Loving Me, Trusting You(9)

Mireya pauses for a moment with her hand on the light switch and her dark brows bunched. In the mirror, I catch a glimpse of her profile, her sculpted jaw, her ripe lips, her full breasts.

“You already tired of sharing yours?” she asks, throwing her lacy panties on the counter. She turns around to face me and puts her hands on her hips. “What if he says no? Then what? You gonna let me drive? I need a guarantee here, Kelley.” I give her a look, raising a single eyebrow.

“Life isn't about guarantees, Sawyer. It's all chance and circumstance, but I can promise you I'll do my best.”

“Not good enough,” she says, and we stand there staring at each other for a long, slow moment. I know not much time is passing, but it feels like a lot with the heavy weight of her gaze on me, measuring me, testing me with a single look.

“Okay,” I say finally. I might cringe while I'm doing it, but I say it and I mean it. “If you want to sit in front, I'll be your ol' lady.” Mireya smiles and this time, it's genuine.

“Fine then, cowboy. You're on. I'll meet you downstairs in ten.”

And then she slams the door in my face.





When I get down to the bar, the boys are already there nursing beers and pissing off the man behind the counter who looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. Kimmi, the most masculine one of them all, raises her glass to the ceiling and salutes me.

“We thought you weren't going to show,” she says with a smile. I keep a frown on my face. I want her to think I hate her. I don't know why, I just do. It makes things easier, I guess. The less people I have to worry about, that I have to consider when making decisions, the better things will be. And I don't ever want to end up in a situation where I believe in everyone and have no one, better I ration out my approval. Right now, I can't think of a single person who has it. Austin used to.

I look at him looking straight back at me, dark eyes soft and sandy, blonde hair gleaming in the light. He's so f*cking beautiful and now he's gone. Forever. I will never have those strong arms around me again, never taste those warm lips.

With a sigh, I approach the bar and order up whatever it is that they're having.

“Glad you could make it, sugar,” Austin says, but I ignore him, sliding my beer close and squeezing it between my hands. I have no desire to drink tonight. I'd rather just slide into bed and forget the world for awhile, but here I am and I'm going to make the most of it. I lift the bottle up to my lips and drink deep. “And I'm sorry about calling you out earlier, but I had to make an example.” I laugh so hard that I almost spit out my drink.

“Right. You did real good there, boss. Thanks for chewing me out over the com.” I slam the last of my beer and order another. I overheard Beck say he was taking Mel out tonight. If that's the case, then I'm riding shotgun. What else am I supposed to do? Sit in a room alone with Gaine and watch him make puppy dog eyes at me? If he thinks it makes me feel better, he's wrong. I can't even look at his face anymore without drowning in need. I don't want him to need me. I don't want anyone to need me. I want to simply exist and be a part of the road and the wind. I need oil and chrome and burnt rubber, not kisses and sweet nothings. As shitty as it is, I can always buy a new bike, always fix one up, always start over with a new piece of metal, breathe life into it and run away. With love, you don't get a do over. It just happens the way it happens, and if it f*cks you, so what? There's nothing you can do about it. Walker shoved that principle deep into my heart and the thorns have been cutting me ever since. And then there's little Amy Cross, Southern Bell Bitch Virgin from the middle of nowhere. I never expected her, thought I'd have at least a slice of Austin's life for the rest of mine.

I down my next beer and pretend I don't feel Gaine watching me.

“You know it wasn't personal, Mireya,” he says, and in his voice, I can tell he feels bad for me. That just pisses me off even more. I squeeze my fists tight and say nothing.

“Can we move on, please? You invited us down here for a reason, right?”

Austin sighs and shakes his head.

“I did. Frankly, I'm a little overwhelmed. Everything just happened so damn fast, I don't know what to do with myself. We ain't got a lot left to be honest with y'all. The last few … ventures Kimmi and I undertook didn't exactly go over successfully.”

“Well, what the shit does that mean?” Beck asks, slamming his drink on the counter and making the bartender jump. The man glowers at us, but with a green eyed glare from Beck, he finally moves away and focuses his attention on an old man that stumbles in and flops down on the seat farthest from us.

“It means that after we finish doing what we need to do here, we go straight to Fort Walton, recharge with some fresh supplies and lay low on the coast, somewhere that doesn't belong to anybody else. I don't think we need a turf war layered on top of all this shit,” Kimmi says with a sigh, brushing some of her bright red curls back from her face. “But before we go, I think we should check with Broken Dallas, the MC that owns Fort Walton. I don't want to step on any toes. Let's just let 'em know that we'll be in and out, no questions asked. That way, if Bested wants to stop by and pay us a visit, they'll have to go through them first.”

“Sounds good to me,” Beck says.