Evading him, she bent down for her top, and then slipped it over her head. “Going back to the party,” she answered, running her hand through her tumbled curls.
“Why? I thought you would stay the night?”
“Some other time. Where’s the bathroom?”
Train wasn’t happy with her answer. The satisfaction on his face evaporated and was replaced with injured male pride.
“In the hall. It’s the one next to mine on the left,” he answered abruptly.
“You don’t have your own bathroom?”
“No. Don’t worry about it; no one else is upstairs. I would have heard them come up the steps.”
Grabbing her pants and boots, she heard him get out of the bed as she left to go to the bathroom. She took her time washing up, giving him enough time to get dressed, and not returning until she had redressed.
Tersely, he grabbed his keys off the nightstand. “Ready?”
“Whenever you are.” She kept herself calm and measured, offhandedly making herself seem unmoved by what had happened between them on the bed.
Train nodded, going for the door, but then he stopped in front of her. “Why don’t you want to stay?”
“Dude, you think I don’t know the difference between asking me out on a date and asking me to be a Last Rider? You’re the one who decided to draw a line in the sand. Don’t blame me if I’m not going to tiptoe over it when you want more.”
She hadn’t been looking for a relationship the day in the car when she had tried to entice him into another round, but she also hadn’t been looking to feel like a slut when he was ready to leave. When he had told her no and then mentioned The Last Riders, she knew exactly what he thought of her.
“Do you bitch this much when one of the women in the club don’t stay with you?”
His jaw tightened. “Never mind.”
She couldn’t read his expression, but his eyes were dark and stormy as they made their way from the club to his bike. Jumping on behind him, she grabbed his belt as Train started his bike. The night had grown cold and damp. Shivering, she pressed her breasts against his back.
He stopped the motorcycle before he pulled out of the parking lot. “I have a jacket in my saddlebag.”
Killyama twisted sideways, opening the bag to take out a leather jacket. Seeing the patches on the back of it, she started to put it back.
“What are you doing? Put it on.” Confusion clouded his features.
“It’s a Last Riders’ jacket; I’d rather freeze.” She put it back in the saddlebag.
Train turned off the motorcycle and got off.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Turning, she saw him going to a truck that was parked at the end of the lot. A minute later, he came back with a tan jacket.
“Put it on,” he demanded.
Taking it from him, she slipped it on and then grabbed his belt again when he got back on the bike.
Pressing her breasts to his back, she softly whispered into his ear, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Killyama?”
“What?”
“I’m a pretty easy-going guy, but I will only take so much.”
“You warning me?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess we’ll find out which of us has the biggest set of balls.”
“I don’t lose.” Starting the motorcycle, he pulled out onto the road.
“Neither do I.” She raised her voice, determined that he would hear her own warning above the sound of the motor. “Neither do I.”
6
“Have you lost your ever-loving fucking mind?” Sex Piston snarled when Killyama rejoined her friends at Rosie’s bar.
Killyama took the chair that faced away from Train as Fat Louise tilted her chair forward so she could hear Sex Piston’s furious tirade.
“Chill out. I know what I’m doing.”
Sex Piston’s anger didn’t faze Killyama. She did know what she was doing.
“No, you don’t. For months, I’ve watched you eating your heart out over that man—”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“No, it’s not. Does he not have enough pussy warming his back that he needs you, too?”
“You know me better than that.”
“I thought I did.” Sex Piston sniffed, turning her angry face away from her.
Killyama sighed. “Cade, will you get me a beer?”
She didn’t know if it was the polite tone she had used, or if Fat Louise’s husband just wanted to escape, but he left the women alone.
“Train said he thought I was a psycho.”
“You’re not a psycho.”
Sex Piston and her had been friends for long enough that Sex Piston instantly knew how his words had hurt her. They all did.
“You’re not the psycho. Crazy Bitch is,” T.A. interrupted.
“I know, right?” Killyama lifted her hands up helplessly. “I told him I could handle hooking up every now and then, and I can.”
“Since when do you give a fuck what he thinks?” Crazy Bitch had been listening quietly, her eyes watching the party behind Killyama.
“I don’t.” She shrugged. “I’ve had hook-ups with other men. It’s no big deal. What makes me mad is Train thinking I’m so into him that I’m acting like a psycho.”