Griffin (Ruthless MC 3)

I stare at her. Is she for real? Or is this some story she's giving me to end the evening early after I came like what the English drummer for my touring band would call a “Johnny No Mates.”

“I know that sounds like a tall one, given what just happened,” she says, as if reading my mind. “But I'm telling the truth. It's just really unfortunate timing. I guess the universe, as my best cousin calls it, didn’t want us to hook up tonight.”

First thought: Okay, I believe her.

Second thought: Fuck the universe.

Then a bunch of crazy thoughts pop off in my head.

I want you. I want you right fucking now. I want you even if you’re bleeding. My body roars with the need to be inside her.

“So, um . . . I guess this awkward walk on the wild side is over for me.” She grabs the tote she set down on the couch and jabs a thumb toward the door. “I should go. Thanks for trying this with me. Bye, and if I don’t see you at the roadhouse again before I leave for New York . . . you know . . . have a nice life.”

Have a nice life?

She gives me a little wave and ducks out the door before I can come up with a response. Then she’s gone.

Have a nice life?

The words rip through me. Mock me. Even though I have plenty of money to cover that bet. And she’s left me with enough time to go back to the roadhouse and score a less complicated chick—one who’s not on her period and willing to follow me upstairs to the fucking rooms.

Have a nice life . . . Have a nice life . . . Have a nice life.

Why won’t those words stop echoing in my head?

CHAPTER 9

RED

So, that was a bust.

My Toyota Camry’s not even cold yet—that’s how little time I managed to pull off Sexy One-Night-Stand Red. I toss my bag on the passenger seat and start the engine. Real talk, I’m not sure whether to be ashamed of myself or totally relieved things turned out the way they did.

On the one hand, I just got period-blocked out of my one chance to have wild and anonymous sex with a hot-as-sin bad boy.

On the other hand, do I really have what it takes to pull off wild and anonymous sex with a hot-as-sin bad boy?

I mean, I’m not a bad girl—not really. Underneath all this weave and makeup, I’m still Boring Bernice.

So sure, I’ll never be able to find out what might have happened on the other side of those scorching kisses. But there’d also be no embarrassment when he found out my secret—that I’m not nearly as wild or experienced as I pretend to be with the "Red" mask on.

The phone inside my bag dings, interrupting my thoughts. I pull it out and find a text message from Kiki.

KIKI: Seriously?! Still no answer? What's going on with you, best cousin? You're starting to worry me.

See? More proof that I had no business going home with that bad-boy biker. No business at all.

I type back, Sorry! I was busy at work. Yes, I'll be there for—

A knock on my window makes me jump before I can finish the text.

It's Griff. Despite the low temperature, he hasn’t put his shirt back on—just pulled up his jeans. So, he’s crouched over shirtless, his dark-blue eyes blazing as he regards me on the other side of the glass. He makes a motion for me to roll down the window.

And that’s when I realize I'm still wearing his Reaper's MC jacket.

Dangit, dangit, dangit! Can I do nothing right? Not even make a final exit?

I reluctantly roll down the window. “I know I still have your jacket. Just give me a moment to put on my shirt.”

The shirt I should've put on before walking into his house.

Go in wearing his jacket with nothing underneath, Red said. It’s sexy, she insisted. He'll think you’re such a bad mamma jamma.

Why did I listen? All sorts of regrets pop off in my head as I haul the tote bag into my lap so I can change into my shirt and return his gear.

“Come back into the house,” he says, his voice severe and commanding.

I’m pissing him off again.

I rummage even harder through the bag, trying to find my shirt in the dark car and having no luck. Geez Louise, did Candy bury it at the very bottom?

Still, I flash Griff a reassuring smile—the kind I used to give the kids when I volunteered for Sunday school.

“You don’t have to invite me back inside to change. That’s very nice of you, and I know you must be freezing. But I just need a few more seconds to find my shirt. Then I’ll have your jacket back to you in a jif—”