Tonight, heās twisting more than just his throttle.
Natieā¦
Back when I was a biker clubās ābaby girlā, Iād get attached to every cheating throttle jockey who gave me the time of day. Rinse and repeat. At thirty-seven, it seems I still havenāt learned. A handsome wolf in leathers like Dirty would eat me alive, then walk into the bar the next night and treat me like yesterdayās drink. Itās not as if he can help it, and I canāt help but let him.
Dirtyā¦
About a year ago, when my pack plowed through the local biker gang like a buzz saw, I lost a few brain cells in a massive hemorrhage. Now Iāve got CRSācanāt remember shit. Natie? I never forget her name, nor the curves that make me sweat trying to remember the last time I got laid. When I finally get her alone in the bathroom, one lick of her heat makes my blood run cold. Sheās not just mine as in for now, sheās mine as in mate.
This is more than a case of potential morning-after awkward. If canāt remember who she is before I can imprint on her, itāll not only break her heart, it could break me.