Page 27 of Bounty
I finished the first braid and gathered the rest of my hair to start the second. “No, Mom, you didn’t.”
“Good.”
With my comfort settled in her mind, she began prattling about her night, unaware I’d witnessed part of it, including how careless she turned because of alcohol and the danger she could’ve been in. I wondered if she’d bring up her trip to the MC.
“…But after dinner, my readers and I weren’t ready to end the night, so we ordered a few rounds of drinks,” she shared as she removed her jewelry.
Done with my hair, I began fidgeting. “What’d you get?”
Probably something fruity. She loved tropical drinks and spawned my love for sweeter alcohol. Once I turned eighteen, she allowed me to drink at home, if it was a mixed drink, and I limited myself to three. Her imposed rule morphed into my permanent preference, and I liked her drinks far more than the cheap beer I’d drank at high school parties.
Not that she knew I touched a drop of liquor outside of our home before I was a legal adult.
“Sangria,” she answered. “Oh my gosh, sweetheart, it was so good. We must go there before we leave Austin so you can try it yourself.”
“That sounds great,” I replied halfheartedly.
I wanted to show more interest in her night, but my mind kept drifting to Slice. So, I just nodded along and offered small, noncommittal responses. That was until she got to her foray at the Austin chapter of Red Rum MC.
“Oh, and get this, Effie, I went to an actual MC!” she squealed, bouncing on her heels like a toddler as she continued her drunken rambling. “A real biker girl is a fan of my books. Can you believe that? Anyway, she gave us a tour of the MC, and I talked to a flesh and blood biker. He thought I was flirting with him, but the president—such a kind man—smoothed things over.”
I nearly snorted. Kind wasn’t how I’d describe Striker. Discomfort still lingered at his crude comments while I’d waited for Slice to return from the bathroom. I’d be content to never see Striker again.
In one way, I was glad my mother went out and socialized. At home, she locked herself in her home office and neglected to take time for herself. She rarely saw friends. Yet, I couldn’t escape the dread I felt at the thought of how tragic her night could’ve become, had Striker been more of a dickhead or Slice and I hadn’t been at the club. Slice might’ve been a douchebag, but he certainly would’ve stepped in to defend her, even if the president hadn’t.
“Mom, you have to be careful,” I said gently, twirling the end of my braid around my finger. “I mean, it’s great that you’re having fun, but that could’ve ended really badly.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “I’m a grown woman, Effie. I can handle myself.”
Doubtful, but I bit my lip to hold back from saying more. My mother had a way with the written word, but she was a little…unaware…when it came to the real world.
Humoring her, I plastered on a smile. “I know, Mom. I just want you to stay safe.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’ll be fine,” she reassured me, sitting on the edge of my bed and reaching over to pat my hand. “You’re so much like your father, always looking out for everyone. But just focus on enjoying your time here.”
“Yeah.” My smile faltered. “Enjoying my time.”
My mother always booked an additional day after the signing to recuperate and explore before we returned home. Normally, I looked forward to that one vacay day. But this time, I just wanted to get back to Corpus Christi and wallow in self-pity until my sadness went away.
To the surprise of no one, she didn’t catch the misery in my voice. She was still too caught up in recounting her night. Her lack of focus on me was a blessing and a curse. I could’ve used a little motherly love. However, I’d also have to scramble to come up with a cover story.
“Help me unzip my dress?” she asked once she’d filled me in on every detail.
I nodded, and she scooted back. The conversation seemed finished, yet, while I was sliding her zipper down, she started to prattle about her run-in with the last person I wanted to hear about. It was hard not to groan in annoyance. My beautiful, bubbly mother was a chatterbox who held nothing back, but tonight, I wish she’d left me in the dark.
“Oh, and I gave Cassie’s number to Slice just before the Uber arrived. I hope he called her; she needs a good man in her life.”
A good man?
Hah.
The mention of his name was like a knife digging into me, and the last comment twisted the blade. The thought of Slice and Cassie together sickened me. Even though I’d torn up the number, now that he was done with me, he could always ask my mother for it again and claim he lost it. Or maybe, he’d saved it before he allowed me to tear the paper into bits and pieces.
My gaze misted and I blinked rapidly. “I don’t think Cassie will ever leave Chad.”
I wouldn’t break down over Slice, especially in front of my mother.
“She just hasn’t met the right guy.” She turned around to face me. “Slice might be it.”
