Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Hey, Q,” Priest says when he picks up on the third ring.
“You bought me a bed?”
I’m staring at a queen sized bed in my bedroom looking like it’s supposed to be there. My sad, half-deflated air mattress was kicked to the side to make room. It’s nothing fancy, just a mattress and a built-in box frame combo, with wooden legs screwed into the bottom to keep it off the floor. But it’s in my room. It’s mine.
“Everything look okay? I don’t know what kind of shit you like, but there’s some pillows and sheets and crap like that with it.”
I spot some bags on the other side of the bed and crawl over the top, grinning like an idiot at how bouncy it feels. “Why did you do this?” I hug a brand new plastic wrapped pillow to my chest. “I… I can pay you back.” Probably. Mom should be feeling a little more generous than usual after the meeting with Roger.
“You were sleeping on the fucking floor. Don’t worry about it. I know a guy. He got me a good deal on the mattress, and one of the old ladies has contacts in the laundry business. She hooked us up with the rest. I just made a few calls.”
I can’t believe I’m about to cry over a bed.
“You still there?” he asks. There’s the sound of voices and traffic in the background.
“Yeah, sorry. Can—do you want to come over?” I ask. “Or maybe we can go out?”
It’s muffled, but I hear someone else yell in the background, “Sit the fuck down!”
“In the middle of something right now,” Priest answers with a suspicious grunt. “But how ‘bout I swing by later and take you for a ride you actually remember?”
Is he flirting with me? Pre-teen Quinn’s heart would explode.
I’m glad he can’t see the look on my face. “That sounds good, sure.”
After hanging up, I get the bed set up and spread out on it like a starfish, taking as much room as I can. There’s a huge, silly grin on my face that I can’t quite get rid of.
8
Chapter 8 - Quinn
The sun is down, but the night is still warm as I wait for Priest outside my building. It’s almost like he’s two people in my head. Heath is still there, but he’s fading into the background as I get to know the man he’s grown into.
The rumble of a motorcycle comes closer, signaling his arrival. Priest pulls up in front and cuts the engine. He smiles as he looks me up and down. “Looking good. Not quite your demon fighting outfit, but close enough.”
I dressed for riding, with long jeans, boots, and Desdemona’s leather jacket over a white camisole with a lacy top. My hair is pulled back in French braid to keep it from turning into a rat’s nest. Priest doesn’t seem as worried. He’s wearing jeans that hug his thighs and scuffed up motorcycle boots, but on top it’s just a black T-shirt under his leather biker vest. There’s a helmet with roses on the side strapped to the back of his bike, though.
“Is that for me?”
He nods, unclipping it and helping me settle it down over my hair before adjusting the strap. “Borrowed it from one of the girls.”
“Are there a lot of women in the club?” I ask, remembering what he said about an ‘old lady’ earlier. It’s sort of like a girlfriend or a wife, I guess, but everything I know about motorcycle clubs is from TV, including the show I’m actually on.
Priest chuckles. “Depends on what you mean. Not members, no. It’s a boy’s club, honey. But some of the brothers have women, and there’s always girls around looking for a good time.”
Right. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that. “Do you have one? An old lady?” I get close enough to touch the leather seat, running my fingertips over it like I’m gently petting a wild animal, wondering if it’s going to behave or if it’s going to bite.
“Nah, Q.” His smile widens into a knowing grin. “If I did she’d probably kick my ass for this.”
“Why?”
“Because behind me would be her spot. Sometimes it’s just practical. Can’t get too fucking precious about tradition in an emergency, but going out to pick up a pretty girl and take her for a ride?” He shakes his head. “Disrespectful.”
“We’re just friends, though.”
He cocks an eyebrow and my stomach does a little flip.
“Okay, so how do I…” I gesture at the seat behind him. “I kinda rode one for the show, but we faked most of it.”
“Get on, scoot up close and wrap your arms around me. When I lean into a turn, try to lean with me. Feet on the pegs. You’re gonna be fine.”
It’s not like a horse. It’s more like mounting a tiger with the intent to ride, but I get on and push in close, leaning into his broad back with my palms pressed into his chest. He’s warm. Solid. And right between my legs.