Page 44 of Jacob

Being a reluctant wingman sucked for everyone involved. Jacob imagined it had to be the worst for Crystal, the poor woman tried so hard to earn his attention. Which made him want to give it to her less. Her friend had Dash on lock. He’d already let the younger biker know Jacob would have the motel room to himself. And fuck him, if he hadn’t said it loud enough for the barnacle of a woman beside him to hear.

Apparently, Crystal thought she’d be joining him. He’d paid her just enough attention to keep the women at the table for his club brother’s benefit, but tried not to give off any sort of vibe he was interested. When she followed him out the door, and toward his bike when everyone began to break off, he had to shut it down.

He hated this part.

He’d yet to meet a man who took any sort of pleasure in letting a woman down. Even the coldest killers and biggest assholes in the clubhouse never liked having to hurt a woman’s feelings. There was just something about it, no matter how upfront and honest he was, he still felt like a tool in the end.

There were two types of women, in his experience: the ones who took it personally and the ones who made a scene. Both made it painful to let them know he wasn’t interested. Bracing himself, he ran his hand up and down the back of his head.

“So, uh, yeah.” He glanced toward his sponsor, who had a handful of her friend’s ass as he pressed her against her car. The not so long ago memory of Jacob doing the exact same thing to Sparrow flashed in his mind. “It was nice meeting you.” Fuck, he sounded like a douche canoe. “I’m gonna get going. Got an early morning.”

Disappointment all over her face. With tells like that, Jacob couldn’t help but assume she’d be play poker terribly. “Oh,” she tucked some hair behind her ear and then wrapped her arms around herself. “Yeah, me too.”

He nodded. “Have a good night.” So goddamn awkward.

She chewed her bottom lip as she glanced toward the couple grinding against the side of the car.

Jacob turned to go toward his bike.

“Um.”

Shit.

“Can I have a ride?” she asked.

Fuck.

“They’re kinda—well, I mean. Beth and your friend, they’re—”

He took a deep breath. “She won’t drive you home?” he asked, refusing to turn around again. He’d already made it clear he wasn’t interested. It was time to part ways.

“I think she’s going to be busy.” She chuckled nervously.

He snorted.Nah, he’ll take her somewhere private. If he knew his club brother as well as he thought, that was just foreplay. “I think she can still take you home.”

“Listen, I’m not asking youto take me home—like to your home—or anything,” she grumbled impatiently. “I just need a ride back home—tomyhome.”

His jaw clenched. She had no idea what she asked. He’d set her straight. Turning slowly, he narrowed his eyes at her and gave her a gratuitous once over. From the inside pocket of his cut, he produced his pack of cigarettes and pulled out a smoke. He rested it on his lip before he used the lighter to spark it and puff it to life.

Crystal was an attractive woman with shoulder-length brown hair, a cute button nose, matching shit brown eyes. She had a tight little body meant for trouble. To be fair, his club brothers would be all over it. He doubted she got turned down often. He probably should be gentler—if he were a better man, he would’ve been.

“Oh, no. I understand.” Blowing the smoke from his cigarette away from her, since he wasn’t a complete and total dick, he decided he could lay it out for her. “First of all, dressed like that, you’d burn your legs on my pipes.” He used his cigarette to gesture to her bare legs.

She glanced down at her black skirt. It was sexy, fit her perfectly. Most guys would have been all over her for it, but it wasn’t exactly ideal for riding on a bike.

“Second of all, those hot little plastic shoes you got on, would melt—same thing.” He shook his head and took another puff of his cigarette before he leveled her with his gaze. “Third of all, ain’t no club whore getting on my bike for the fun of it. Do you see a sissy bar?” he asked, raising his brow as he gestured toward his bike, which was only a few paces behind them.

The silver 1990 Harley Davidson FLSTF Fat Boy was essentially an antique but it ran well. He kept it running great—it was his pride and joy, and it only had seating for one. He wasn’t about to let just any random twat on the back. Putting a bitch on the back of his bike meant something.

Crystal didn’t mean shit. She was nice and all, but to him she wasn’t anyone. Sure, she was in a bind, but that wasn’t his problem.

“No, but thereisa seat back there,” she folded her arms over her chest as though in defiance.

He snorted, shaking head. Nope. He couldn’t have that. He had to set down the limits. “Yeah, that seat ain’t for you. It’s reserved for one woman, and one woman only. You ain’t her.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Can’t argue with you,” he said as she stomped toward her friend and Dash.

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