I stumbled slightly but righted myself. I was at Gwen’s, my new boss’s place, dancing with people I barely knew. Beautiful women who had no qualms being themselves, and may have been slightly insane. I so wanted to be like them when I grew up. Well, firstly I wanted to be like my mom, with a sprinkling of these fab ladies. Mostly I wanted to be someone different than who I was. Someone better.
As I whirled to the music, my gaze landed on men rounding the corner of the house. Hot men. I narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t tear my eyes off them. I’d seen them around town and more recently at Gwen’s store. I knew who they were. Heck, everyone knew who they were. They were the Sons of Templar. The motorcycle club that had unofficially owned the town since before we moved here. Some around town hated them, and everything the club stood for. Most respected them. Like Mom.
“Those boys may be a bit rough around the edges, but they’ve got good hearts. People like to judge based on what they think a good person should look like. Good people come in all shapes and sizes, just like bad. Don’t you forget it,” she’d instructed me years ago. Her eyes had been faraway, no doubt thinking of the bad man that had been wrapped up in a suit and tie. Who’d seemed like a good man, a family man, until the doors to our home had closed and the monster inside had been unveiled. So she didn’t shrink away from men wearing leather. She didn’t shrink away from anyone, not anymore.
I had always been fascinated with the men. The life they lived. The freedom they seemed to have. I’d longed for that kind of freedom, to be who I was, to figure out who I was. I would never have that though, not with my emotional disability chaining me to my uninteresting self. I’d admired them from afar, entertained notions of going to one of their infamous parties. Those thoughts stayed rooted in fantasy, as did any possibility of interaction with the club. My social skills went from lacking to non-existent when faced with attractive men or intimidating people. The men in the club were the embodiment of both. Though not every single one was mouth-droppingly attractive, they all held an aura, a certain presence that seemed hypnotizing and dangerous at the same time. That was all admired from afar. I’d never seen them up close, definitely not in social situations. But now they were here. Getting closer to my uninteresting self with every moment.
“Lily,” I heard my named whispered urgently.
I reluctantly tore my gaze off the approaching men and moved it to settle on Amy, who was looking panicked sitting up awkwardly from her sun lounger. I was thankful to have a reason to escape my own head. I’d get trapped in there if I wasn’t careful.
“What?” I half yelled at her. I would never have yelled, half or otherwise at anyone, had I not had tequila in my system. I would’ve mumbled something, gone red and most likely embarrassed myself. Tequila equaled zero embarrassment. It ruled.
“Come here,” she hissed, her eyes darting to Brock, who was chatting to Lucy, his attractive eyes kept moving in Amy’s direction. She looked seriously freaked.
No wonder. I did crappy around people in general most of the time, hot guys like the ones I was presented with were in danger of turning me mute. I didn’t see why Amy was so panicked, though, the chick was drop dead gorgeous. She radiated confidence and didn’t have any trouble conversing with the sex god bikers. I had witnessed her exchanging witty banter with the men since I started working at her and Gwen’s clothing store.
“What?” I asked when I got to her side.
Her eyes went from Brock to me one more time. They were that kind of drunken alert that I had seen on my friends. You knew you had to get your shit together, but you were also struggling to stay upright.
“I need you to go and get the booze off Brock,” she ordered quickly.
My stomach dropped, the idea of approaching him, and the arguably hotter guy with him, had me wanting to break out in hives.
“I’ve never spoken to him—he kind of scares me. Why can’t you do it?” I half pleaded. Tequila may have burned away most of my crippling shyness, but it hadn’t taken away all of my self-preservation. At least not yet.
“It’s a long story,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “It involves a sex marathon and his stupid man bun. Will you do this for me? Please?” She didn’t wait for me to reply and gave me a gentle shove. One that wouldn’t normally have moved a sober Lily, but drunk Lily went tottering off in the direction of Brock.