The past three weeks have been … fucking awful.
Mostly because I haven’t been fucking Lisa.
I stare into my now-warm beer on the bar top in front of me, like it’s going to give me useful answers or something. Instead, the head on the beer just slowly dissipates until there’s nothing but golden brown staring back up at me.
Crankshaft, the Black Fist president, comes up and smacks me on the shoulder. “Damn, Diesel, I ain’t seen you like this before. What gives? Did some chick get all up in your head or something?”
Yeah. Or something. My head, my heart, my dick…all the important parts of the body, anyway. I wouldn’t be surprised to find Lisa wrapped up in my appendix.
“Just a lot on my mind,” I say, because what kind of an outlaw tells another outlaw that he’s mooning over a girl? They’d probably take my patch away for that. I may not be an active member of the Black Fist anymore, but they still let me come to the clubhouse, and in times of trouble, they still have my back. I can’t start acting like a pussy in front of them now.
“Well, if it is a girl, you gotta be willing to go after her.”
I look at him, shocked to hear him say that. Crankshaft just shrugs a little.
“If she’s worth it,
she’s worth it. Don’t let nothin' stand in your way.”
He walks away, leaving the words reverberating in my brain.
If she’s worth it…
Is she worth it?
I think back over the past three weeks and how goddamn miserable I’ve been.
All because I've missed her. I wanted to wake up next to her in the morning. I wanted to fuck her all night. I wanted to spar with her verbally and see if I could come out on top. I wanted to bathe her in bubbles and champagne.
I wanted to be with her.
I want to be with her.
What the fuck am I doing, just sitting around, feeling sorry for myself? God, I’m a pansy. I should turn in my patch right now, just because I’ve been a pansy.
But, I’m not going to. I have more money than God. It’s about time I start using it to get what I want.
97
Lisa
I smile politely as I chat with Kim and Cody at their garden party in the Hamptons. My heels are sinking into the ground (whoever thought that wearing stilettos to a garden party was a good idea should be shot on sight) and my face is so tired from smiling politely, I feel like I should take a week-long nap just to recover from it.
Like a marathon, but for cheek muscles.
Kim and Cody are all over each other, cooing and kissing and my upchuck reflex is on high alert. I mean, if I were the one doing all of the cooing and kissing, that’d be one thing, but…well, I’m not.
And despite Becca’s assurances to the contrary, Diesel hasn’t come to declare his love to me. She had seemed so sure that Diesel was going to come waltzing in at any moment and say, “Psych! Just kidding. I really do love you and I’m really not in an MC and I’m really not a serial liar!”
Except…he hasn’t shown up at all and its been three weeks as of yesterday.
Can I just say—Kindle authors are really starting to get on my nerves, what with their happily ever afters and dangerous bad boys and none of them are pathological liars.
Why is my bad boy turning out to be one?
Oh yeah, my face muscles are going to freeze in this position; I can feel the paralysis creeping over me.
“Hey baby, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”