OMG! Why? Are you nuts?
I’d told my best friend about the motorcycle club party I’d attended and I’d told her about my new boss’s slam, bam, thank you ma’am. I did this in an attempt to stop my skin from burning when I thought of it because every girl knew, a problem shared with her best friend was a problem lost. Though, I’d learned a new life lesson and this was that those problems mostly were discussions of what to wear on first dates or whether or not you should invest in that fabulous wrought iron wine rack from Pottery Barn and not the fact that you’d had a one night stand with your new boss. I learned this because even after sharing with Lanie, it didn’t help.
Lanie was of a mind that I shouldn’t show at my new job and what I should do was my want ad finger pointing thing for another two months, or twelve, just as long as I never entered Tack’s breathing space again. Then again, Lanie had a really good job as an advertising executive and was living with her fiancé, Elliott. She didn’t have to worry about her nest egg depleting not only because she was talented, in great demand and therefore made a more than decent salary but also because Elliott was a genius computer programmer and made big bucks. Huge. She was spending ten thousand dollars on flowers alone for her wedding. Their catering budget sent my heart into spasm. And her dress cost more than my car.
My thumb went across the number pad and I texted back, Not nuts. I need a paycheck.
Five seconds later, Lanie texted, What if you see him?
I was prepared for that and I’d spent a lot of time preparing for seeing Tack again. Indeed, I’d spent all night doing it considering I had all of two hours of sleep.
If I see him, I see him, I texted back. I’m embracing my inner slut.
To this, I received, You don’t have an inner slut!!! You’re Tyra Masters. Tyra Masters is NOT a slut!!!
She is now, I replied, adding, or she was Saturday night.
No more flying solo, Lanie texted in return then right on its heels came, Any and all future social events you attend, I’m your wingman.
I smiled at my phone, heard a door slam and my head came up. Then my lungs seized.
Shit! There was Tack standing outside the door to the Club’s Compound. He was wearing faded jeans, motorcycle boots and a skintight white t-shirt. Even from a distance I could see his hair was a sexy, messy bedhead. And I knew why since he was currently making out with a tall, thin, dark-haired woman and when I say making out, I mean making out. They were going at it, her hands at his fantastic ass, his hands at hers.
God, I’d been in his bed Saturday night and he had a new woman in his bed last night, Sunday. And he hadn’t walked me to the door and made out with me to say good-bye. Hell, he hadn’t even said good-bye.
Damn.
I closed my eyes tight and swallowed and when I did, it hurt… a lot.
Okay, maybe I couldn’t do this.
I opened my eyes and pinned them to the phone, my thumb flying over the number pad.
He just walked out of the Compound, I told Lanie.
Two seconds later, I received, OMG!!!!
He’s making out with a brunette, I informed her.
OMG!! OMG!!! OMG!!!! Get out of there! Lanie texted back.
I heard an engine cough to life and lifted my head to see the brunette in the beat up pickup. My eyes slid to Tack to see his on me. My gaze shot back to the truck to see the brunette was waving at Tack but he was done with her. I knew this because she was waving at him but when I looked back to him he was not paying a bit of attention to her and was walking my way.
I looked back down at my phone and typed in, She’s taking off. He’s coming to me.
I sent my message and stared at the phone, not lifting my head and trying hard not to bite my lip or, say, have an embarrassment-induced seizure.
“Red,” I heard when my phone beeped in my hand and luckily I didn’t have to lift my head immediately because I was reading Lanie’s latest message.
Escape, Tyra, go, go, go!!!!
“Red,” I heard from closer and I finally lifted my head to see that Tack was three of the eight steps up and climbing toward me.
He looked good. Everything about him looked good. The way his clothes fit. The way his hair looked like he’d just got out of bed and run his fingers through it. The way those lines radiated out the sides of his eyes. The way his body moved.
Nope, I couldn’t be a slut. I should have listened to Lanie.
“Hey,” I forced out.