Page 52 of Biker Daddy

“For everything.” Her eyes welled and she knew her emotions were running high because of everything they’d done that night. He’d given her another explosive orgasm—another first of its kind for her, and so much more. With his dominance, she felt her confidence growing. It didn’t make sense but she knew it to be true. Not in a million years would she have ever thought she’d ride on the back of a motorcycle.

“You’ve been here for me every second… whether it’s to comfort, protect, or correct. I was resisting because I felt guilty for enjoying you while I’m here to grieve. I’m at Tonalonka for my uncle and instead I’m falling for you. It seems so wrong, you know?” She felt him freeze against her. Was he holding his breath?

She swallowed and kept talking, hoping to clarify. “I mean not like falling for in like a long-term way…” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “I just think, knowing my uncle, he’d want me to be supported and cared for during this time. I think he’d be happy I’m not sitting somewhere bawling over the loss, right?”

“Yeah. Right.” He started to shift beneath her. “Come on. I’d better get you back.”

“Drew?”

He looked at her, his expression hidden.

“I… I… didn’t mean to…”

“Don’t worry about it, Addi. We’re all good.”

Her heart sank. He didn’t call her babe, or baby girl.

When he got her back, he tucked her in and left her, claiming he had something important he needed to do. She nodded, feeling like her insides were filled with acid.

God, how could she be so stupid and say she was falling for him? So what if they had a past. So what if they were connected because of their grief for Uncle Ray. It would mean nothing once she went home and back to her reality. She would mean nothing—forgotten.

She didn’t bother trying to sleep, but stayed in the bed for a while simply staring at the light changing outside her window.

Her mind tortured her with thoughts of why she wasn’t good enough for him—of why she was just a temporary distraction. Of why her father spent all his time hidden in his office and why her mother was always off doing wild things. The only correlation with every relationship was her.

Feeling as if the walls were closing in on her, she got out of the bed. Drew seemed to really like her, to want the same things as she did, so why did he go from hot to cold so easily? Why did he seem so angry at times? She took a breath and held it, grabbing her hairbrush and taming her ‘just fucked’ hair before releasing the air in her lungs.

It was easy to just say she wasn’t good enough or she was just a distraction. Easy, but maybe a bit narcissistic. Not everything was about her. And her gut told her something else was up. Things between them weren’t as black and white as they seemed.

She glanced at her uncle’s letter. She still couldn’t do it. What she wanted to do was go to the cliffs. See the place where everything began with Drew. Maybe there was more to their breakup than she remembered.

Already in Drew’s shirt, she pulled on a pair of loose cotton sleep shorts and some shower flip-flops she’d found in her gym bag. Even if nothing came from her going to the cliffs, the walk would do her good.

She couldn’t even remember where the damn cliffs were but walked along the lake knowing it would eventually bring her there. The bugs were biting in the early dawn as she walked along the marsh. They buzzed in her ears and left welts where they bit her, but she ignored them and as the sun rose higher, it amped up the heat and they disappeared. Cicadas buzzed and she panted as the sun beating down on her made the steady incline seem steeper.

It would be a scorcher that afternoon. The kind of day that was good for swimming and lazing by the lake and not much else. Maybe she’d take her notebook and sit by the lake and write Uncle Ray’s eulogy. Forget all the drama of Drew and her twisted feelings.

Before the cliff came into view, she saw the house. It was sprawling and gorgeous, probably close to five thousand square feet along the edge of the forest where pine needle and damp earth beds turned to rock, greenery, and moss. The house was made of logs, but with the windows, huge and tinted so she couldn’t see in, and the glass wraparound veranda, it looked modern. Was this the house Brent had spoken of? Was this where Uncle Ray had painted?

As she got closer, she saw the door swing open in the slight breeze that had picked up as she neared the cliff. Addi looked around. A flash of blonde caught her eye and the short-shorts on the blonde told her exactly who it was.

Layla.

She wanted to follow, but looked back at the door. Which was more important? She moved faster to follow Layla. She could go back and see the house after. The way the door flapped and Layla ran told her following was more important. She was up to no good. Unless, was Drew in the house? She looked back and shook her head.

As she got closer to Layla, she slowed, knowing the noise could alert her. Layla had slowed, herself, pulling out her phone. She pressed some buttons and stuck the cell to her ear.

“Rebecca? You aren’t going to believe what I found. Call me as soon as you get this. You’re going to shit. Trust me.” She took the phone from her ear and pressed a few more buttons before putting it back against her head. “I’m sending you some pictures.”

Addi paused, looked back at the cliff house and then at Layla. What had she found? Making a split-second decision, Addi turned back. What was in the house?

The lock hadn’t been broken. A key was in the mechanism as the screen door creaked open and closed. Had Layla been trying to steal her uncle’s paintings? Was Drew trying to hide them from her here? Was he trying to distract her with his dominant biker daddy routine so he could sell them before she found out about them?

She held her breath, turned the key, and pushed open the inner door. The room that opened before her was vast, with cathedral ceilings and skylights to allow more natural light to pour in. Paintings were hung on walls, sat on easels half complete, and set against crates, closed and packed labeled for shipping. Drop cloths splattered with color and brushes in glass jars cluttered the room and the intense smell of oil paint and turpentine accosted her nostrils.

He was trying to hide this from her. She walked deeper into the room, spinning around to look at all the amazing art pieces. Emotions battered against her and she held strong against them. Her uncle was amazing. The paintings were overwhelmingly beautiful.

Scenes of the camp, cliff, lake, and marsh were all around her. There was even a self-portrait of her uncle watching the sunrise at the lake. He was holding a steaming thermos cup and a fishing rod, and it was so realistic, it took her breath away. The way his shoulders stooped slightly with age and his favorite plaid shirt was wrinkled and faded, and even the way his smile was slightly tilted, made it so real, it was as if he were alive standing before her.

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