wear and tear on your car.”

We had a long day ahead of us. Lunch with her parents out near the Intercoastal waterway, then a six o’clock dinner with my family down in Fruit Cove. We’d drive over eighty miles by the time we came home.

She sighed. “And I’ll end up with knots in my hair. It’s a holiday, and I don’t want to show up with my hair looking crazy.”

I stared at her, wondering how in the hell we got here.

“Let’s get moving. Your parents know who I am and what I do. They won’t care if I keep my cut on.”