Page 25 of Flint

The ankle isn’t broken, thank goodness. I’m even able to take the boot off, as the swelling is completely gone. Thankfully, Flint’s a smart guy and had me bring the shoe that matched the one I had on the right foot to avoid that awkward fashion choice of mismatched shoes.

And guess what? I still have no memory. Imagine that. After hours and hours of questions and scans, they confirm I have amnesia. Well, duh. Maybe I’m a doctor, considering I figured almost all of that out within like an hour of waking up. Okay, so the physical therapy is new, but I would have realized that eventually.

So to recap: I’ve been without a Diet Coke for like five hours. I’ve been poked and prodded to the point that I screamed at the last person and told them I would tear their arms off. Security was called on me. Yeah, that was a fun time, I’ll tell you what. Flint was no help, as he had to take a call and only caught up at the end—you know, as security was entering my room. I’m tired. I’m hungry. And my new BFF has been on more calls than on fun duty for me, so I’m not exactly in what you’d call a happy place right now.

I’m still grumbling as we make our way to who knows where. I don’t even care where, just happy to be out of the damn hospital.

Flint smirks. “Told you before, Kitten, not here for your entertainment. You're just a job.”

“Yeah, but a job that makes you smile. Come on. If you can’t enjoy what you do, then why do it?”

“Simple: VP says jump, I fucking leap.”

“Riiight.” I look him over. “Something tells me that if you wanted to push back, you would have. You don’t seem like the glorified babysitter of the club. Unless, of course, there’s something else going on.”

“Like what?”

I smile wide as he takes the bait before I look out the front window, though I don’t really see anything ’cause I’m totally paying attention to him in my peripheral. “I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve got, like, this super-huge crush on me and don’t know how to express your undying love for me.” I look over and tell him as serious as I can, “It’s with chocolates, just so you know. Don’t think I have a favorite kind, so you might as well get a variety.”

He snorts. Glad he knows I’m joking. I don’t need love professed, but I wouldn’t turn down a little butt grabbing. Just saying.

“Or it could be because you fucked up, and now you get to do dog duty till you’re allowed back in the big house.”

Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner, if we’re going by the fact that his grip on the steering wheel has increased to the point that his knuckles are white. I’m kind of curious if they even pressure test those things. And the fact that he’s silent as hell. Yeah, that screams it.

“Oh, I do love a good story, I think. It’s better than being told the story of my life, anyway. This might actually be the first piece of knowledge that I’m learning as the new, improved Julianne and not being told how it was before.”

“You’ve never been to the club before,” he counters, trying to prove there’s more that I haven’t done before I lost my mind.

I shrug that off. I know he has a juicy story he’s just afraid to tell me about. “Who knows? Maybe I came in when you weren’t’ there.”

“Trust me, the boys would have remembered you. And I’m usually on-site almost every night.”

“Are you trying to distract me to either think you think I’m hot, or that I’m not? Either way, is it just so I’ll focus on that and not the giant attempt to distract me you’re aiming for?”

“Never said if I think you’re hot.”

“Didn’t say I wasn’t either. Then again, with the way Gator told Bailey, I doubt any man can follow that up. You got to give it at least forty-eight hours for a girl to get that kind of hotness out of her system before you start in on your own. Just would never measure up otherwise.”

“Trust me, I measure just fine,” he huffs out on what might be a laugh if I think hard on it.

“Something tells me you actually did at one point.”

He just smiles and does a chin lift to the guy at the new gate—not Gator—and we pull back into the clubhouse. “Damn, that was fast work.”

“Yeah, had my crew come over after we left this morning.”

“Your crew? Would that be another biker group or something?”

“Nope, those are my brothers. My crew are those who work for my construction company. Some are brothers as well, but not all. And when they’re on the clock, they know the difference in where they stand.”

As we exit his car, I keep up my questions. He’s talking, and I’m not dumb enough to think he’ll do so all the time. Might not talk about certain things, but I wonder what he’ll share with me. “So you do construction, big-time boss on the outside. What do you do on the inside? What’s your job with the club? Or do you just do what you’re told?”

“Depends on who’s telling me. I’m an officer, so I don’t really take much shit from a lot of the brothers, but there are a few. VP and Prez, obviously. I’m the road captain. I plan the routes for when we do rides and stuff like that.”

“Hmm.”

He holds the door—how sweet—and we make our way back inside a place that was sort of scary the first time but not so much now. Well, it’s still a tiny bit intimidating based on the sheer number of men in here, but no one is looking at me like they want to kill me this time. Or if they are, they’re doing a better job of hiding it than last time.

---