5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

LEWIS

That was the longest day of my entire life. A few years ago, I dated a ‘van guy' and spent two months driving around with him in his disgusting van that always smelled like sweaty ass, pissing on the side of the road and showering at truck stops. It was the most miserable two months of my entire life. Today felt longer than that.

The silence in my apartment rings in my ears—or maybe that's the phantom sound of the phone still tormenting me, just like I was afraid of. I press my fingertips into my temples and lean against the door for a minute. As soon as my head stops pounding, I'm going to come up with some kind of epic revenge plot. Stink bombs? Hm, maybe a little immature. Not that those assholes are the height of sophistication themselves, but I can do better than that. I'll think of something.

I kick my shoes off and start flipping lights on.

"Hello, babies," I coo, stopping to greet my plants as I make my way through my small apartment. "Oh, look at this new bud." I praise Violet Beauregarde, stroking one of her silky purple petals. Once I'm satisfied that they're all looking well hydrated and happy, I swap a few pots around and rotate others so they all get the right amount of morning sun tomorrow before I move on.

I pick up the TV remote on my way through the living room and switch it on just for the noise. Even with the memory of Arrow's hot mouth around my cock last night, irritation creeps up my spine as I change out of my work clothes, grumbling to myself about those dickhead tattoo artists. What kind of grown man pulls a prank like that on another person's business? It's so juvenile.

I huff and toss my clothes into the hamper, then pull on a comfortable t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts that have never been anywhere near a gym. I tap out a message on my phone as I shuffle out of my bedroom and into the kitchen.

LEWIS: We need to get revenge for that stupid prank

LEWIS: And please for the love of fuck, don't try to take the high road. Just let me be a petty bitch for once in my life without any guilt.

Rowan's response comes just a second later. He sends two laughing emojis and then a second message that says "knock, knock" along with another emoji—a cocktail glass with a little slice of fruit on the rim. I grin and pocket my phone.

"It's open," I shout, yanking on the refrigerator door and sticking my head inside to see what I have. I hear the front door open and close while I nudge things aside and start to form a plan. "How do we feel about veggie fajitas?" I ask when Rowan's footsteps reach the kitchen.

"Sounds good to me. Where do you keep your blender?"

I look at him over my shoulder with a flat expression, and he chuckles.

"Right, wherever I put it last time after I hand washed it." He sets a paper bag down on the counter and opens the cupboard over the sink, which shockingly contains a blender that I forgot I even owned. Honestly, Rowen probably brought it over.

I pull out the ingredients I need for the fajitas and get to work chopping them while he mixes up a couple of daiquiris, complete with real fresh strawberries blended into them.

"Soooo…" I say once the loud whirr of the blender cuts off. "I bumped into Arrow last night." I know I'm not pulling off a casual tone at all, my hands shaking as I start to toss the veggies into the pan.

"Arrow?" Rowan repeats.

The onions and peppers start to sizzle as I pick up the drink he made for me and turn around to lean against the counter next to the stove. I take a sip and I'm glad to find that he used a light pour. I'm much better off than I was yesterday, but getting anything more than tipsy does not appeal.

"The hot biker who stopped to help me during the rainstorm," I remind him, an electric shiver running through me at the memory of Arrow's hands all over me last night, the scratch of his beard against my face while we kissed like our lives depended on it. "The silver fox with the calloused hands and perfect cock," I murmur wistfully, my eyes going unfocused as I let myself get completely lost in the memories. I reach down to adjust myself and Rowan snorts derisively at my embarrassingly horned-up state.

I snap myself out of my daydream to glare at my friend and take another sip of my drink. The chill of it cools my skin off, and the sweet, fruity flavor washes away the memory of Arrow's mouth still lingering on my tongue.

"The guy you didn't call?" Rowan clarifies.

I bite my lip and nod. "Yeah, that part was a little awkward."

Rowan laughs unsympathetically, then gives a low whistle. "Shit like that makes me so fucking glad I'm demi."

"You have to be nice to me, I had a hard day," I whine, putting on an exaggerated pout.

