Page 60 of Wicked Pickle

And apparently, that’s rare.

I hold it tightly. “Thanks.” I head to the driver’s side, pushing the seat back so I can fit behind the wheel. Marietta is a stick of a thing, and I’m tired enough to have collapsed into a dumpling at this point.

When the engine purrs to life, the clock reads 3:07.

That’s a lot of prime numbers. And it marks the end of my time with the lost Pickle cousins, other than maybe an update once Bailey’s back. The illegal number means I’m meant to deliver it electronically and not in person.

Merrick confirmed that Diesel is not the relationship kind. My triple-deluxe orgasm days are probably over.

Unless I get some information that he wants and refuse to give it up over text.

Or maybe I make him an offer he can’t possibly refuse.

CHAPTER 20

DIESEL

I’m not particularly surprised to wake up to an empty bed. Symphony strikes me as the hit-it-and-regret-it kind. We got a little wild there.

I’ve got to hand it to her. She rises to an occasion. I’ve never met someone who met me tit for tat.

And then some.

Damn.

I rub my eyes. Everything has felt off since I met her. The wedding. The side action. Missing work. Bailing on the bar again last night.

Nothing seems the same.

I swing my legs around. The only evidence that she was ever here is the condom wrapper on the floor. I snatch it up to throw away in my bathroom.

Then I realize—how did she get home? I drove her here.

I dig my phone out of my jeans. It’s dead. I plug it in and walk across the hall to toss the wrapper.

The house is quiet, but I take a quick walk through it to make sure nobody’s here. Symphony could have decided to hang out in the truck with her friend.

But the living room and kitchen are empty. I peer out the front window. The truck’s been moved to Merrick’s drive. So, that’s it. He took them back.

I wonder when that happened. Normally, I sleep like I might get shot in the night. I used to have to guard myself against exactly that.

And normally, I don’t relax to that level with the women I get entangled with. Hell, we rarely use a bed at all. They certainly don’t come here. Last thing I need is my safe house to be infiltrated by the regulars of the Leaky Skull.

But I did all that. Brought her home. Used my bed.

And slept through her leaving.

My phone dings from the other room. It’s charged enough to send a notification.

I dash back to my bedside and pick it up.

Merrick: Took the girls back around 3 a.m. You were out cold. I may never recover after seeing your flaccid junk.

Then about an hour later.

Merrick: You always had the smaller dick.

My breath huffs in a laugh. Motherfucker.

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