Page 18 of Blue

After the phone went blank, he tapped the screen and dialed Blue’s number. It could have been muscle memory. Who knew? Since he used a burner, he didn’t have it stored, but he’d memorized it for this reason.

He stared at the digits on the screen.

All he had to do was hit the green phone button and he’d call her.

His finger hovered over the icon.

Just tap it and he could talk to her. He’d hear her voice. Even if it was groggy, it’d be hers. Damn, he wanted to listen to her. It’d been too long. He couldn’t remember if they’d ever gone this many days without talking.

His heart urged him to push it.

To say what?

Logic kicked in. Nothing had changed. What could he tell her? “Hey Blue, just wanted to let you know I’m still trying to get a divorce?”

Their situation hadn’t changed. He couldn’t call her.

He deleted the digits.

No matter how much he wanted to do it, until he had something to tell her, he couldn’t bother her until everything was resolved.

He missed her, wanted her, needed her, but their situation wasn’t any different today than it was a week ago.

The only way he could go to her would be when things had improved.

CHAPTER 6

Blue

Walking up to the clubhouse, Blue smoothed her hand through her hair for the thirtieth time since getting out of the car. Not that she counted. Not on purpose, anyway.

Her stomach fluttered with nerves similar to the ones from the first day she met the bikers. Gnawing on the inside of her cheek, she twisted the ends of her hair around her index finger. This night looked no different from any other.

The parking lot was the same. Cars, bikes, random people laughing as they approached the clubhouse. Nothing was out of place, but she felt completely different. Why was she an outsider but also home at the same time?

A glance over her shoulder at her car had her contemplating leaving.

Dash would never know.

Lie.

He’d show up at her apartment to confront her. He didn’t have a key, but she wouldn’t put it past him to find a way inside.

He wouldn’tmakeher enter the clubhouse if she didn’t want to, but he’d force her to talk about why she didn’t. She wasn’t sure which was worse, actuallybeing thereand feeling out of place or trying to find thewordsto expresswhy.

Sometimes, it really sucked having that good of a friend.

Closing her eyes, she covered her face to reset her frame of mind. Filling her lungs with the cool night air, she dropped her hands and hoped to center herself and find some inner strength. Tilting her head skyward, she wished the light from the moon would somehow wash away all her irrational nervous energy.

Technically, she hadn’t actually agreed to be there. She’d been voluntold. So, if she turned around and ran back to her car, it wouldn’t be like she let Dash down or lied.

“There you are,” Dash called.

Fuck. She scowled.This is what happens when you stall—you get caught.

Turning toward his voice, she lowered her chin and spotted him walking her way. The line of officer bikes along the wall of the clubhouse were at his back. Well, damn. He must’ve just arrived himself. How had she missed that? Lost in her own internal paranoia, apparently.

A step behind him, holding his hand, was his red-haired woman. Ginger wore the property vest. It proclaimed she belonged to him. Being an ol’ lady to a one percent biker was the highest honor and rank a woman could achieve in the biker world. Every woman hanging around the clubhouse, whether or not she would admit it, craved a vest.

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