Chapter One

Clementine

Ten Years Ago

I never drink. Not ever. Twenty-seven years and not one sip of alcohol. It's a badge I've been proudly wearing since I left my mom's house eight years ago. Now that woman, she can drink a lake into a puddle. I told myself I'd never be like her.

Tonight, I'm proving myself wrong. I don't know how many shots I've had, but the room is blurry. I think that might be my signal to stop.

"You alright?" A massive man covered in tattoos meets me at the side of the bar. His eyes are insane. They're green with dots of brown mixed in. I've never seen a hazel like this. They're wild looking, like he crawled up out of the deepest depths of the mountain looking for trouble.

I study him closer. He's the biker type with one of those leather vest things that have patches all over it. There's one with some mountains, another with some words, and a few that look like watercolor when I squint my eyes.

"Yes! I'm fine," I snap. "Do I not look fine?" I'm holding the edge of the bar as I talk because the more I try to move, the dizzier I get.

The man cracks half a smile. "No, you don't. You look like you can't hold your liquor. Who can I call for ya?"

First of all, who is this dude to tell me who I am? Second, I can most certainly hold my liquor. I just happen to be holding it for the very first time. Of course, that's going to come with complications. I'm human.

" What? I don't need you to call anyone. I'm perfectly content." This, of course, is a lie. Even drunk me knows that.

I slide up onto the stool and lean my head against the wood countertop. It's cold against my face and it feels really good.

The man sits next to me. He smells like cedar and leather, with some kind of spice beneath it all that I can't identify. I don't hate it. "Okay, what's going on?"

I glance toward him. "You realize you're acting like a creep, right?"

"How so?" His face is straight.

"Well, you're at a bar, hitting on a drunk woman."

He cracks half a smile. "You think pretty highly of yourself, don't you?"

My eyes roll. "It's true. I'm just calling a spade a spade."

"Same, and you… look like a drunk girl making a fool of herself, which usually means something awful has happened. So me, being the nice guy I am, is looking out."

"Right," I slur, leaning up from the counter. "You're a hero. Tell me more."

"Sure, after you tell me why you're at this bar. You're not from around here."

I roll my eyes and swing my feet back and forth, circling the rim of the empty glass in front of me. There's loud country music playing over the speaker, but other than that, the bar is quiet tonight, though I have nothing to compare it to. Maybe bars are always quiet on Thursdays.

"Why are you here?" I know the rule about not answering a question with a question, but I'm drunk, so rules don't apply to me. At least that's the way my mother lived.

He laughs. "I'm always here. I sit in this chair," he lifts his bottle, "I drink one beer, and I go home. It's an end of the day thing. But you, you're new. Why are you here?"

I stand from my chair. "I'm married."

"You're here because you're married?"

"No!" I scoff. "I'm married, so stop talking to me."

"Okay. Well, I can call your husband then."

"No! He's out of town. I'll be fine." The room spins and my legs go weak. I think I'm going down.

Big hands wrap my waist and I land against the man's chest. There's nothing sexual or intimate about the catch, but my body reacts to his touch in a way I've never felt.

Our eyes meet and a shiver pulses through me. I can even feel the hair on the back of my neck lifting. "I have to go. Thanks." I step away from his touch.

What the hell is wrong with me? I'm never drinking again.

"Where do you live? I'll give you a lift."

"Yeah, I don't take rides from strangers."

He holds out his hand for me to shake.

For some reason, I sink into it without thought, like a reflex of kindness. His palm is rough, like he does physical labor. A million questions unlock, and I want to know more.

"I'm Abe," he says with a nod, still holding my hand. "I work out in Kansas City, but I'm traveling through Rugged Mountain for the rodeo. No wife, no kids, and don't want any. Spent a fair amount of time in the Navy, got injured, came home. Now, this bar is my family." He waves toward the bartender with his free hand.

She's an older woman with tight red curls and a bright smile. "You're good with Abe. He's a pain in the ass, but he won't hurt ya. In fact, you're probably best to get a ride. No use driving like that, and I wouldn't trust a random Uber driver over Viper."

I don't trust anyone, so there's that. I mean, even now, the woman behind the bar has referred to this man as both Abe and Viper. Which one is he?

I glance back at the giant in front of me and let go of his hand, despite the fact that I want to keep holding on. "Don't you ride a motorcycle? I've never been on one. I—"

"You'll have to sit in front of me. I think you'd slide off the back the way you're tipping."

I laugh. "What? No. I've never been on a motorcycle. I'm terrified of them."

"Why?"

I shrug and lean up against the back wall, desperate for its support. "Why is anyone scared of anything?"

He clears his throat. "I'll keep you safe. Promise. Why don't you call your husband and let him know I'm giving you a ride?"

I roll my eyes at how honorable that sounds. This man says all the right things, which probably only means there's an even higher chance he's a murderer. I think back to all the episodes of true crime shows I've watched over the years. I can't remember any specifically, but I'm sure one of them must have started with a drunk girl in a bar taking a ride from a stranger. That said, I'm exhausted, I know I can't drive, and it's a solid two mile walk back to my hotel. I could chance weirdos on the sidewalk or chance the semi-verified man from the bar. "Fine," I lament, "but I guarantee he's in bed already. It's like the middle of the night for him."

