“Why me?” I demand.
My voice comes out harsher than it should. Louder, too. I don’t know why anyone would want to target me for any reason. I couldn’t have done anything. I am nice to everyone. I hardlyever even think a bad thought about someone, let alone actually say it.
She shakes her head once, then shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t know. He said it was club business. I’m probably lucky to get the answers I did out of him, to be honest.”
Dakota is right, I know she is, and since her husband is the president of the club, he’ll have more answers to give than anyone. I chew on the corner of my bottom lip, working the flesh back and forth a few times while I stare at him across the street.
His back is leaning against the side of the building, his arms folded across his chest, his mirrored sunglasses pointed directly at me. I wonder what he would do if I walked up to him. If I demanded to know what was going on.
Probably nothing.
He probably wouldn’t even speak to me. It’s been over two years since that drunken night in his muscle car, and he hasn’t so much as saidhelloto me, let alone anything else. Deciding that I don’t care, I take a step backward, my gaze flicking back to Dakota’s.
“You know what?” I ask. Her eyes widen, likely reading the annoyance mixed with anger in my gaze. “I don’t care,” I snap. “I’m done.”
Before I can spin around and stomp off, signaling an amazing, albeit short, rant, Dakota reaches out, catching my forearm and squeezing me firmly to keep me from walking away. My eyes flick to her hand, then slowly slide up her arm to meet her gaze.
She arches a brow, her lips curving up into a smirk. “Done with what?”
“Everything,” I state. “I’m not part of the club, never wanted to be, and if he wants to stalk me without giving me a reason, then I’ll make it interesting.”
“Lainey-Rose,” Dakota hisses. “What are you saying? This isn’t like you.”
There is a moment of silence where we just stare at one another. She’s waiting for a response, but I don’t think I have one that pisses me off the most about the situation. It’s the whole thing. Mostly, it’s because I’ve been stupidly pining after this man, waiting for him to do something for years. Not one or two, more than that, lots of them.
He doesn’t want anything to do with me because if he did, he would.
He would.
I’ve seen the way these men fall for women, and they don’t even let the threat of death and demise stand in their way. Squaring my shoulders, I clear my throat. My lips slowly curve up into a smile.
“I’m going to find a guy who wants me for me, Dakota. It’s not him, it’s not any of them, and I don’t know why I thought it could be. I always told myself I never wanted one of them, but when you all started dating, marrying, and having children with them, and I saw how much they loved you all, it made me hope for more.”
“From Viking?” she asks.
“Specifically, yeah. I’m an idiot.”
She frowns, her brows snapping together before she clears her throat, and I know she’s going to ask me if I’ve made my feelings, wants, and desires clear, and I’m going to have to tell her the embarrassing truth.
Dakota opens her mouth to no doubt ask me just that, when I’m saved by the bell above my door. A customer walks in, and I plaster on my customer-service face just as Dakota’s hand falls from my arm, and she does the same.
Thankfully, the conversation is dropped and never picked up again, as we’re not only slammed, but then she has to leave for the day.
It works out better for me because I don’t want to tell her the embarrassing story of how I threw myself at Viking and he wanted nothing to do with me. It took me two years to somewhat get over it—but not reallyoverover it—because I don’t think rejection is something you ever just get over.
VIKING
My phone rings in my pocket, and I reach into my cut to take it out. Without even looking at the screen, my gaze transfixed on the women in the bakery behind the counter, I slide my thumb across the screen and hold it to my ear.
“Viking,” I greet.
“Dakota called me asking questions.”
“And?”
“If you think they didn’t clock you, you’re dead fucking wrong. Lainey isn’t stupid.”
No. Lainey is not stupid. What she is is sexy as fuck. But I haven’t hidden myself from her either. I’m in the open and focused on her. I want to be seen—by her and whoever the fuck else is looking.