A sob slips free at the realization that I have lost what I have always wanted: a man who I crushed on and thought owned my heart for years, which is pathetic, really. Hell, look how quickly I gave that man my virginity.
“Oh, hell no.” A thought zaps into my head.
He freaking played on my crush to get what he wanted. Was this thing between us just some game? A joke that he and Val concocted to make a fool out of me?
They looked cozy at the race; he didn’t move her way from him. When she told me they slept together, she sounded convincing and she knew about his tattoos. Yet, he sounded genuine when he told me that he had not touched her. Then there’s the way he spoke to me last night— he sounded pissed— angry that I saw them together.
There is no way that this was something he wanted.
I sit up, my back straight, and the blanket falls to my waist.
“That fucking biker prick, he played me.”
My chest feels like it is not getting enough oxygen into my lungs, so I push to my feet, needing to get out onto the balcony to get some fresh air.
Securing the blanket around my body, I move toward the sunlight, which hurts my eyes, but I keep moving toward it anyway. Clearly, I am a glutton for punishment.
Once the sliding door is unlocked, I step out into the morning sun, the heat already building, which will be unbearable by midday. Closing my eyes, I tilt my face to the sun, seeking some natural vitamin D, and some fresh air.
My body becomes hot, and my clothes restricting.
I drop the blanket, and remove my jeans and plaid shirt, leaving me in just my white T-shirt and pink panties. I do nothave neighbors on either side of me, but I am too fucking lost in my head to care right now.
A part of me feels silly to be feeling like this. After all, it is not like Crash and I went out for months or years. Some would say that I am overreacting and maybe I am, but I thought I knew him. Clearly, being with the club has changed him, and not for the better. The man who spoke to me last night was not the Logan I know.
He was cold and angry.
I feel foolish, angry, and disappointed in what I allowed to happen. That is all that keeps going around my head.
My phone beeps from inside, so I go to fetch it and bring it back outside. Sitting on the balcony with some fresh air is helping to clear my head. Being locked up in the condo will not help— it will make my thoughts fester and then I know that I will start to see things that are not there.
It is how my brain works sometimes.
I get a message on my phone from Alex, and I sigh, not really wanting to read what he has to say, but the sadist in me clicks on his name.
Alex: Logan won last night. By a fucking mile. Your boy did good. It is not what it seems. Hang in there, Bumblebee.
Oscar: Your boy did good, won pretty money. Sorry you had to miss it.
I don’t reply to either of them, but I click on the IG app and scroll through the profiles of friends who I know are still in the street racing world.
There are tons of photos from last night of the cars, all modified and looking sweet with awesome paint jobs. I smileseeing friends hanging out, posing for silly photos, before my heart skips a beat.
There is a photo of Crash leaning against his car, ankles crossed, with one arm dangling loosely at his side. The other hand is on the back of his neck, while he looks down. The temporary lights that have been put up for the race behind him, illuminate him.
Without thinking, I click to save the photo, tears springing to my eyes seeing how handsome he is, and yet, he is no longer mine. If he ever was in the first place.
I stare at the photo that I just saved, and it makes my heart ache, seeing him look so unfiltered, like he has no care in the world.
I guess in that moment, he doesn’t. Logan used to be so focused when he was racing, not even Val was allowed to mess with his head. He knows how dangerous racing is; there are no rules when it comes to street racing. It is finish however you can.
Many times I had to stand by and watch Logan almost get pushed into another car, or flip when he hit a sand bank, but he was that good of a driver, that he was always able to avoid crashing.
It makes me wonder how he got his road name.
A smile slips across my face thinking of him and the club, but then it drops at seeing a photo of him and Val. He is talking to his brothers from the club, and she is standing close but it doesn’t look like he is paying her any attention, given the sour look on her face.
A video clip is next, which shows the end of the race. Turning the volume up, the sound of cheers and music can be heard. Crash climbs out of his car, his brothers greeting him, all smiling brightly, like a proud family they surround him, with hugs and slaps on backs.