Page 5 of Offside Bride

“You have a choice to make, Magpie. And I think we both know the right choice is to come with me.”

She hesitates, looking back at me and over her shoulder again. “What about Emily and Owen?”

“I think they’ll be okay,” I say.

“My purse. I left it in the booth.”

“I’ll text them to bring it to us later. We have to go. Now.”

She reluctantly nods, and I tuck her under my arm as we hunch over and barrel through the crowd. If anything comes flying at us, I’ll be the first one covered in wet, gooey substances or broken glass. I find an opening in the chaos and head toward the light.

As we reach the front door, the song ends followed immediately by “The Boys are Back in Town.”

We’re out on the sidewalk before Maggie says, “What’s with the bar brawl music?”

I laugh, even though moving my face cracks the dried stickiness on my skin. “There’s a playlist for everything,” I say.

My Harley is parked on the street, not far from the bar. I hand the helmet to Maggie. She crosses her arms.

“You need to wear this,” I say, urgently extending it out to her. I only have one helmet with me, but I won’t allow her to go without.

“I don’t want to get on your harlot mobile,” she says defiantly.

“I’m not going to fight with you about this right now.”

“Then don’t. Just go.”

I grit my teeth. “Woman, take the helmet and get on my bike.”

“No.”

Sirens wail in the distance, getting closer by the sound of it.

I plead with her. Softer this time. “I’m not leaving you behind, Magpie.”

She scoffs at my nickname for her. I love it. And I love how it aggravates her.

Her feet are rooted to the sidewalk. She’s not moving. Why is she so stubborn? My last nerve is about to break. The sirens are getting louder. A couple of guys burst out the front door and run in the other direction. Not the same guys that want to kill us, at least. But they’ll be on us any second, now.

“Why?” I growl. “Why won’t you come with me?”

She screams back at me. “Why do you think?”

There’s more than anger in her voice. There’s pain. I know I put it there. I hate myself for it. But it’s better this way.

That look in her eyes. It tugs at my chest, flooding me with bitter memories. How beautiful I thought she was the first time I saw her. How we flirted but fought off the intense attraction for months. How gorgeous she was in that bridesmaid dress. How Icouldn’t control my desire for her any longer, and said, “Screw it.”

I blame the twelve-year-old Scotch for that lapse in judgment. But she was just as into me, and I couldn’t resist that kind of temptation any longer. In our inflamed rush, we snuck into a quiet room where the extra tables and chairs were stored, and I finally got a taste of her. It wasn’t very romantic.

It was, in fact, frenzied. Hot. But also beautiful. And then my heart cracked because I knew. I knew right then, that she’d be the end of me. I had to walk away before we took it too far.

If that means I have to be the jerk, so be it.

A sharp ache pricks at my chest as I say, “What do you want, Magpie? An apology? You want me to grovel? Well, I don’t say sorry, and I don’t grovel. I don’t have a white horse. I have a black Harley. So you better get on my frickin’ bike and come with me before the cops get here.”

Her chest heaves as she puts on that hard armor to cover the vulnerability I know is there and pointedly snarls, “I hate you.”

“That’s fine by me, love.” I shove the helmet in her hands and get on my bike, starting it up. It purrs to life. I glance sidelong at her with half a smirk as she plops the helmet on her head, scowling at me.

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