Page 28
The last bars of Slash’s guitar vibrate through the loud speaker and hoots and hollers ring out as Mad Dog finishes his routine with a deep bow before handing his hobby horse over to Cove. The grin on his face is infectious as he stalks toward me, and I don’t even recognise the laughter that flows from me. He plucks his cut from my hands and the empty feeling shocks me a little until he slides his cut over his arms and bumps his shoulder with mine.
“So, what are you gonna do with your winnings?”
The way he manages to pull me from my spiralling thoughts to tease is much appreciated, so I raise my brow, full of bluster because that’s a good place to be. Safer.
“What makes you think your score will beat Pops’?”
“Oh, babe, I always win when it’s a bullshit competition.” He winks, making me snort. “And I grew up riding horses. But we didn’t do that with them.” I stare up at him.
“And the winner is…Mad Dog with nine point six.” Rodney announces, and I’m sure he looks disappointed.
“Yes!”
Before I can think my arms wrap around Mad Dog’s broad shoulders as I giggle with glee. His large hands splay across my back, his warmth seeping into me, grounding me in a way I haven’t felt in a damned long time.
“Congrats, sweetheart,” he says, pushing me back gently, holding me at arms length.
I grip his forearms, not wanting to let go, wanting to soak up his steadiness for a little longer, but I know that’s a terrible idea. So I step back, smooth my skirts and offer him my hand.
“Congratulations, Mad Dog. Can I interest you in lunch one day? I mean, it’s only fair. I won because of your skilled moves.” I smile up at him, his dark eyes crinkling down at me.
“Why not? I’m sick of lunching with these assholes.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder.
“Good, you can lunch with this asshole.” I point to myself and he throws his head back, his laughter scratching a spot in my brain.
His chuckles settle, his gaze searches mine. “Speaking of asshole, you gonna tell me what happened this morning?”
He knows? Shit. My nose crinkles, and I madly think about how much I want to tell him. Maybe I should hedge my bets. Or maybe -
“I already know, just wondered if you’d tell me.”
“How much do you know?”
He slips his hands into his front pockets, rocking in his boots, “That your asshole -” he coughs, “ex-husband showed up. And you burnt him with hot oil, I think? That part could be misinformation on Chewy’s end.”
“No, no, she’s right.”
His lips twitch and I feel every word when he murmurs “good girl” under his breath. “So,” he says, clearing his throat as we both watch Chewy slap Rhodie’s hands as he tries for the 100th time to help her up, “your ex, he a motorcycle enthusiast, or something more?”
I side eye Mad Dog. I know he saw Diesel’s cut, so I’m guessing he’s playing coy with his questions. “Something more,” I reply.
“Makes sense. You always seemed comfortable with the MC.”
That statement shocks me a little because after leaving Diesel I never wanted to see a motorcycle again. Yet here I am, with a whole ass MC, laughing and having fun with people who have somehow brought me into the fold.
“What MC is he with again?” Mad Dog asks casually and I can’t help but try to hide my smile. I know this shit is killing him.
“Sinister Wolves, although -” I frown, thinking back to the cut that he hung on the hook in my massage room, “his cut looked different.”
Mad Dog stiffens a little. “How do you mean?”
“When we were married he was a Sinister Wolf. This cut doesn’t have the wolf on it.”
He cocks his head at me, “Can you remember what it had on it?”
“Shit. I don’t know. My eyes were on him, not admiring his new cut.” I grumble. “Sorry, I’m being an ass.” I take a breath and blow it out, thinking about that piece of shit hanging his cut on the hook behind the door. “Something about a mile? Half Mile?”
“Quarter Mile?”
