We both smirk, then burst out laughing. Kicking the kickstand, we jump off and run inside to the bellowing tirade of my daddy.
“Your dad’s nuts if he thinks after raising you in a club, you’re not going to end up with a biker,” Alec scoffs, throwing a ton of snacks on his bed he stole from the club bar.
“I might not.” I shrug, opening a packet of chips while he kicks off his boots and grabs the TV remote.
He’s staring at me like I just told him the sky’s not blue.
“Do you want to be a biker like our dads?” I scrunch my nose. “It’s bullets and blood, chaos and constant mayhem.”
“You sound like you’re reciting the first page of the rule book,” he teases. “You do remember I’m Alec Walker, right?”
Rolling my eyes, I play with the seam of a packet of chips. “You’re just Alec to me, and I want to see the world.” I sigh, thinking of the pictures Riley showed me from her trip to Hawaii over the summer.
“Being a biker is all about the open road—nothing but freedom to go wherever you want.” He chuckles, moving up the bed and laying on the pillow next to me.
“Bikers aren’t about traveling. They go out on business. Daddy never just says, ‘Oh, I’m going on an adventure.’” I pull his covers across my legs, a chill coming in from the open window.
“So, you want an adventure?” He raises his eyebrow, and it’s so cute, I want to die. “How about we go nomad and just live on the road?” The fact that he’s seeing us as a pair causes my heart to beat hard in my chest. I’m terrified of the day he realizes I’m a girl with stupid girl feelings. No matter how hard I try not to have them, they’re there, formulating misery and happiness at the same time. It sucks being a girl.
“We?” I ask, needing to hear his answer.
“Yeah, we.” He scoffs, looking at me with squinted eyes.
“What if I want to go to college and stuff?”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.” I shrug, popping a chip in my mouth.
“When you do know, let me know.” He nudges my arm with his elbow.
“And if I do want to go?”
“Then I’ll go too. That’s what best friends do, right?” He shrugs, emptying a bag of M&Ms down his throat.
“What if I want to date college guys? You going to do that with me too?”
He almost chokes on his candy, coughing and spluttering. “Shut up, Drew. You’re not dating college boys.”
“You know I’m a girl, right?” I narrow my eyes on him.
He laughs so loud, I’m sure the entire clubhouse hears him. My cheeks flame. I want to burrow beneath the covers and never come out. Jumping to his feet, triggering the mattress dip and jolt, he begins a tirade of tickling. “You’re a girl, is that what you are?” he teases, making me screech and giggle as I slap at his hands.
“Stop it!” I yell,
“All this time, I thought you had a dong,” he torments.
I kick out my legs until I knock him off balance. He lands haphazardly on top of me, almost head-butting me in the face.
We’re both breathing heavily, our chests rising rapidly from exertion. Snacks crushed and littered around us, long forgotten. The heat from his body soaks into mine as his dark eyes explores my face.
“I know you’re a girl,” he breathes. He’s so close; the air from his words heats my skin as my heart races wildly beneath my ribs. He opens his mouth again, and I wait to hear what he’s going to say, my insides twisting into goo. “You scream like one.” He grins, then begins to tickle me again, and I scream…like a girl.
Three
Alec
Fifteen/Sixteen years old.
Mason’s sister, Penny, twirls her hair as I glare at her. She’s six-years older than me and cornered me in the clubhouse’s hall asking for the key to my room. I’m the only biker brat with a room because my old man is the club president and we live here when Mom decides she’s had enough of being his wife.
Our clubhouse used to be a huge ass clothing factory. When my old man bought the land, they renovated it. He built his auto repair shop, Rider’s and Hellmade, a custom helmet design business out front, then installed a huge wired fence, creating a perimeter. The auto repair was a legitimate trade to hide the not so legit business that went on around here. It’s easy to wash money when you own your own companies. Hellmade, though, that was a passion project that took off, gaining customers from all across the country, bikers and motorbike enthusiasts on backlist all wanting their domes custom.
“Why the fuck would I let you bump uglies in my room?” I scoff, pushing past her. Sighing, she grabs for my shoulder, but I lurch away, sending her a warning glare.