Page 285 of Outlaws of Tulsa

I don’t love Dragon.

Liar.

Jerking my hand from her grip, I let out a heavy sigh. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. Stop being such a baby, Cove. You’re a man now. Be the sassy bottom you are and go claim your top!”

I don’t know what the fuck she’s been watching on television or reading in her kinky sex books or talking about with Hadley, but she’s getting on my last nerve.

“Bye, Brenda.”

She fishes a keyring from her cleavage, and I cringe. “Here. Take Filter’s bike. I stole it when he had his tongue down our sister’s throat.” She smirks at me. “Seriously. Get your ass down to the lake.”

Maybe I’ve been avoiding the inevitable. Maybe he and I both have. Maybe it’s like a bandage. It’ll hurt a lot worse if I peel back the edges rather than yanking it off in one tug. If he doesn’t want us to be together, that’s fine. I’ll survive.

Liar.

You won’t survive.

It’ll fucking gut you, you lovesick idiot.

Snapping up the keys, I throw her a wave. “If doing this gets me out of this bullshit heart-to-heart, then fine. Don’t be surprised if I move into your love nest, though, if this all goes to shit.”

Her antagonizing grin transforms into a sweeter smile. “You’re my family. You’ll always be welcome at my home. Don’t be such a drama queen, though. The world isn’t always seconds from imploding.”

I stride out of the clubhouse, not listening to anything else she has to say. Sneaking into the garage at the main house, I find Filter’s bike—because he’s a fuckface for sleeping with Calla and deserves to get his bike stolen—and fire up the engine. Bermuda peeks his head out the door, gaping at me. I flip him off because fuck him too.

The cruise down the winding roads to Lake Keystone does nothing to calm my nerves. With each passing mile, I grow more and more pissed off. We’re a good couple, dammit. We’ve been to hell and back and survived. In bed, we’re on fire, but outside of it, the connection remains, sparking whenever each other is near. Fuck Dragon for pushing me away.

I park next to Katana’s bike at the dock where Dragon keeps his boat. He’s been restoring this houseboat with Katana according to the gossip mill that is the Royal Bastards. I’d been too stubborn to come down and take a look until now.

As soon as I shut off the engine, I can hear Dragon’s laughter. It’s so carefree and happy. My stomach twists and tears sting my eyes. I want him to be like this, but I wanted to be there with him. Was I just a phase?

Blinking back the pain clawing at my eyes, I focus on my boots, putting one foot in front of the other. I won’t be deterredor back out from fear of the unknown. I’m going to face him—this, us—head-on.

I stumble to a stop when I spot him. Squatting on the dock beside the boat, a paintbrush in hand and a cigarette dangling from his lips, Dragon is a sight to behold. All of the tattoos on his arms and back glisten in the sunshine. I can see the crack of his ass peeking out of his black jeans. He’s gorgeous, which makes this more difficult. There’s almost a boyish quality about him with his dark hair hidden beneath one of Bermuda’s ballcaps that’s flipped backward.

God, he’s so hot.

And mine.

Whether he likes it or not.

“Dragon,” I bark out before I lose my nerve. “We need to talk.”

He glances over at me, a smirk tugging at his perfect lips. His green eyes greedily drink me up, which confuses me. I don’t understand the avoidance when it looks as though he could devour me with his stare alone.

“So talk, Baby Prospect.”

“You’re avoiding me.” The hurt in my tone is embarrassing and I hate I can’t hide it. “Why?”

His humor fades and his features harden. I gulp down my nerves as he rises to his full height. He flicks the cigarette to the deck and stomps it out before tossing the paintbrush into a bucket.

He’s coming for me.

A thrill shoots down my spine, finding its way to my cock. It thickens and strains against the denim it’s imprisoned in.

“Avoiding you,” he mimics, the taunt in his tone heating my blood. “More like, I was busy, baby.”

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