Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(3)

Well, that lasted all of a second.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, her eyes still scouring the scene.

I wave my hand in the air, dismissing her. It’s a waste to get fired up over Dar’s need for seduction. It’s always been this way—giving her a degree of power, something she can own. I’m used to it.

Instead, I order my usual bourbon and Coke from Suzie and then snag Jesse’s beer to take a sip. The harsh bite of it foams in my mouth, some residue from the blow still clinging to my throat. I force it down and smack my lips.

“So are you getting it tomorrow?” I ask Jesse, switching his bottle for the glass Suzie sets before me.

He tilts his head. “I’m about a grand short. Thought I’d hit the track first. Try to get up the money before we head down to Daytona with the others.”

I roll my eyes. “No.”

His head jerks back. “What? I didn’t even—”

“No, but you’re going to. And you’re not racing my baby on the track. That’s exactly how you wasted your hog, dude. Forget it.”

What I leave unsaid is that he was wasted when he did so, and he’s probably already shot at least a kilo into his veins since we’ve been in St. Augustine. All four days. But who am I to judge? I just don’t let anyone other than me drive my bike. Not even Darla. She’s always been my second in command—from the time we skated out of Hazard, Kentucky till now, she’s ridden with me. I even had my bike seat specially modified to seat Dar’s ass. I guess that alone says something for our sisterly love.

Jesse hunches over the bar top, propping his forearms on the counter and dipping his head low to find my gaze. Fuck. He’s going for the damn puppy eyes, and he’s going to call it in.

He bailed me out of the craptastic disaster that became my brief hookup with Simon: biker creep extraordinaire. He and Derick—Dar’s one true love for a couple of weeks—were their own breed of loser. I cringe remembering how I even wore his black bandana, letting him put claim to me. It was more for Dar than him…but still. Never again.

But I owe Jess one. After we parted ways with Sam and her guy Holden, it was an endless downward spiral for Simon and me once we left Kansas. Part of the reason why I hit the needle so hard, and why I almost pulled a Jesse and wound up in the ER.

Not that night, though. Jesse and Tank swooped in and kept me from OD’ing. I still don’t really know how—just that the next day, I was packed and already looking at Simon’s backside from the mirror of my Breakout.

“Shit, Mel…” Jesse moans. “Just one race. I can make enough for my new hog and a little extra.” He gives me his panty-dropping smile that works on every girl at least once. Even me. But only just once.

I sigh to myself. “What about Tank? Can’t you use his bike?” Tank was my dad’s best friend, and he’s Jessie’s mentor—the full-patch member sponsoring Jesse until he becomes a full-fledged patch-holder of Lone Breed himself.

Jessie swivels on his stool, his face pinched in frustration. “Tank’s doing me a solid by not telling the others heading to Daytona about my hog…just yet. But he said I had to earn my ride on my own. So no,” he says, finding my gaze. “He won’t step in.”

I nod solemnly. “They’d rag you pretty f*cking hard, huh?”

Jesse releases a clipped laugh. “You don’t even know.” I glimpse his two back patches; the MC patch on the right, and the bottom rocker beside it that reads “Prospect.” He’s basically in the hazing phase of motorcycle club initiation. So my sympathies do go out to him—he’s going to be put through some major shit if he doesn’t get a new ride soon.

“Fuck it. One race,” I say. Before his arm encircles me, I pull back and add, “But on one condition.”

He raises his eyebrows over deep chocolate eyes.

“You forget about the little extra.”

Swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, he narrows his dark gaze. Studies me. “I can do that.” Then he moves in closer, where I can see the curve of his tat peeking above his collar. “But first, you do a little extra with me tonight.”

My gut twists. My hands get clammy, and my heart knocks hard against my ribs. “No.” I shake my head and then take a swig of my drink. “And you’re not going anywhere near my baby tomorrow if you—”

“Last time. Tonight,” he cuts in. “You’re the only one I ever get that pure bliss with, Mel. After this, I won’t ever ask again.” He uses his finger to cross his heart.

I know exactly what he means. Company can make all the difference in the level of high you obtain, and Jesse and I seem to reach astounding levels for some dumb reason. I can’t explain it, other than right now, something is damn near clawing at me from the inside to get to that feeling. Trying to break out and attack the guy in front of me.

Glancing across the crowd, I locate Darla. She’s already against the back wall, Crank leaning over her as he kisses her neck. She’ll be occupied for at least twenty minutes. Maybe more…if Crank doesn’t already have whisky dick.

I succumb. It wasn’t even a fight. “All right,” I tell Jesse. “But I just finished an eight ball not long ago. I don’t want a full dose. And I want to get back quickly to watch the band.”