Page 35 of Wicked Pickle

And I want to know.

I reach for my phone again and look at the bar’s hours.

Sunday, 3 p.m. to 2 a.m.

I could go.

But I won’t.

This book isn’t going to read itself.

I reach for it and flip to my bookmark. The ebook price was outrageous, so I grabbed a used copy. I like filling up the margins with notes, anyway.

The Origins of Totalitarianism. Part II. Imperialism.

I don’t get past two paragraphs before I’m back to picturing Diesel on his bike. A man riding off into the sunset on a motorcycle is quite the image. I wish I had a photo.

I prop my chin on my fist. I’ve never ridden a motorcycle.

Dang. I missed my chance.

More visions dance in front of me. Looking down to see his face at my belly. He munched like it was hisjob. Nobody I’ve dated has been, like,eagerto do that. Maybe dutiful. A quick prep before the main event.

But Diesel was intense. I think he would have stayed down there all night.

And I’m aware that he got nothing in return.

Something I should fix.

Something Iwantto fix.

I glance at the clock. Barely noon. His bar doesn’t open for hours.

No, no. I can’t go even if I finish the book by then. I’m not going to a biker bar for a hookup.

I force myself to look at a page. Imperialism. Come on.Read.

I make it through two pages before I get a text.

Something in my foolish heart thinks it could be Diesel. Which is ridiculous. He doesn’t have my number.

But he could probably get Rhett’s, who would tell Bailey, who could give him mine. They’re probably not on the boat yet.

But it’s not Diesel. It’s Marietta.

Marietta: When are we going back to the bar?

She read my mind. Of course, she’s just interested in the bikers, but still.

Me: It’s not open until three

Marietta: So we go at three!

Me: It’s a terrible idea

Marietta: It’s a great idea!

I hesitate. What would happen if we did that? What if we just showed up?

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