Huck (Golden Glades Henchmen MC 1)

"Yep. Used to that. I just need to clear my head and then get some rest. No big deal."

"Alright. If you say so. You got pen and paper?" he asked, not waiting for me to answer, just going over toward my fridge where I kept my grocery list, ripping off the page under it, and using the attached pen to scribble on the page. "Ayanna wanted me to give you her number," he clarified. "Mine is on there too. In case you need it. You know, for a cup of sugar. Or a couple good orgasms," he said, giving me a cocky smile as he pinned it to the fridge under an "As You Wish" magnet from The Princess Bride. "I gotta get going."

"Right. Drive-by guys to find. Biker things to do."

"Yeah," he agreed, moving to the door, turning back to give me that sexy smile one more time. "Something like that. Lock up, babe," he added.

And then he was gone.

And I was alone in my kitchen with desire ricocheting off every nerve ending, a lingering headache, and far too many thoughts racing through my head, tumbling all together, to make any single one out.

But I moved across the kitchen to lock the door, then did a tour of the rest of my house, paranoia making me check the windows, look inside closets and behind shower curtains.

There was nothing, no one to worry about. No one could have possibly known I had been over at the biker clubhouse, that I was in any way connected to them, save for living next door.

Making my way back into the kitchen, I brewed a pot of coffee while I looked at the note on my fridge, telling myself I was going to throw it out, that I was going to be done with the bikers. In one night, I'd had more excitement than I'd had in over a decade.

It could get me through another decade easily.

I didn't need that kind of crap in my daily life.

Walking over to the fridge, I pulled out the cream, then took the note out from under the magnet, taking a second to notice how unexpectedly neat his print was before tucking it inside my menu drawer, telling myself I was only keeping it in case I wanted to text Ayanna to thank her for not letting me die in the pool.

With that, I took my coffee into my spare room/game room/office /whatever you wanted to call it.

I remembered once making fun of a guy I'd been seeing for liking video games, back before my hands had ever even touched a controller. I'd made some comment about how it looked like all he did was walk around in the game, that it would do him more good if he just, y'know, took a walk himself.

Games had come a long way since back then, it was true. There were all sorts of ones to play. But, somehow, I found myself playing the first game I'd ever tried, originally doing so simply because it was a game version of the book series I'd been obsessed with. And it was one of the ones with all the walking. It was interrupted by short bursts of action, but was overall, more of a game about your own personal mission for your character than epic battles.

There were flashier games. But those flashy games also came with a lot of flashing on the screen that I knew from experience didn't agree with my misfiring brain.

I'd only ever had a seizure once while filming playing my game. And that had nothing to do with the game, and everything to do with the fact that I had lived in a shitty area of town, and the cops were constantly around, and on that particular night, they'd camped out directly across from my window, their red and blue lights flashing.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up on the floor with my leg turned at an unnatural angle from being stuck under my chair, and my brand-new headphones crushed from the impact of landing on the side of my head.

It was one of the many reasons I had decided to get out of that area.

There was no controlling the lights, the noise, the stress that could so easily cause an epileptic fit. Even though I was taking my oil, and was trying to control them as much as possible.

And it helped. It did.

Sure, the prescription meds worked better. But they made me slow and tired; they gave me headaches that refused to go away. I'd been forced on them at twelve, and needed to take them until I could make a decision for myself to get off of them.

And I did.

But there were—even on the meds—break-through episodes. The key was trying to avoid the triggers that brought them on.