"Come on, Lewie, this is hardly the first time you've had an awkward run-in with a guy you hooked up with. Remember your cousin's wedding when you realized you'd been tag teamed by two of the groomsmen the night before?" He chuckles again and I join him this time. Okay, that one was kind of funny in hindsight.

"He didn't seem too mad about it, at least." I let a suggestive smile spread over my face.

"I'm guessing there wasn't a whole lot of talking?"

"Plenty of verbal foreplay, absolutely no baring of our souls. Just the way I like it."

Rowan pauses with his glass halfway to his lips again and pins me with a look.

"Liar."

That one word is all he needs to call me out in a way only a best friend can. I can pretend all I want that I don't need romance and butterflies and all those dangerous, mushy feelings, but we both know how hard I fall when I actually let myself. I bristle and set my glass down, turning my attention to stirring the veggies.

"I can't remember the last time I was this attracted to someone," I confess. "The man has some kind of gravitational pull, and I am fucking weak for it." I drag my fingertips over my lips absently, thinking about how Arrow's mouth felt against mine.

"It sounds like the feeling is mutual." Row shrugs. "What's the problem?"

"Come on, Row." I click my tongue against my teeth and empty the cooked vegetables onto a plate so I can use the pan to heat up the tortillas. "You know how I am. It's already happening, and I don't even know the guy. I get all fluttery and stupid." I wave my hands in the air. "And I always end up coming on too strong, all needy and pathetic. The only guys who don't go running the other way are the ones who think they can use it against me, doling out affection in a steady drip to fuck with my head and string me along."

The feeling in my stomach leftover from the encounter with Arrow sours. I'm glad my back is to my bestie as I reach up to discreetly dab a tear away from the corner of my eye. None of those assholes are worth the puffy eyes or dehydration. There's no warning before Rowan's beefy arms wrap around me and he places a wet, smacking kiss on my cheek. I let out a watery laugh and lean into his embrace.

"I know you've dealt with your fair share of assholes, but Arrow could be different. You never know."

He lets me go and I clear my throat to dislodge the lump, then start to assemble our fajitas.

"Right, because hot bikers are famously all about commitment and mushy feels." I chuckle and stick a slice of pepper into my mouth, then turn to hand Row his plate.

He gives me one of his stern looks, his bushy ginger eyebrows lowered and his lips pursed.

I huff at him. "‘You're judging him without bothering to ask. You have to give people a chance.'" I deepen my voice to mimic what I know he's about to say.

"Wow, that's a really thoughtful and mature perspective, Lew," he deadpans, and I stick my tongue out at him just to show him exactly how thoughtful and mature I am.

We carry our plates and drinks into the living room, and I put on Umbrella Academy . We're late to the party, but on the bright side, it means we have multiple seasons to binge watch.

"That asshole tattoo artist next door has such Klaus energy it's not even funny," I mumble around a mouthful of food.

"Is he hot?" Rowan asks.

"Absolutely not," I lie. He's objectively fuckable, but no way am I paying him that kind of compliment when so far he's been nothing but a grade-A pain in my ass. "Besides, you're demi, what do you care?"

"I can appreciate the aesthetics," he says, polishing off his food and then reaching for his daiquiri to drain it. "You want another drink?" He nods towards my half-finished glass.

"Sure." I pick it up and gulp it down so I can hand him the glass for a refill. The rum and the icy temperature go to my head and make me a little dizzy.

While the blender whirs loudly from the kitchen, I set my plate down on the coffee table and slip my phone out of my pocket. I pull up the contact info Arrow added last night before we parted ways and stare at it, my heart hammering and my stomach twisting with nerves and excitement.

The smart thing to do would be to delete it and let our two incredible hookups live in my fantasies where they can't hurt me. He's perfect there. He's safe there.

But he did say he was fine with keeping things casual.

Maybe if I play it cool—like, absolutely glacial —we can keep things going just a little bit longer. I don't have Rowan's optimism that this is going to turn into some epic love story. I'll settle for more of what happened last night and an eventual amicable parting of ways. Even that sounds like a fairytale compared to all the crashes and burns I've dealt with so far.

"Fuck it," I mutter to myself, hitting the button to start a new message.

