Page 28 of Manic

I try to play it cool, falling back on the flirtatious banter that's always come so easily between us. "What can I say? I couldnever stay away from you for too long," I reply, aiming for a lighthearted tone.

But as soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize how they sound.

My cheeks flush as I see Tor's eyebrows raise slightly, his smirk widening.

Damn it.

I didn't mean for it to come out so... suggestive.

Tor takes a step closer. "Is that so?"

The air between us seems to crackle with tension.

I swallow hard, suddenly very aware of all the eyes on us. "I, uh... I meant the club, of course," I stammer, trying to backpedal. "You know, the bond, the... the sense of family that the club has."

Even as I say it, I know it's a weak excuse.

The truth is, a big part of why I came back was standing right in front of me, all six feet of tattooed, muscled biker.

But admitting that, even to myself, is terrifying.

Starla clears her throat loudly, breaking the tension. "Ladies, why don't we give these two some space?" she says, her voice tinged with amusement.

She begins herding the other women away, throwing me a knowing look over her shoulder.

I'm grateful for the intervention, even as my heart races.

This is it.

The moment I've been dreading and longing for at the same time.

I need to tell Tor everything, but the weight of my secrets feels like it's crushing me.

Tor's green eyes lock onto mine, his expression softening. "Want to head somewhere more private?" he asks, jerking his head toward the hallway.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

As we walk, I can't help but notice the changes in the clubhouse.

The main room seems larger, the wall with the Raiders of Valhalla logo even more imposing.

Magnus's handiwork is evident everywhere, from the intricately carved bar to the wooden sculptures of Norse gods scattered around.

Tor leads me to one of the private rooms, closing the door behind us with a soft click.

The sound feels oddly final, like the period at the end of a sentence.

We settle onto a worn leather couch, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

The scent of leather and whiskey clings to him, achingly familiar.

"I meant it," Tor says, his voice genuine. "It really is great to see you, Meghan."

I force a smile, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. "It's good to see you too, Tor," I reply softly.

There's so much I want to say, so many words crowding my throat.

But where do I even begin?

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