Page 7 of Biker Daddies

“I don’t give a fuck. We aren’t allowed to think that about the Prez’s daughter. You know, our best friend. We’ve been friends with him our entire lives. We can’t think that. So don’t. Get it out of your head right now.”

My phone vibrates again, then I hear Colt’s.

Bane’s must go off too because he’s tucking himself back in his pants, then digging his phone from his pocket.

“It’s Harlow,” I announce.

“I can read.” Bane’s attitude is starting to piss me off.

“Is anyone else nervous about the fact that it’s a picture? I’m afraid to click on it,” Colt says.

Yeah, I’m nervous. Drunk pictures are never good.

I click on it. My heart races when I see her smiling face holding up a peace sign. It’s an innocent photo, but I can tell she’s wasted by how glassy her eyes are.

My phone dings again and it’s of her and her friends. She outshines them—even drunk, her beauty is unreal. I rub a hand down my face, angry at myself for thinking that. It’s okay to think someone is beautiful, right? Doesn’t have to mean anything.

A video comes through next and since it’s on all three of our phones, the sound echoes.

“Go, go, go!” is chanted by Addison, one of Harlow’s roommates.

“Is she shotgunning a beer?” Colt questions.

I exhale with a shake of my head, watching Harlow chug the beer down then toss the can the opposite direction. “We have to go get her. This isn’t like her at all,” I say.

“She’s nineteen. This is her. This is what kids do when they’re that young,” Bane explains. “Just because she’s Grizzly’s daughter doesn’t make her special or exclude her from the basic activities all the other teens do.”

Our phones ding again, only this time it’s a picture of Harlow hovering over the toilet, sick, no doubt from the beer chugging.

Meredith and Addison send selfies to us, then another of Harlow passed out on the floor.

“Fuck.” I tuck my phone in my pocket again and hop on my bike. “We better get going before she wakes up and feels like she can down another beer.”

“Grizzly would be pissed. She knows better.”

I snort. “Bane, shut the hell up. Of course she doesn’t know better. She’s nineteen. You just contradicted everything you said.”

He gives me the middle finger as he hops onto his bike, but my phone begins to ring before I can take off.

Annoyed with how many times I’ve had to fish this thing out of my pocket, I stare at the screen.

Harlow.

Only this time, it’s a phone call.

“Harlow? What the hell is going on?”

She hiccups. “You sound so hot over the phone,” she slurs.

“You’re drunk. We’re coming to get you. Don’t move. Are you at the apartment still?”

She giggles. “I’m not telling. You’ll have to find me.”

“Harlow.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Just tell us where you are.”

“Nope. Is it you, Bane, and Colt? I’ve had a crush on you guys since forever,” she mumbles.

“You’re drunk. You aren’t thinking clearly. Tell us where you are,” I demand.

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