ARROW

Tools clang, the pop and hiss of another beer being cracked open fills the air, and Gregory comes tearing in through Jaguar's open garage door to cower behind my legs. There's a squirrel hot on his tail, scurrying after him and chittering. I don't speak rodent, but it's clear he's talking mad trash to my poor little dog.

"Dude, you've gotta stand up for yourself." I bend down to scoop him up off the ground. "He's only tormenting you because you let him."

"Are you being a little terrorist?" Jag coos, clicking his tongue affectionately at the squirrel as it scurries up his leg like it's a tree and perches on his shoulder. The squirrel chitters again and Jag reaches into his pocket, pulls out a shelled peanut, and hands it to the fuzzy critter.

"He takes after his dad," I say dryly. "Running around and stirring up trouble like it's his job."

" Moi ?" Jaguar gasps, putting a hand dramatically over his chest.

"I don't think faking innocence is going to work on this one," Piston says wisely, and Jaguar drops his hand and his feigned virtuous expression.

"Yeah, okay." He flashes a toothy grin. "But if you're talking about the flower shop thing, as far as I'm concerned, we're even. He acted like a dick, I got him back with a prank, all is right and balanced in the universe."

Somehow, I doubt that, but I'm not about to argue with him about it.

I set Gregory back down and he takes off out of the garage again, no doubt to find more trouble to get into. He takes after his Uncle Jag just as much as that damn squirrel does. I crouch next to my bike with a grunt and reach for the open toolbox next to Tex.

Working on my bike centers me in the same way tattooing always has. My hands know exactly what they're doing, and the task itself requires just enough brain power to keep my mind from really wandering. Not that it doesn't try anyway. Thoughts of Lewis's soft skin and hungry, addictive kisses dance at the edges of my mind while I try to focus on the banter going on around me. Hero bitches about the name of our little motorcycle club for the millionth time and Tex mentions a charity ride we might want to sign up for next month. I nod along, grunting or laughing in the appropriate spots while keeping most of my focus on my bike.

My phone vibrates against my thigh and my fingers still. My heart jumps into my throat and I glance around covertly. The guys are all here, and my brother, Henry, mentioned that he had some special date night planned for him and his man tonight, so I doubt he's texting me. It's probably just spam. I get more political texts and 20 percent off offers from websites I bought one item from three years ago than texts from actual people I want to talk to. But there's a chance it's Lewis, and that tiny possibility has my heart racing. I wipe my hands off on a nearby rag and reach into my pocket.

UNKNOWN: Hey.

That's it. A single word from an unknown number. I drag my fingers through my beard to scratch my chin. Is it him? I stare at the text for a solid minute, trying to find some clue in the solitary word. My phone vibrates in my hand again and another message pops up.

UNKNOWN: Sorry, this is Lewis.

UNKNOWN LEWIS: From the bar

LEWIS: Ha, wow, that's not very specific, is it? You've probably given your number to a dozen guys at different bars this month alone.

LEWIS: From Wooley's last night… the blowjobs

LEWIS: Holy hell that was so cringe. I'm sorry.

LEWIS: Okay, if you haven't blocked me at this point, I just want to tell you that I'm usually not this much of a mess. You throw me off. And I've maybe had a couple of daiquiris, so this is technically a drunk text and none of what I say can be held against me.

I rub my hand over my mouth to stifle my chuckle and hide my grin. I throw him off? That sounds promising. Definitely a hell of a lot better than the ‘get lost' vibe I thought I was picking up on last night. Maybe he's just really into head games. Fuck, I hope not. I hate that shit. I've never had the patience for it, and I don't like pretending that I do. Goddamn if Lewis isn't pretty enough to lead me around by my dick if he wants to though. I blow out a slow breath and type a response.

ARROW: No, I'm glad you clarified, there are a lot of Lewises and a lot of bars, but honestly not a hell of a lot of blowjobs like that one.

I hit send before I can overthink it. Something about him is throwing me off too. The nervous twist in my stomach while I wait for his reply is definitely new, or maybe it's just been so damn long since I've felt this kind of chemistry and excitement that it feels new again.

