Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(32)

A chuckle slips out. I know she’s avoiding. Doesn’t want to talk about the letter or her friend, so I can roll with her punches. “Worst case I ever had.” And that’s no lie. I thought long and hard about jerking my dick to kingdom come, but I settled for blue balls. An extra little dose of punishment for almost f*cking up.

“And that’s the best compliment I’ve ever had. Thanks, Boone.” She nudges me with her shoulder as I shake my head.

As soon as we step outside, I drop my shades over my eyes and instantly regret my idea. For the seconds I was entranced with Mel’s pain, with her, I forgot about the sky-high heat index. “Shit. If there was ever a month to get the f*ck out of Florida,” I say.

“No shit,” she agrees. Turning to face me, she adds, “You do have a bike. Well, sort of. Not sure I classify your Bonnie bobber as one, really…” she trails off, and I let the slight against my bike slide. I figured her for an all American girl. “But we could Bonnie and Clyde our way to Sturgis. Pun totally intended.” She winks. “There’s always, like, a crazy aftermath of drag races and parties following the rally.”

I want to think she’s joking. But I have a sure feeling in the pit of my stomach that if I offered her to leave right now, she’d hop on the back of my bike. No questions. And suddenly, there’s a sickness gripping my gut to match that feeling—I want that.

At some point, whether it was the moment she touched me, the heated look in her eyes, or the second I saw the hopelessness forming around her in the hall…a line was crossed. There’s no walking away now.

This girl will break me.

And I’ll beg her to do it.

We reach the benches near the basketball court and she slides onto the top seatback. I lick my lips, thankful for my shades as my gaze travels up her creamy legs to her thighs. I imagine running my hand up that same course. Under her skirt…

Fucking hell. At some point, I’m going to have to wear my dick out. I should beat the hell out of it each time before I see her. I’m like a horny teen getting a taste of porn for the first time. It’s embarrassing.

I’ve gone almost a year with no real temptations. Where the hell did this girl come from? She blindsided me.

Clearing my head, I pry my eyes away from her slightly parted thighs and try to focus on the fact that she’s upset about something. Try to get my head wrapped around the true reason why I invited her out here. To get her thoughts off of what’s bothering her.

“I don’t want to get too into it,” she says, staring at her flip-flops on the wooden bench. “Like, I just want to tell you something and have it out there.”

“All right. I think I can handle that.”

She slips one foot out of her shoe and rubs her pink painted toenail across the groove in the wood. “My dad was a member of an MC…a motorcycle club.” My brain starts trickling down the things she said at the lake, connecting the distinction between the different biker clubs. “By default, being a daughter gives me a level of acceptance from the MC. They protect their own, and my friend…he’s a member, too. Well, a prospect. Not a full member yet.”

At my confused expression, and really, I’m trying to hide it and follow along, she sighs. “Never mind,” she says, waving her hand. “It’s dumb. And I probably shouldn’t be saying—”

“No,” I say. “Go on. It’s not dumb if it’s important to you, and I’ll keep up.” I give a wry smile. “I’m not down with the cool kids, but I can follow.”

She pinches her lips together, suppressing a smile. “Right. Well basically it’s this. They got him the best damn lawyer money can buy, and he’s out on bail. Plus, he says they won’t have a court hearing, it will all be handled pretrial or something. He most likely won’t be found guilty. Which he’s not, so there’s that.”

I nod, sink my hands into my pockets. Wait for the next part. The bad. When she doesn’t say anything, I ask, “This is good, right?”

She exhales heavily and raises her eyebrows. “Yeah, sure. That’s good. But because what he’s accused of has to do with someone close to the MC, they’re going to conduct their own investigation. And the MC’s laws are different from the courts’.” She looks toward the parking lot, a faraway expression shutting her features down. “He might’ve been safer in prison.”

I let her words resonate. For Melody, from the little I’ve come to know of her, this is a lot she’s trusting me with. Which means she has no one else to turn to. This is something heavy that she needed to talk about, and she didn’t take it to her counselor. She needed someone neutral.

And I want to fix it for her. I wish I had the answer. She has enough to face and deal with trying to get sober, and I know better than anyone how the outside world bleeds into your cocoon, making it damn near impossible.

Then something she said hits me. “You’re a member?” I say questioningly.

She shakes her head. “No, women can’t be full-patch holders. Or members.”

“But you said your dad is.”

“Was. He died.”

Damn, this is edging that strained area between us. “Sorry.”

“It was a while ago.” She looks up at me. “But what are you getting at?”