Page 21 of Crusher

I shoot her an incredulous look. “Bitchy scowl? I don’t have that.”

Her body shakes from the force of her laughter. “Oh, honey. Yes, you do.”

“I do not,” I protest.

“You so do, but it’s okay. It suits you.” Tessa tilts her head while slightly lifting her left shoulder.

“It suits me? But I’m nice!”

Aren’t I?

“You’re nice to the people you want to be nice to. Like me and Kyle. But to everyone else, eh, not so much.”

She may be right, but I still don’t like hearing it. “I’m the nicest bitch you’ll ever meet,” I mutter before sipping my hot beverage.

“Well, now that we’ve established you’re a bitch who’s recently had sex, tell me what’s going on. And who’s been in your bed, missy?”

I swallow hard before focusing my gaze on my coffee, like the solution for world peace is lurking inside the Golden Girls mug I’m clutching in my hands. “I might have… slept with Crusher last night.” The words rush out of my mouth in one big jumble.

“Crusher!” Tessa’s eyes almost bug out of her head. “You mean one-night-stand Crusher? Satan’s Disciples Crusher? The man who tortures and kills people for a living?”

“That’s not what he does. He’s the enforcer,” I correct her, and she offers me a deadpan stare. “Fine, that may be what he does. But he doesn’t do it all the time! Only when necessary!”

“Oh, yes. Because murder is necessary.” She leers at me over her coffee cup.

“Sometimes, it is,” I try to rationalize, then shake my head. “That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then? You let some badass, sexy biker who literally crushes people’s skulls—hence his road name—rearrange your guts? Is that it?”

“Uh… yeah. That would be it.” I take another sip from my mug and let the announcement hang in the air.

Tessa’s quiet for a moment, making me want to squirm in my chair. Then she sets her mug on the counter. “How about you start from the beginning?”

There’s no judgement, just curiosity, and I know she’s trying to understand the situation. Especially since I told her my first night with Crusher was also the last time, and she saw how I avoided him at the clubhouse party a few weeks back. But I didn’t tell her how I really felt about him, because she’d either warn me to stay away, or tell me I was being stupid for letting fear dictate my actions. I didn’t want to hear either of those things, so I kept my thoughts to myself at the time.

Tessa tops off my drink while I tell her about Crusher’s accident two days ago and how I intervened when some lunatics tried to mow him down in some blacked-out kidnaping van. Carnage is kind of a small town, so the possibility of running into someone you know is more likely than you’d think. But running into him that morning felt a little like fate, like I was supposed to be late that day so I could be in the right place at the right time.

And I’m not a girl who believes in fate…

I go on to explain how he tracked down my address and showed up last night with dinner in hand. But I omit the part where he fucked my brains out all over my house and ruined me for all other men with his giant pierced dick and magical tongue.

God, just the memory of his naked, drool-worthy body on mine is enough to make my ovaries explode.

Then he left abruptly, filling my chest with a sadness I wasn’t prepared to handle.

I know I have issues, and I’ve worked through some of them in therapy, but I wouldn’t say they’ve been resolved. I still keep people at arm’s length and push them away, wanting to avoid the exact feeling I had standing at my front door watching him leave. He explained it was club business and promised he’d be back. I still didn’t like it. But what I really didn’t like was the fact that I cared. I cared about where he was going and what he’d be doing and if he’d be safe or not. And I’m trying so hard not to care.

“Well?” Tessa encourages, snapping me from my thoughts.

“Well, what?”

“So this gorgeous man shows up to your house and you what? Played Uno? Braided each other’s hair? Baked cookies? C’mon, girl! Gimme the good stuff!” She waggles her freshly waxed eyebrows at me, and I can’t help but laugh. And this is why she’s my best friend. She gets me out of my head when I’m thinking too hard and helps me see things more clearly.

I groan, burying my face in my hands before taking a deep breath and shaking back my shoulders. “It was so fucking good,” I confess, feeling a tingle in my belly when I recall last night’s sexcapades.

“I knew it!” She jabs a pointed finger in my direction. “Out with it.”

I was trying to avoid this part of the story, but I’ll throw her a bone. “I’ll spare you all the details, so let’s just say I lost track of how many times I came last night. And his dick is so majestic that it should be cast in bronze and displayed in a museum.”

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