Unattainable (Undeniable, #3)(15)

“Well,” she said slowly. “It just so happens that I’m having a small dinner party tonight and I think you should come, minus the brooding, anti-social biker who’s always bogarting all of your time.”

I shrugged. “He’s got a big dick, f*cks like a slap-happy seal, and doesn’t talk very often. He’s pretty much perfect.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Teg, he’s mean and scary.”

My eyes crossed. It was laughable how “mean” and “scary” she thought ZZ was. God, if she ever met Deuce or Hawk or even Blue, as ancient as he was he could hold his own, she’d probably pee herself on sight.

“He’s moody,” I told her. “It’s different.”

“I bet all serial killers are moody,” she shot back. “It’s probably in their job description.”

Hayley didn’t realize how true her statement really was. There was no doubt in my mind the Hell’s Horsemen had taken plenty of people out over the years. Whereas none of the brothers had openly talked about their business in front of their wives and their kids, that hadn’t been the case with me. Like my mother, after my father had left for good, they were used to me hanging around the club. And either they didn’t notice me, or they considered me so incredibly insignificant they couldn’t have cared less how freely they spoke in front of me.

“Girl, you’re getting that ‘swallowed a dick’ look again.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”

“Listen up, Teg,” Hayley said softly, leaning closer to me. “I get that your mom needs you and that you’re in a tough situation, but every time you go back there, to those people, you’re that much more miserable. As for ZZ, he’s not good for you either, slap-happy or not.”

She was right. Hell, she was always right. I was stuck inside a world I wanted nothing to do with but couldn’t seem to shake.

“Fuck it,” I muttered, shaking myself out of my depressing thoughts. “I’ll do dinner tonight. Without ZZ.”

Before I knew it, Hayley was on her feet, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Perfect!” she cried softly. Then she was halfway across the room, waving at me. “My place!” she called out. “Six o’clock! And dress to impress!”

It took a moment for her words to sink in, but when they did…

“Great,” I muttered, turning back to my computer. She was undoubtedly trying to set me up with one of her husband’s friends again. And while they were all nice guys, which seemed to be my biggest problem with them, they were pushovers, metrosexual girly men that did nothing for me except make me angry and want to slap them across the face with a lacy thong and ask them what they’d done with their balls.

A thin stack of papers appeared in my line of sight, blocking my gaze to my desktop’s keyboard. “Did you check this out yet?”

I glanced up at Malcolm, the managing editor of the small newspaper I worked for. He was short for a man, in his early thirties, kept his dark hair in a trendy faux-hawk, and wore Buddy Holly glasses. He’d also been trying to get in my pants from way back when I’d still been a lowly intern instead of the lowly copy editor I was today. But whatever, I loved my job, and I loved my coworkers far too much to let Malcolm, the horny hipster, bother me.

His unwanted attentions were infinitely preferable to horny bikers who were five times his size. Whereas a quick punch in the nuts or a restraining order would have Malcolm running for the hills, it would only encourage a certain other group of men I knew who would laugh their asses off if presented with a restraining order. And then f*ck to death whoever had the audacity to get a restraining order in the first place.

One horny biker in particular came to mind.

The muscles in my legs tightened and, beneath my desk, my toes began to curl. Fucking hell, I was pathetic. It had been eight f*cking years since that horrible night and even worse morning, yet my thoughts always led me back there…to him.

Cage.

Cage Fucking West.

What was it about being invited on the back of a bike that drove women crazy?

It was insulting.

Sexist.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

And it was hot as f*ck.

“Tegen?”

My eyes flew open and I snatched the papers from Malcolm, leafed quickly through them, scanning over the articles inside.

“Yep,” I said, handing the pile back to him. “I put the final proofs in Mary’s drop box this morning.”

Nodding, Malcolm eyed me queerly. “Are you okay, Tegen? You seem…off.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, turning back to my computer, mentally berating myself for being so pathetic. I was a pathetic biker slut. Just like my mother.

No, I wasn’t like her. I’d taken off my rose-tinted glasses the very morning Cage had broken my heart.

I’d walked away.

I had walked away.

Me. I’d walked the f*ck away.

And every visit home since, I’d made it my goal in life to ensure Cage never got close enough to hurt me again.

That was something.

Taking a deep breath, I leaned back in my chair and glanced up at the ceiling. Maybe whoever Hayley was going to try to set me up with tonight, I should give an actual chance. Maybe I needed a guy in my life who, no matter how many showers they took, didn't still reek of leather and exhaust fumes.