Page 47 of Jacob

Standing in the bathroom doorway, she watched his silhouette through the frosted glass as he washed his body. When they’d met, he’d been charming and so alive. He went to the gym four times a week and had at least forty more pounds of muscle on him than he did now.

Club life was hard on a man. She’d seen it eat away at him lately. In the dullness in his eyes, the graying of his skin—hell, even his hair. It used to be this sandy blond color, now it just looked like a mousy light brown. The weight loss she attributed to his partying and his lapsed gym membership. The rest—club life. It wasn’t meant for everyone.

Maybe Pipes wasn’t meant for it. Had she hitched her wagon to the wrong horse?

“Hey.” He cracked open the door to the shower stall. “Like what you see? You wanna join me?” he asked with a sly grin.

It made her smile, recalling all the times she had joined him in the shower—back when they’d been happy, before the club, before everything.

However, as quickly as memories of their happy past floated in her mind, so too did the recent call where he’d obviously been getting head while talking to her on the phone. It immediately soured the moment. “Either you want me in there with you or you want me sexy for tonight, you can’t have both,” she said.

He pressed his teeth into his bottom lip as he smacked the side of the shower door with his palm. “Fuck, that’s a hard decision.”

“Is it?” She faux pouted. “Because I figure one has sexy me at the clubhouse and me all to yourself later and the other has unsexy me at the clubhouse.”

“I’ll take the first offer,” he responded, immediately closing the door.

Rolling her eyes, she knew he wouldn’t resist that. “Okay, but I’m driving myself,” she called over her shoulder, leaving the bathroom. “I want to study tonight. So, I might leave early.”

Chapter 27

Sparrow

Putting her car into park, she checked her reflection in the mirror. Thick black eyeliner with a pale shimmery shadow on her lids accented her green eyes. She’d pulled her hair into a loose ponytail but allowed the unruly wisps to frame her face. Wanting her eyes to be the star of the show when it came to makeup, she toned down the rest and only used a bit of a gloss on her lips.

Exiting the car, she shrugged into the black leather jacket over her turquoise tank top just as the roar of Pipes’ bike drew her attention. He rolled into the lot and parked beside her car. Since he was a prospect, he didn’t have an assigned spot along the wall of the clubhouse. He could’ve parked near them, but she supposed there was still some of the sober gentleman in him.

His helmet came off, revealing his ear-length light brown hair; he’d freshly shaved on one side, revealing his tattooed skull. Turning off the bike, he grinned as his gaze drank her in. Apparently, he approved of her skinny jeans hugging her body.

Dismounting his bike, he hung his helmet on the handlebar before he sauntered toward her. “Damn fine woman of mine.” He reached for her when he got closer. “As soon as I have my patch, the first thing, I’m making it official,” he vowed, and pulled her against him as he wrapped his arm around her waist. “Sparrow, my Ol’ Lady.”

She couldn’t be sure if it was the late hour, the darkness, or perhaps he’d sobered since he’d gotten home, but his pupils were normal size. It was these moments of lucidity when he wasn’t high off his ass which made her stay with him.

They reminded her of what they used to be—why she agreed to go on dates with him and how she got on the back of his bike. When he squeezed her and kissed her temple, the pang of guilt over what she’d done with Jacob twinged in her throat.

His finger curled under her chin, gently coaxing her to face him. When she followed, she saw clear eyes, bright eyes, sober. “I love you,” he whispered before dipping down and pressing his lips to hers for a tender kiss. Guilt strangled her heart.

This was Pipes. This was the guy she dated. The man who’d called her while getting blown by someone else wasn’t her man. The guy who fucked chicks at the clubhouse—she didn’t know him. That’s what the drugs did to him. If she could just get him off the meth, she could have her man back.

He ended the kiss and ran the tip of his index finger down her nose. “Let’s head inside.” He took her hand and led her to the door. “Just gotta check with Tut to see when I got door duty. Hopefully, since I just got back from the run, it’s not all night.”

“Yeah.” She nodded, squeezing his hand through her lackluster response. Though she hoped itwasall night. If he had the door, it meant he’d be sober, or mostly sober. It also meant she’d have an excuse to go home and study earlier.

A quick handshake and backslap to the prospect on watch, Pipes resumed holding her hand and opened the door to lead her through the standing room only crowd in the clubhouse. The end of the week meant a wild party for the Roughneck Riders, especially after a run. They’d be freshly stocked.

Stale weed, burned plastic, blaring guitar riffs, heavy drum beats, the blended chatter of multiple conversations occurring over the music, dim lighting—entering the clubhouse was an assault on the senses. Laughter, excited squeals, and cheering off in the corner always meant one of two things, and Sparrow couldn’t help herself but turn to see if it was a fight or…

On one of the high-top tables, two of the club sluts had removed their tops. They swayed, not quite to the beat, groping one another. A kiss was imminent. Rolling her eyes, Sparrow returned her focus back to Pipes. She’d never understood why men who had unfettered access to strippers daily still got so excited when women got naked for them. Perhaps it was the novelty of it being strangers.

As her boyfriend led her through the crowd, searching for his sponsor, her mind wandered to the types of parties she used to attend when she was a kid and her dad was alive. There were no club sluts, just Ol’ Ladies and other kids. They usually happened during the day and everyone usually kept their clothes on—occasionally, a guy and his woman would sneak off for some afternoon delight, but it was rare.

Okay, and there was a club slut or two at these things, but the Ol’ Ladies were sure to make them feel uncomfortable. They didn’t belong there. It was an unwritten rule to keep them separate. There was a time and a place for each, but some of the men, the single ones, didn’t seem to understand that. So, now and then one would bring his steady girl that wasn’t his Ol’ Lady to a family function, and well, it got tense—especially if that girl used to be someone else’s girl before he was with his Ol’ Lady orwhilehe was with his Ol’ Lady.

At the bar, a line of four Roughneck Rider patches raised their shot glasses. “Roughneck forever,” they shouted in unison. “Forever Roughneck,” they hooted before they threw back the shots. With a series of thunks, the glasses hit the wooden bar.

Turning, a few of the men reacted to the booze hitting their system and a laugh bubbled up from Sparrow. She wasn’t sure what they’d just drank, but it must have been strong, and from the shuddering going on, not all of them were prepared for that. Lightweights.

Tut, the beady-eyed, narrow nosed, rat-faced one looked the couple over before he beamed with a bright smile. “Prospect!” he hollered and opened his arms, waving Pipes in for a hug.

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