Page 42 of Throttle

I want to say the reason for my pouting. Why would someone who hasn't seen their family in a while decide to keep their distance? But I can’t tell anyone.

“I'm expecting a visit from my parents, and they're clueless of me working here.”

“Ah, and you’re worried they’ll be upset because of who we are.”

“I hate to say it, but yes. They might need more convincing than I did, as not everyone is as accepting.”

“I understand. How about you invite them for dinner here and we’ll show our kindness beneath the tough exterior of rawness, muscle, and tattoos?”

“I can’t ask you to do that. I mean, it’s too much.”

“Not at all. Having guests would be thrilling. By the way, how is your new man doing?”

Of course, she knew who Caleb was. Word travels fast here.

“He’s pretty great. Successful. Nice. did I mention sexy?” The corners of my mouth turn, but they don’t reach my eyes. “We’re only… talking.”

She smiles. “Just be sure he makes you happy. Always remember to accept nothing less than what you deserve.”

I understood. “Thanks, Maggie. For the talk.”

“Oh, and one more thing. If this new guy doesn't work out, maybe give someone else a little time. I bet he comes around.” With that, Maggie winks and leaves with the distant sound of her boot chains rattling.

Caleb isn’t the guy and she and I both realize that.

Finishing my wine, I am left with a lingering bitterness on my tongue. It was foolish of me to yearn for a man who was out of reach. I’m aware, but no one else gave me the stomach flutters or made my heart beat like mad.

With my empty glass in hand, I make my way to the front and a muffled sound echoes from upstairs. In Throttle’s room.

Ignore it.

I've never felt as conflicted as I do with Throttle. Yet, I continue opening the same door over and over again.

Keep going, Tequila, keep walking.

No good can come from this curiosity. Then why was I climbing the stairs?

With each step I take, the wood beneath my shoes creak, and the moans increase in volume. I want to witness it for myself. Wonder how he fucks other women.

As I press my ear to the wood, all that reaches me is a gentle murmur. No more pleasuring noises.

Upon hearing shuffling and footsteps, I try to distance myself, but I'm always too slow. The door opens and his preferred blondie stands opposite me, surprised and staring. “Uh, hi.” She saunters away, carrying her heels.

My heart drops and the little green monster inside rears its ugly head.

I should have kept walking.

“Tequila?” Throttle remains there. With his palms on the door frame, he leans against the wood, towering like a skyscraper. He's wearing only grey sweatpants that hang low, revealing his V. He's smooth except for a small patch leading toward his length. It makes sense now why they refer to it as a happy trail. I'm willing to wager that he's big, too. Experienced and… his abs are so defined I want to run my fingers down them, rub the fading bruise that still lingers from the accident.

“You are eye fucking me and I must admit… I’m not upset about it.” His eyes are glossy and tense.

Oh my God. I was.

With my face burning and a desperate attempt to turn away, he seizes my arm and drags me into his room. He slams the door closed, pushing me against it.

It's stuffy and smells like sex. I glance behind him and notice his messy bed. I visualize them together. Throttle on top and thrusting inside her.

“I’m sorry you saw that.” His breath reeks of alcohol.

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