Page 2 of Eden's Joker

He’s a tatted up, bearded biker with unruly, curly hair and muscles for days, going by his own videos. Most of which are of him riding his Harley through some of the most beautiful parts of the country—places I’ve only ever visited in books, because I’ve never actually been farther than a few miles from my hometown of Pleasantville.

But his ice blue eyes melted into pure, untouched mountain lakes as he explained all the ways he loved that book just as much as I had.

Then we talked about all the other books we both loved. This has been going on for weeks.

I fell asleep texting him last night and at least part of the reason why I couldn’t go back to sleep this morning was because I didn’t want to miss new a text from him. Or more like, wanted to see it as soon as it landed. It hasn’t yet.

I don’t know what’s going on with me.

My dad is one of the top members of Devil’s Nightmare MC. I grew up surrounded by bikers. None have ever interested me enough to experiment, even if it wasn’t for my father’s overprotectiveness.

So, I don’t know why I like this guy so much. Why I dream of going on those adventurous rides into untouched nature with him, letting my hair fly in the wind as I hold on tight to his waist, or resting my face on his broad shoulders as we ride.

I’ve never wanted to do that before.

Now, I can’t stop imagining it.

“Enough, Eden,” I tell myself loudly and throw off my comforter, sending the phone I fell asleep next to flying across the room.

I leave it lying where it landed on the sofa and walk to the kitchen to start my day.

Fact is, that guy—Tyler—is all the way across thecountry from me. And for all I know he’s just toying with me. Telling me what I want to hear, pretending to like all the books I like, as part of some twisted joke only he knows the punchline of.

None of the guys I grew up with ever showed the slightest interest in any of the books I like. Unless it was to snatch one from my hands and mock me for reading too much.

Maybe that’s why I never wanted to be with any of them.

And maybe the fact that he likes books is the reason I want to get with Tyler.

The realization hits me just as I’m taking a sip of my orange juice and some of it comes out through my nose as I cough.

I do not want togetwith Tyler.

He’s a face on a screen, typed words in a texting app and selfies. A very good-looking guy with the whole package behind it, but still just a digital rendition. Who knows what he’s like in real life.

Now I’m blushing, my nose stings from the acid in the orange juice and I’ve just outdone myself in my own weirdness. Again.

That weirdness is actually a huge part of the reason I haven’t gotten with anyone yet. Odd Eden, pretty but weird. Nose always stuck in a book. Can’t open her mouth without something strange coming out. And apparently can’t let her mind wander either without the same thing happening.

Now she’s gone and fallen for a guy online just because he likes books and travels to places she’s only read about.

No one would actually say that to my face. They’re all too nice and they all love me exactly as I am. But they’d be thinking it. Just like always.

I shake my head, drink the rest of my juice, and then head for a long hot shower during which I stifle any and all thoughts of Tyler as soon as they arise. Which they do. But I’m having none of it.

I have videos to film and a bookstore to run.

I have books to unpack and read.

I have the last days of summer to enjoy.

I do not have the time to make up wild fantasies about a guy I’ve never even met.

Maybe I’m only fantasizing about him so much because he could take me away from here, from this war the MC is fighting, that no amount of reading can wipe from my mind. I dread the day I will get the call that my dad is dead, or one of my uncles, who aren’t blood but might as well be. Or my cousin, or one of the guys I grew up with. They might think I’m an oddball bookworm, but they love me and I love them and I can’t imagine a world where we’re not together.

But if I could imagine it, then that world would be out there on the back of Tyler’s bike. Out east. And north and south. Far away from here.

Not that leaving will make the war any less bloody or the news I fear the most any less devastating. Or thatmy stupid daydreams have any basis in realistic possibility.

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