Devlin (Dirty Aces MC #2) - Lane Hart
Chapter One
Devlin Boyd
“Dude, where the fuck are you?” I yell into my phone. I’m not sure if Fiasco can even hear me over the crappy band playing on stage and the crowd cheering them on at the fairgrounds.
“Back at my apartment,” he says simply.
“Well then grab your ticket and get your ass back here! Traffic is still a mile long, and Wasteland Authority is going on next, so you’ll probably have to run your bike up the shoulder.”
“Yeah, see, there’s a slight problem with that plan of yours,” Fiasco responds, making me roll my eyes as I start strolling over to the concession stand to grab a beer.
“What now?”
“I locked myself out of my place,” he says. “My keys and my ticket are both inside.”
Why the fuck am I even surprised? Fiasco always finds a way to screw up everything he touches. It’s like a curse he was born with, and those of us who are his friends are usually the ones who suffer. I never believed there was any truth behind the offensive term “dumb blondes” before I met him. I would swear his parents must be a surfer dude and a stoner, but I’ve never met them, and Fiasco doesn’t talk about them.
Squeezing my eyes shut to refrain from calling him an idiot when he obviously can’t help his bad luck in the genetic pool, I tell him, “Break into the window, grab your keys and ticket, and then we’ll fix the broken glass later!”
“It’s supposed to rain tonight,” it sounds like he replies, which is so off topic I don’t even know how to respond.
“What do you mean it’s supposed to rain?” I ask slowly, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth to try and keep my cool while clenching my fist by my side.
Tonight, the Rockfest festival, is the most important thing in the world to me. I’ve had VIP tickets since the day they went on sale. I’ve wanted to see Wasteland Authority for ten years, but they never toured on the east coast until now, today. Seeing them alone will just be…pathetic.
“If it rains and my window is broken, then all my shit will get wet,” Fiasco explains, which is one of the few things he’s ever said that actually makes total sense.
“You’re right,” I agree with a heavy exhale. “Call your landlord or a locksmith and wait for them, but you’ll never make it back in time.”
Since none of the other members of the Dirty Aces MC are fans of the rock bands playing tonight, Fiasco was the only one willing to spend a thousand bucks for a VIP ticket to come with me and see them from the mosh pit at the front of the stage. He may be a ditz, but he didn’t even blink at wasting a grand on a band he’s barely heard of so I wouldn’t have to come alone. Now that money of his is wasted, swirling down the toilet because there’s no way he’s going to make it back to see the final show of the night. We missed the first three bands because of fucking traffic. Only when we made it to the front gates did Fiasco realize he left his tickets at home.
“You’re probably right. I don’t think I’ll make it back in time,” Fiasco agrees. “Sorry, man.”
“Not your fault traffic was a clusterfuck,” I say with a sigh.
“Want me to come pick you up when it’s over?”
“Nah, I’ll just get a taxi or Uber home.”
“Okay, see ya,” he replies before I end the call and shove my phone into the back pocket of my snug, leather pants.
Looks like I’m going to be enjoying the show alone — well, except for the thousands of strangers around me.
Sure, I could smile at a pretty girl, offer to buy her a drink, and then spend the night with her after the concert. It would be easier than easy to pull off, because the lord has blessed me with irresistible blue eyes and a pretty face.
But one-night stands were the old Dev’s MO. The new and improved Dev is all about making better decisions, you know, to avoid another pregnancy scare from batshit crazy, casual hookups. Twice now girls have been late and were certain that I’m the one who knocked them up. Thank fuck both times the stick was negative, Aunt Flow came, and all was well. I’m just not sure how many more chances I’ll get before the stick turns blue and then