Club Princess - Nicole James Page 0,50
What a woman says and what she thinks are two different things.
And that’s what keeps me staring at the ceiling long after I feel Lola’s body relax into slumber.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Memphis—
Sunrise beams between the pines as I squat by my bike, my knees cracking. I’m buckling my saddlebag shut when the screen door creaks open. I glance up, thinking maybe Lola woke up when she felt the empty bed next to her. But it’s Utah of all people.
Jesus Christ, don’t these guys ever sleep. It’s like they’re tag-teaming me. I can’t wait to hear what this one’s got to say. The way I’m feeling right now, I’d like to take his head off. We may end up in a fistfight out here in front of the clubhouse, rolling around in the gravel, trying to choke each other out. Won’t Rock love that?
“You leavin’?” he asks from the porch, dipping his head to light a cigarette. “
“Yup.”
He puffs out a stream of smoke, clinking his silver lighter shut. “You’re making a big fucking mistake.”
That has me straightening because they’re the last words I expect out of his mouth. “That so? Well, I’ve made those before.”
“If you knew what’s best, you’d stay.”
I cock my head to the side, frowning at his odd words. “We are talkin’ about Lola, right?”
“Who else would we be talking about?”
“I thought you were interested in her. Why the hell would you haul your ass out here at the crack of dawn to try to talk me into stayin’?”
“Because you’re the one she wants. The girl deserves some happiness with everything she’s been through.”
“I figured you would have warned her off me by now.” I step to my handlebars and grab my dangling helmet.
“I did,” he says around the cigarette in his mouth.
I buckle the strap under my chin. “So then what gives?”
“Just want what’s best for her.”
My brows lift. “Yeah? And you figure that’s me?”
“Maybe, if you stuck around and put down roots.” He shrugs. “Who knows? All I’m sayin’ is, if you care about her, you know the girl’s worth takin’ that shot.”
I swing my leg over the bike, and lift it off its stand. “Only one problem with that plan, Utah.”
“What’s that, Memphis?” His lip curls with his tone.
“Rock wants me gone.” I fire up the bike.
He flips his cigarette into the dirt. “Rock wants his daughter happy. What he doesn’t want is you breakin’ her heart.”
“You sure about that? Maybe he doesn’t want her hookin’ up with any Royal Bastards. My guess is not one of us is good enough for her in his book, including you.” I can’t help twisting that knife. “Besides, after last night, I’m on his shit list.”
“Well, when you grow a pair, brother, she’ll be here waiting. I suggest until you realize she’s worth the fight, you stay the fuck away from here.”
“Or what?”
“Or you and me are gonna have a problem.”
I grin. “See ya ‘round, Utah.” With that I pull away, rolling across the gravel and up on the blacktop highway where I gun the throttle and roar over the rise, the clubhouse disappearing from sight in my side mirror.
I strengthen my resolve not to think of what I’m leaving behind. If I do, I’ll turn the bike around, and I know that’s not a possibility.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Lola—
I sit cross-legged on my bed, tapping on the keyboard of my laptop.
It’s been two days since Memphis left, and I try hard to not let the hurt show. I laugh, and cut up with the guys when I’m around the clubhouse. Mostly I try to stay away, and keep myself occupied so I don’t give in to the loneliness I feel.
In the dark of night, it’s different. In my room, in my bed, I give in to the self-pity and heartbreak, crying silently into my pillow.
But during the light of day, I swear I’ll never let anyone see that I’ve let someone get close enough to hurt me again. I wonder if I’m fooling anyone other than myself.
I sit cross-legged on my bed, my laptop open, working up some new graphics, or at least trying to concentrate on them. Beside me on the bed, my phone goes off, and I glance at the screen.
Trez.
I grab it up and don’t even let him get in a hello before I start in on him. “Oh, my God. Why haven’t you taken my calls, you moron?”
“Lola.”
In just that one word, I get a foreboding that something’s wrong. “What is it?”
“I’m calling to warn you. You