Rhythm of the Road (Lost Kings MC 16)

Jigsaw’s right inside the door, talking to Anya. “Let’s go, brother.”

He says a few more words to her and then follows me outside. “Damn, she and Shelby were hot together when they were hugging.” Jigsaw rubs his hands together. “Think they would—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” I warn.

“I’m not talking about filming it.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Come on. It’s not cheating if it’s another girl and you’re right there watching.”

I turn my head slowly and stare at him. “For the love of fuck, mind your own business. And if you ever suggest something like that to Shelby—even as a joke—I will motherfucking gut you.”

He takes a step back and raises one hand. “My bad. I didn’t realize threesomes were now off the table.”

“Stop being an asshole.”

His gaze drops to the truck keys in my hand. “We’re not riding together?”

“I need to talk to her.”

“Don’t you two yap enough?”

“Why are you testing my patience today?”

“Don’t I do it every day?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. “I need to explain what exactly I’m doing for the club before she hears it somewhere else.”

The joker smile slips off his face. “Club business isn’t her business.”

“Yeah, I get that. Except the two assholes interviewing her this morning are the same ones who interviewed Anya yesterday. You think they’re not going to remember me and have some commentary?”

He roars with laughter and slaps my shoulder. “Good luck with that.”

“Thanks, dickface.”

Shelby’s waiting by the truck and smiles when she sees us. “I feel so bad dragging you out this early in the morning, Jigsaw.”

“It’s fine. No amount of beauty sleep’s gonna help him,” I say.

“Logan Randall, that’s not nice.”

“He’s vicious to me, Shelby. All the time.” Jigsaw pulls a sad droopy-dog face that’s pure bullshit.

“Aw.” She pats his shoulder. “I’m sure you’re totally innocent in all of it too.”

He flashes a wicked half-grin at her.

“Enough.” I wave him off. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll follow you since you know where you’re going,” he says over his shoulder.

Shelby cocks her head and stares at me.

Motherfucking Jigsaw had to say it, didn’t he? Sad thing is, I don’t even think he did it on purpose.

Shelby waits until we’re on the road to speak up.

“What’d he mean you know where the place is? Did you check it out when I told you about the interview?”

That would be an excellent excuse, wouldn’t it?

But I can’t lie to her.

“No, the girl you met—Anya. She had an interview with them yesterday and Ice asked me to go with her.”

Please let that be sufficient.

“Really? Is she a singer too?”

“Uh, she’s in entertainment.”

Shelby’s seizes on my bullshit answer immediately. “Entertainment? Is she a dancer or something? Does this charter own a strip club too?”

If only.

“No, but they do have a successful tattoo parlor. They have a wait list but I could probably get you squeezed in if you want some ink while you’re here.”

Real subtle change of subject.

“Rooster, you’ve seen every inch of me and know I’m ink-free. I intend to stay that way.”

I glance over at her. “Really?”

Her eyes glitter with amusement. “It’s totally sexy on you, but it’s not something I’d do.”

Huh. “Is it frowned on in country music or something?”

“Maybe a little. I don’t know. I haven’t come up with anything I wanna stick on my body permanently.” She reaches over and pokes my side. “Besides you.”

“Same, chickadee.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

“No.” I glance down at the intricate tribal pattern inked into my arm. Annoying, maybe, but not painful. “But I have a high tolerance for pain.”

“Of course you do.” I can practically hear the eye roll in her voice. “Is that a deal-breaker or something for you?”

“What? No.” I reach over and squeeze her leg. “Love all your perfect, smooth skin just the way it is.”

She twines her fingers with mine.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little.”

“Don’t be. Jigsaw and I will be right in the next room listening to the whole thing.”

“Oh, great. What if I make a fool out of myself in front of Jigsaw?”

“You’ve met him, right?”

“You’re terrible.”

But she’s smiling now, instead of fretting.

I steer the truck into the parking garage, taking a ticket and tossing it on the dashboard. Jigsaw’s bike rumbles behind us, echoing throughout the parking garage.

I’m so focused on Shelby, I forget about the two DJs about to ruin our morning.Chapter Fifty-OneShelby

I’m wound tighter than a cuckoo clock.

The radio station’s small but clean and full of new equipment. Not as fancy as others I’ve been to but not shabby either.

“Shelby Morgan, it’s so nice to meet you. This is Scotty and I’m Junior.” He pauses as if he’s expecting me to gush and say I’m a fan or something.

“Thanks for havin’ me.”

Scotty—or Slimy, as I’ve renamed him in my head so I can tell the two of them apart—leers down at me and offers his hand. Reluctantly, I take it. He brings it to his mouth, brushing his oily lips over my knuckles.