Page 10 of The Good Girl

No need to worry, my ass.I crumple up the note in my hand and glare at the stupid bed and the stupid biker lying in it, my eyes moving over the ink etched golden skin of his chest.

The sheet covers him from the waist down, but I don’t need X-ray vision to know what he looks like underneath. I have a pretty good imagination, and considering how sore I am, he’s definitely not lacking. My eyes travel up to his face, and I suck in a sharp breath.

I’ve never dated, except for the ridiculous dates my father arranged for me. I never thought I had a type. I just knew what I didn’t like (aka the kind of men my father set me up with), but I’ve always been drawn to large men who look a little rough around the edges. Nothing against pretty boys, there’s just something about bigger men that makes me feel…. Ugh. For a writer, I’m terrible at putting my feelings into words.

As I take in Havoc’s familiar face—the sharp jaw covered in a five o’clock shadow, his slightly crooked nose with a bump at the bridge telling a story of how many times it’s been broken, and his thick blond hair, long on top and shaved at the sides—I realize I do have a type, and it’s him. A barbarian-looking beast of a man, like a Viking from one of my books, who wouldn’t think twice about taking what he wants. And God help me, he did take what he wanted and I let him. Heck, I’d let him do a whole lot more than that. I’d let him pillage parts of me I’d locked down tight and drop to my knees in servitude. Something tells me there would be war, a battle of wills between us if I ran and he chased me. I’d fight of course, but he’d disarm me, my resistance nothing more than foreplay between us.

This man could make me feel like a queen, but he’d demand everything from me, and I have nothing to give.

I’m a shadow of the girl I used to be. All my emotions are held together with Sticky tape and PV Glue thanks to the ten-year-old version of me trying to navigate grown up feelings. Now adultme feels out of her depth. And this paper-mache heart of mine wouldn’t stand a chance against a man like him

I shake myself out of my thoughts and hurry over to the door where I saw my bag and shoes just moments ago. I have to leave. Standing here daydreaming is the quickest way to get caught. I grab my bag and shove my phone and the letter inside and slip my shoes on, buckling the straps with shaky hands.

I take one more look at the bed, leaving me feeling hollow inside, and as I turn, I spot my ribbon on the bedside table. I hesitate, and then—because I’m an idiot—I decide to leave it behind. A part of me needs this man to remember me.

Why shouldn’t he be haunted by the girl who ghosts him? The thought makes me smile as I quietly slip out of the room and head downstairs. I know I’m somewhere in the clubhouse; I just don’t know where exactly. The last thing I want is for people to see me like this. I feel like there is a neon sign above my head flashingdevirginized.

Luckily, there’s a door at the bottom of the stairs that leads outside. Opening it, I take a deep breath of fresh air and walk around the front of the building and down the dirt road back to my car, not running into anyone on my way.

I spot Hoops at the gate and wonder if the prospects ever sleep. Shrugging, I climb into the car and toss my bag into the passenger seat before he spots me and starts flirting. I start the car and wait for Hoops to let me out. I avoid eye contact and give him a brief wave before I pull out and head straight for the movie set.

All I want to do is curl up in a ball and pretend last night didn’t happen. But I know that’s not an option. And the closer I get to the set, the more on edge I feel.

Eventually, I pull over. My hands are shaking like crazy as the reality of what happened crashes into me. I had sex––really good sex with a smoking hot biker.

Dear sweet baby Jesus.

Feeling overwhelmed, I pull my phone from my bag to text Amity, deciding to hide out at the diner or the library instead of heading back to the set, when I see the email from SmutFest. Biting my lip, I email the coordinator and accept the invitation. Within moments, my phone pings with a new email from SmutFest thanking me profusely.I scan quickly over the details regarding hotels and tickets, feeling my nerves settle when I see everything is already organized as if they were just waiting for me to say yes.

I blow out a breath. I'm going to London. I can't believe it. I’m a nobody from a small town who has limited life experiences. I’ve lived more in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the last twenty-four years. That’s as terrifying as it is exciting. Is this what Amity feels like when she's doing her crazy stunts?

Shaking my head, my thoughts drift back to last night.I won’t be able to hide what happened from Amity for long, so I decide to tell a little white lie to buy myself some time and space to process everything. I’m going to fly out early and hang out in the hotel for a little while. I can deal with it all when I get back. Maybe then I won’t feel so out of my depth.

With a plan in mind, I start driving again. Fifteen minutes later, I wave to the security guy as he nods for me to drive through, and I park next to the RV. Amity’s standing at the door, waiting for me to get out of the car. I can tell by the look on her face she wants to tease me about last night.

Lord, if only she knew the truth.

I climb out of the car and turn to grab my bag from the passenger seat when a slight breeze has me holding down my skirt, conscious that I’m not wearing underwear.

Closing my door, I walk over to Amity. She must see something on my face because her smirk drops.

“You okay?” she asks.She really is far too observant for my liking.

“Peachy, but I got woken up by a call from the book signing people; they want me to fly out today. A ticket will be waiting for me at the airport when I get there,” I tell her, hoping she buys it and doesn’t realize that I’m full of crap.

“Oh wow, that’s fast. I thought you weren’t leaving until next week.”

“That was the plan, but they decided to add a meet-and-greet, and they were worried about jet lag, so now that means I need to pack like a crazy person.” Lord, I’m going to hell.“What the heck do I wear? I mean, it’s London; it rains a lot there, doesn’t it?” Asking about the weather is normal, right?

She shrugs. “Who knows? The weather over there’s bipolar.”

“It doesn’t matter; I’ll figure it out. I can always pick up a few things while I’m there. Oh God, I’m nervous.”And a liar. And not a virgin, I think, smoothing my damp hands down my skirt.

She walks over and wraps her arms around me. “Breathe. You’re going to have a blast. I’m going to miss you, though. Take a thousand pictures for me.”

“I will, I promise. Wow, if my dad knew I was doing this, he’d have a heart attack.” Especially if he knew about the big bad biker deflowering me, too. God, I’m gonna be sick.

“He’ll get over it. Besides, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

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