"Where is he?"

"New York on business. He'll be back tomorrow." I dial his number as I talk, then step away when he answers.

"Hey," he pants into the phone as though he's been running.

"Hey… what's wrong?"

"Nothing." He clears his throat and the bed creaks. "The phone startled me out of my sleep. What's wrong with you?" There's a tinge of anger in his tone that I can't place.

"Are you okay?"

"What?" Again, his tone is harsh. "Just tell me why you're calling!"

My heart stiffens with concern, but I answer his question. I am the person who called. "Well, I accidentally had too much to drink tonight. So… this older local is going to bring me back to the hotel. You okay with that?" I don't know why I emphasize the older part. Maybe because I want Craig to know that the dude giving me a ride isn't a threat. Though, I'm not sure I should care right now, considering he's being such an ass.

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs. "I'll call you tomorrow. Sleep well. Love you." He pauses for a moment and the sound of a woman's voice drifts faintly in the distance.

My mind goes into overdrive. Is someone with him? Is that why he was panting? Did he leave town to be with another woman?

No. That's crazy. He wouldn't do that to me. We've been together since high school. He knows me. I know him. It was probably the TV. Besides that, I'm drunk. That noise could've been in my head.

That said, I'm a little shocked at his response. He didn't ask me if I was okay, he didn't ask me to check in when I got back, and he didn't seem to give two fucks that some strange man was driving me around. If I weren't so exhausted with this day, I might linger on how shitty that feels.

Instead, I turn toward the goliath at the doorway and nod. "Okay. Ready when you are."

The man holds the door open, and I follow behind, lingering in the scent of whatever cologne he's wearing. I'm not sure I've ever smelled anything so good in my life.

Is that wrong? Am I allowed to think strangers smell good if I'm married? I think I am, right? It's just a smell. I can notice smells. I'm not sure why all this makes me nervous. Maybe it's because this man is so insanely hot. Maybe I don't trust myself. Maybe I'm worried that Craig is cheating, because deep down, I'm a hoe in waiting.

No, that's not it. I'm a lot of things, but I'd never be that girl.

I should never drink again.

The street is quiet, and the only sound is the hum of the air conditioner on the side of the bar. I'm surprised at how quiet things are. I thought the Springs would have more nightlife. Then again, I guess this isn't the ‘main drag.' We're away from all that on a little side street.

A streetlight flickers above the giant's Harley Davidson. It's a low set bike with handlebars that stretch far out to each side. I'm sure there's a special name for the build, but I don't ask.

"You first." He nods toward the bike and takes my hand, helping me onto the saddle seat before sinking in behind me.

My breath picks up as his warmth surrounds my body. I shouldn't notice how huge he is as his frame wraps around me to reach the handlebars, but I do. I've never felt so small in my life, and I like it.

My clit throbs and I hate myself. Why is my clit throbbing? She should not be throbbing!

It's probably the alcohol. People say whiskey makes them horny. Apparently, it does me too. This is a normal reaction to a substance my body has never experienced before. That's all. It's just the liquor.

I blow out a heavy breath as the engine starts.

Oh God, this is worse. Vibrations rumble up through my thighs, and the combination of his strong frame behind me and this feeling between my legs is too much to bear.

I need to get off this thing. I can't have an orgasm on a bike while my husband is in New York. That would make me a tramp. I'm a lot of things tonight, but a whore isn't one of them. I've decided that already.

I twist back to tell the man I need off, but he's kicking up the stand and we're backing out of the parking spot. I have to hold it together. I have to think about anything other than this giant currently holding me in place.

So, I do.

I think about my husband. I think about the way he acted on that call. I think about his heavy breathing. I think about how uninterested he was in my safety and how he couldn't wait to get off the phone. I think about the past few years and how distant he's been. I think about therapy where we barely get anything accomplished. It's one thing to go. It's another to implement the things we learn. Sometimes I think the only reason he likes me is because I don't make waves.

When he comes home late, I smile and point him toward his waiting dinner. When he gets angry and yells, I brush it off and give him a pass. When he forgets my birthday or our anniversary, I forgive him immediately.

Yeah… I probably need to have a talk with him.

I purse my lips and stare out at the city as it passes by. I hadn't realized how bad this neighborhood was when the sun was up. In the dark, this place is a whole new world. Dealers stand on the corners, prostitutes stride up and down the street in tight neon dresses, and most of the homes are condemned.

Abe's arm brushes against mine and the bike rumbles between my legs as my back lays against his chest. It's not intentional, but there's not a lot of room for me to go. I don't think the bike was meant to be ridden like this.

He leans forward, his voice low and breathy as he says, "Where are we taking ya?"

"Oh." I collect myself, trying to remember where the hell I'm staying. "I'm at the hotel on Wilderness Avenue, at the Goldilocks Inn."

He nods, inadvertently scraping his beard against my cheek. The tickle sends the aching throb back into overdrive.

Thank God we're only going two miles.