Page 62 of Throttle

Tequila

I've lost track of time while fixating on Throttle's ceiling. To be honest, I haven’t moved since I heard him leave two hours ago. Pretending to be asleep seemed like the only reasonable action.

There are worse things than having casual sex with your best friend, whom you're infatuated with, and knowing it meant nothing to him. Perhaps not nothing, but it’s not the same as how I feel.

I turn to my side, fixating on the door, yearning for his sudden reappearance and declaration of love.

Ugh.

Get over yourself, Tequila.

I slide into yesterday's jeans, but the sweatshirt I borrow from him completely engulfs me. I make my way downstairs, hoping to stay unseen.

“What’s up, honey?” Tank’s deep voice startles me, and I’m caught red-handed.

He smirks while looking at my too big top. My hair is a mess and I’m wearing Throttle’s clothes, and my makeup is smudged. What sets this time apart from the others I've slept in his bed? The guilt with sex written on me.

“Huh. Well, damn.” Tank rubs his bearded chin with another smug grin.

“This isn’t what you think,” I defend myself.

My cheeks and ears burn at the sound of his deep chuckle.

“Looks like someone did some lovemaking.”

Okay. It’s exactly what he thinks.

“Shit,” I mumble.

“About damn time.” Tank’s expression changes when he notices me wince, and then I wrap my arms around myself, watching the door, desperate to leave. I try to hide the disappointment even though my face is an open book. It always has been.

“That motherfucker. He’s my dude, but I’ll tear his dick off if he hurt you.”

I appreciate him looking out for me, but I won't cause a fight between him and his best friend. Besides, this was both of our decisions.

“Can you promise me you’ll keep this between us? Tank, please.”

He sighs, dropping his massive shoulders. “Sure, babe.”

"Thanks," I say, making a beeline for the door.

“Hey, T!” He calls out and I pause without turning. “He cares about you more than himself. You gotta know that.”

I believe him. But sometimes it’s just not enough.

Disregarding him, I quickly head to my car and my stomach twists when I see Throttle loading up his dirt bike. At first, he doesn't notice me as I unlock my door. Our eyes lock in a fleeting moment, filled with desire and sadness.

Time freezes.

He warned me things would be different. But I can’t pretend. At least, not right now.

With a last glance, he nods over at someone. Brass, their prospect, is leaning against his Harley, parked next to my car. Jesus, I didn’t even see him.

“I’m under strict orders from your boy to make sure you get home safely.”

Not this again. Since the Jasper incident, we have agreed that someone will follow me. But this is Brass's first-time playing bodyguard. I heard he’s been busy being tested by Chain. Whatever that meant.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” I try to slide into the driver’s side, but Brass lays his hand on top of mine, plastering it to the crisp metal.

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