LEWIS: Glad to hear it. Be sure to leave a review of my exceptional skills, we always strive for customer satisfaction.

ARROW: Easy five stars. Hot, eager, and exactly the kind of filthy you want from an unexpected blowjob in the manager's office at a bar. Highly recommend and have every intention of returning to this establishment in the future.

As soon as I send it, my muscles tense. Shit, I'm definitely overplaying my hand here. He was eager to get the hell out of there before my balls had even stopped tingling, and here I am hinting at another hookup. Even if he said he would be up for something casual, I need to pump the brakes.

"Who're you texting?" Hero asks, making me jerk my gaze up from my phone instantly.

"Air." Jag gives me a teasing smirk.

I furrow my brow, trying to follow the line of thought that led to that joke, but fuck knows Jag's thoughts usually require a map to sort out. Even then, his brain is basically a terrifying maze with a minotaur guarding the center.

"Last night, you said you were going out to ‘get some air' and today you've been walking around with a dopey look on your face like you stuck your dick in something delicious." Piston decodes it for me with a smirk.

Busted. I should've known better than to think none of them would notice my ‘fresh from a hookup' glow, but when no one said anything, I figured I was in the clear. There's no reason to keep it a secret, except for my own ego. They've seen me get stupid over too many men who didn't feel the same way I did. Maybe I can save a tiny shred of my dignity this time by keeping it to myself.

I keep my expression neutral and shrug.

"I think you all have sex on the brain." I answer without actually confirming or denying anything, then turn my attention to the new text that's waiting for me.

"Right, I forgot you were the Virgin Mary," Hero deadpans, and I flip him the middle finger.

"Arrow is right, guys. We really need to stop thinking about our dicks all the time and focus on more important—" Jag bursts out laughing before he even finishes his sentence. "I'm sorry, I can't even joke about that. Imagine anything more important than sex." He shakes his head.

Unsurprisingly, the conversation quickly devolves into stories about their most recent sexcapades, and I'm free to check my phone again uninterrupted.

LEWIS: Management appreciates the feedback.

I wait for him to say more, but the text thread stays silent for a minute, then two, the seconds ticking by while I stare at it. Finally, I type out a text myself.

ARROW: So, a couple of daiquiris, huh? Working on a fresh hangover?

LEWIS: Hell no. I lied, I'm not drunk, but I AM drinking. I just figured if I said I was drunk you'd think I was less of an idiot.

LEWIS: Or whatever a much cooler, sexier answer to that question is. Jesus fuck, I swear I'm usually better at this.

I bite back another laugh.

ARROW: I'm not sure I believe you.

LEWIS: Wow. Sir, you have insulted my honor.

ARROW: Are you always so dramatic when you drink? "Insulted your honor"? Will it be pistols at dawn then or is there some other way you intend to set your good name straight?

LEWIS: Dearest Arrow, I am this dramatic regardless of how much alcohol I have imbibed.

ARROW: Good to know.

LEWIS: The only way to prove to you that I am in fact not a complete babbling idiot is probably in person though.

ARROW: Oh?

Is he inviting me over? I glance up at the guys, wondering how quickly I can slip out of here without getting the third degree.

LEWIS: Come over Friday night?

I deflate, but only for a second. It's not tonight, but it is a plan to get together again.

ARROW: Ok.

I want to say more, but I slip my phone back into my pocket and resolve not to respond to any more messages that might come through until I'm home later. When I look up again, my friends are all grinning at me like assholes.

"Seriously, who is he?" Hero asks, waggling his eyebrows.

"No one. Just a guy. It's just casual sex." So much for keeping it to myself. I sigh.

"Casual sex?" Piston echoes, skepticism dripping from his tone.

"Twenty bucks says he's covertly looking up engagement rings within a month," Jag says.

"I'll take that action," Tex says. "I think he can hold out for two months."

"No way. Two weeks tops," Hero argues.

Piston is the only one who doesn't throw in his opinion as to how long it will take me to humiliate myself with yet another guy who isn't as interested in me as I am in him. He gives me a sympathetic look though, and that's worse.