Page 72 of Charger

“Okay, okay, we did… twice.”

“Okay, so, what’s the question?” Tequila twirls her hair.

“He doesn’t want me to see anyone else or sleep with anyone else. But he never said anything about us being, you know, official. I just figured with Chloe and everything, he would be like: yeah, we’re dating.”

Angel and Tequila laugh at the same time. I feel my cheeks warm. “You guys, don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

“Sorry.” Angel holds her hand up. “You are adorable. But just remember, sweetie, he’s not the same boy that you knew back then. He’s Charger, part of a biker club. He just found out he has a kid, all about thirty seconds ago. And the love of his life, the one who got away, is now back in it. Give the guy some time. It’s a lot for him to process.”

God, she was right. All of this was just thrown at him. I’m over here thinking about whether or not we have a label stamped on us yet, when he just learned about Chloe. Not to mention, I’m back in his life too. Cool it, Jules.

“Yeah, I’m an idiot.”

“No, sweetie, you’re just in love.” Angel winks and I can’t help but smile. She’s right… I am in love.

“Okay, ladies. How about we remedy this whole depressed vibe with some music, dancing, and drinks?” Tequila gets up and slaps her thigh. “You, get dressed. We’re going out to a club tonight.”

“Wait, I thought you all were going to talk to the Skulls tonight.” I look over at Angel, who has a sour expression on her face.

“Sore subject,” Tequila whispers.

“Damn right, it’s a sore subject. Chain gave me the whole no girls allowed bullshit. I think he forgets I have a patch too, and I have just as much a right to be there as they all do.”

“See, this is what happens when we get her started.” Tequila rolls her eyes and I try to stifle a chuckle. Angel glares at us. “Bitch, I know. You have the right to go all Wonder Woman. Feel the power and all that jazz. But doesn’t a dance club sound like so much more fun right now?”

Angel sighs. “Yeah, it does. Jules, go change into something hot.”

I look down at my attire. I feel like Angel has impeccable timing when it comes to catching me in the worst outfits.

I fumble through my jeans in my closet, grabbing my black skinny pair. I pick the sexiest tank top I can find, which ends up being my black corset lined with lace. I pull my hair down from its bun, tousle it a bit and run the curling iron through it. I do the fastest makeup job ever and grab my heels. The same heels Angel talked me into getting before.

“Damn, girl, you are hot. Come on, the dance floor is awaiting.” Angel leads us downstairs to her Camaro, which is parked in the lot. I crawl in the back while Tequila climbs in the front.

“So, are we planning on bringing the guy who’s supposed to be protecting us?”

Angel looks in her rearview. “Oh, you mean the prospect who’s tailing us? Yeah, no. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t need some protective detail. Watch and learn, sweetie.” Angel switches gears and I’m thrown against the back seat. I don’t think I can grip the seat belt any more without it digging into my hand.

“What are you doing?”

“She’s trying to lose him.” Tequila laughs.

“Not trying. I did lose him.”

I look back to see if she is right. There was no sign of the guy. She actually lost the prospect. I laugh out loud. “Wow, that was amazing.”

“I’ve got skills.” She winks.

After about twenty minutes of driving, we make it downtown to Club Beat. Angel pulls up to the valet, we all get out, and she hands the guy her keys. “Don’t scratch him, babe.” She runs her finger over the guy’s chin and his mouth drops open. He looks to be about nineteen at best, and she probably just made the kid’s night.

We walk inside and it’s elbow-to-elbow people. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to a club,” I yell to them over the music. A while? Try years. I don’t think I’ve been out since Chloe was born, unless you count the time at Zach’s club’s fundraiser party.

“Then we have to make it count,” Tequila shouts back.

Angel points to the three empty spots at the bar. We head over, getting mauled by looks from men everywhere. I’ll be the first to admit: we draw attention. Tequila and Angel are goddesses. They’re both tall and long-legged, while their hair flows and hangs down their backs. Let’s be honest, they both look like supermodels. Me? I would say I’m pretty, but next to them, I feel like the discounted cereal you get at the dollar store.

Angel leans over the bar, her breasts spilling over. I have no doubt the male bartender notices—in fact, he hasn’t stopped noticing.

“What can I get you, darlin’?”

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