Biker's Virgin

“Says who?”

“Me!”

“Oh yeah,” she scoffed. “Because you know what’s best for everyone.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Tristan,” Emma said, matching my annoyed tone. “You’re holed up here in Hawaii working so hard that you forget to actually live your life. You realize you’re not even thirty yet, right?”

“Your point?” I demanded.

“How are you qualified to know what’s right for Molly when you don’t even know what’s right for yourself?”

“I can still kick you out of that suite you’re in,” I threatened.

“Go ahead,” she said calmly. “I’ll just pack up my stuff and move right in here with you. Of course, next time I’ll be sure to lock the bathroom door in case another one of your girlfriends walk in and gets the wrong idea.”

She knew about that, too. I groaned inwardly, both infuriated and amazed at how accurate all her information was.

“What?” Emma asked, looking me in the eye. “You’re not going to deny that that’s what Molly was upset by?”

I sighed and collapsed against the single seater. “Our relationship would have ended at some point. This gave us both an out… It’s better this way.”

“You’re a coward,” Emma snapped.

“You said that already,” I said callously. “So if you’re going to circle back around to your greatest hits, I’d suggest you take your leave and leave me to my misery.”

“So you admit you’re miserable after Molly left?”

I groaned loudly and buried my face in one of the throw pillows. “Please,” I begged. “Please just leave me alone.”

“Oh don’t worry about being alone, Tristan,” Emma said, as she moved towards the door. “You’ve got the rest of your life to be alone…especially if you keep running from all the people that love you.”

The moment she left, I felt a keen surge of relief. And on its heels came the thick choking discomfort of knowing that Emma was probably right.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Molly

I was lying in bed in my sweats and an oversized t-shirt that I’d owned since I was twelve years old. It had a picture of Calvin and Hobbes on the front, and it made me nostalgic for a time before I knew Tristan Dubois. I was brooding over the sad turn my life had taken when I heard a knock on my door.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I called, throwing a pillow over my head. “I don’t want pie.”

“I’m not here to offer you pie,” Jason said, barging into my room without my consent. “In fact, I’m pretty happy you have no appetite at the moment…more pie for me.”

I rolled my eyes and sat up in bed as Jason closed the door behind him. “You were always a glutton for peach pie.”

“No arguments there,” he said, sitting at the edge of my bed.

“When did you get here?” I asked.

“Fifteen minutes ago,” he replied.

“Did you make the trip just for me?”

“I may have.”

I groaned and collapsed back onto my bed. “I knew Mom wouldn’t be able to resist calling you.”