Jay
AS I STARED AT my reflection, I wondered where I fucked up. Deep, green pools of uncertainty, not knowing whether I was coming or going. I was stuck. In time. On a shithole of a planet. With nowhere to run or turn, I went through the motions, passing each day like it was my last. Something was off. I didn't know why. I didn't know what. I couldn't explain it, but I knew that I needed…something. Anything to get me out of my head.
A deep groan rumbled through the room, the sound coming from the bed a few feet away. I waited. For it to affect me in some way. For my heart to flutter or skip a beat. My palms to sweat. My stomach to somersault like I heard so many women talking about. Nothing. Not even a wanting need pulling me toward the sound.
I knew going to bed with the guy the night before that he wasn't the one, but I had hoped for at least some sort of attraction. But he was just a fuck. A good lay. And he wasn't even that good. My oh my and God, yes were just to amuse him. I didn't even get an orgasm out of it. The selfish bastard he was, cared about one person: himself.
I glanced over at him again. His tanned back rose and fell with each breath, the ink on his skin becoming more pronounced in the morning sun. God, even his tattoos were lame. Who gets armbands anymore?
What was the guy's name? Jeff? Alex? Bob? Hell if I knew. He was supposed to be a warm body to satisfy my craving, but that turned to shit when he ignored what I wanted. What I had been itching for.
A soft knock sounded on the door, pulling me from my thoughts. "Yeah?" I called out, stepping into my black, leather pants.
"Jay, the girls are here," Maxine Stanton, my best friend, said as she glanced in the room. Her gaze passed between me and the guy in the bed, a small sigh leaving her mouth. She shook her head, disappearing down the hall.
"Hey, man." I kicked the guy's foot. "Wakey, wakey."
"Shit. What time is it?" he asked, rolling over onto his back.
For a moment, I allowed my gaze to travel down the length of his hard body. Muscles rippled over his bones. His morning wood jutted forth between his legs, pitching a tent under the white sheet.
"Why don't you satisfy Mr. Happy before you kick me out of your bed?" He made a point of cupping himself, gyrating his hips for added effect.
I rolled my eyes and threw his clothes on the bed. "Sorry, sweetheart. This was a one—time thing."
"Why?" He sat up and pulled on his t—shirt.
"Rules." Little did he know that he wasn't in my bed. No one slept in my bed except for me. And even then, it wasn't often. With the shit going on around me, who had time for sleep? I also didn't fuck a guy again who had a pet name for his dick. How old were we? Ten?
"Jay, come on. Give a little." The guy pouted. And I mean full—on, bottom lip quivering and sticking out and shit. God. Who the hell had I spent the night with?
"Get out."
"Oh yeah." He licked his lips. "Tell me what to do, baby. You know I like it."
"Ugh. Douche. Get the fuck out." I threw his boots at him.
"Ow. Shit." He rose from the bed and finished getting dressed. "Listen. If you ever feel the need to dominate—"
"Get out." I stabbed a finger toward the door. I was sick of the guys who latched on just because they got between my legs. I was not a conquest, but at times I felt like they had all teamed up, placing bets on who could get me to break first. Well guess what, losers? It wasn't going to happen.
"You know…" The guy came up to me. "You're a bitch."
"Yup. I know." So original.
"Perhaps if you warmed up a little, you wouldn't be single," he grumbled.
I opened the door just as Maxine came into view. She raised an eyebrow, her gaze darting between the guy and me.
"Maybe you should stop trying to get people to change who don't want to," I told him.
"Whatever."
I followed him out into the hallway and gave a little wave.
Before he rounded the corner, he flipped me the bird.
"Jackass," I muttered.
"You sure know how to pick 'em."
My back stiffened at the jab. "Yeah, well, a girl needs a little lovin' now and again."
Maxine, in all her feisty glory, threw her head back and laughed. "Right. Because you can't get it anywhere else. Two hands don't cut it anymore, do they?"
I hooked an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "How about four hands?" I asked, waggling my eyebrows.
She elbowed me in the ribs, her laughter deepening. "Please. You're too fucked up for my taste. Besides, I don't have what you want."
Feigning a sigh, even though her words stung, I placed the back of my hand against my forehead. "No one does."
Max shook her head. "No. You're just too damn picky."
Maybe.
"Let's go." She clapped her hands together. "Duty calls."
I groaned. "Great."
She stopped dead in her tracks, her bright—blue gaze meeting mine. "You good?"
"Yup." I scrubbed a hand down my face, tapping my cheeks to bring life back into myself. Drinking on a weeknight was not good for the soul or mind. I swore I was losing more brain cells as I got older. Shouldn't I be done with this shit? I was almost thirty. I needed to get it together. Or find a man who could do it for me. I laughed.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Max's brows narrowed.
I nodded. I didn't know what was wrong, but I just wasn't feeling it. King's Harlots was my life. My world. My existence. I lived and breathed them. We were the first female motorcycle club in the country. That's right. An all—woman MC. Born and raised into the lifestyle, I grew up around bikers. Those ladies were my family. My best friends. My sisters.
"Ready?" Max asked when we reached the double set of wooden doors that opened into a large room. She had been asking me if I was okay for the past couple of weeks. Did things change? Did I show all of my feelings on my face? I bit back a scoff. No. I didn't. I never did. It was the easiest way a person could protect themselves. I should have been born a man. All of those feelings and shit were not for me. Max could see right past my hard exterior. We just never talked about it. She knew not to press or else she would end up with my fist in her face.
"I'm always ready," I told her.
"Just so you know, we are here for you." She squeezed my shoulder. "No matter what."
"I'm fine, Max. Promise." I took my seat at the head of the long table.
The girls—my girls—filed into the room. They talked amongst themselves. Max, as Vice President, sat to my left.
I cleared my throat, giving them time to settle down. It had been a couple of days since we met last. Thanksgiving had just passed, and I swore I ate a fucking cow.
"Business. What do we have?" I leaned back in the chair, crossing my ankle over the opposite knee.
"I have a showing at the art gallery on Friday night," Max's sapphire eyes twinkled. "It's supposed to be busy. Or, well…I'm hoping it is, anyways." She was our famous local artist. Growing up in our small town of Greenville, Ohio, there wasn't much to do whenever you were bored, so she started creating things.
"Are you displaying the piece you've been working on for the past couple of months?" Brogan Tapp beamed.
