Page 19 of Biker Daddies

“Yeah, Princess.”

The car begins to move, and I allow my eyes to shut as Bane drives to their house. A flurry of thoughts run through my head.

What will they tell my dad? Will they lie? Are they doing this out of obligation?

I grumble again, sitting up, then roll down the window to allow cool air to hit my face. There’s no way I can get sick again. I had to have gotten rid of everything by now. I’m never listening to Meredith and Addy again. They always have me letting go of all of my inhibitions—accompanying that with alcohol, I didn’t stand a chance.

“I know, Harlow. I’m sorry. Being drunk isn’t as it’s cracked up to be.”

I lean against the door and sigh. “Been drunk a lot, huh?”

“No. Enough to learn from it but not enough to be addicted to it,” he states, a hint of rage in his tone.

Bane has always been mysterious to everyone. What I do know is whatever happened to Bane was bad. Those scars on his mouth aren’t there because he was born with them. I’m curious what happened and how it happened, but Bane doesn’t talk about his past. Hell, he barely talks at all. It’s why I’m so surprised he’s said so much now.

He’s a grinch—but a sexy, muscular, bull-like grinch.

“What was that?” he asks, and I meet the four of his eyes in the rearview mirror.

I just want to close my eyes and forget tonight.

“What?”

“You said something about a grinch. The movie?”

I groan again, hating myself more for saying that out loud, so I lie. “Yep. The movie. Love it. It’s my favorite.”

“It’s not even close to Christmas.”

I narrow my eyes at him, trying to narrow the amount of Banes I see. “So? It’s a classic.”

“No, westerns are classics.”

“Well, it’s not the western season, is it? Yet you still watch them,” I point out, the words still blurring together. I can’t seem to get my tongue to work yet.

“Western season? It isn’t like summer or fall, Harlow.”

I snort. “Yes, so,” I mumble.

He laughs, reaching back and patting my knee with his hand. “You’re funny when you’re drunk.”

“Better than annoying.”

“You’re that too,” he says a little too honestly.

I pout my bottom lip. “You could have lied to me.”

“I don’t lie, Princess,” he states, with no humor laced in his tone.

He’s so honest, he doesn’t care about your feelings or if it means it leaves you in a crying mess. We fall in comfortable silence and I rest, letting my head rest against the door. The wind is cool against my cheeks, and gets me sleepy. I can hear the grumbles of motorcycles behind us. Knowing Alto and Colt are so close has me feeling better too and a slight smile plays on my face.

I don’t know how I’m living my worst nightmare but my greatest daydream. I’ve been wanting to be alone with these three since I turned eighteen. Now I am, but I probably won’t remember any of it.

Never. Drinking. Again.

I must have fallen asleep because I’m snapping my eyes open when rough hands wrap around my waist, and I’m pulled against a warm chest.

“You okay?”

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