Date of Publication: November 5, 2016
Number of pages: 63
Word Count: 18,300
Tonight, he’s twisting more than just his throttle.
Back when I was a biker club’s “baby girl”, I’d get attached to every cheating throttle jockey who gave me the time of day. Rinse and repeat. At thirty-seven, it seems I still haven’t learned. A handsome wolf in leathers like Dirty would eat me alive, then walk into the bar the next night and treat me like yesterday’s drink. It’s not as if he can help it, and I can’t help but let him.
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 I’ve got CRS—can’t 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. She’s not just mine as in for now, she’s mine as in mate.
This is more than a case of potential morning-after awkward. If can’t remember who she is before I can imprint on her, it’ll not only break her heart, it could break me.
“Sixteen.” My brother sat down and sucked on his beer. “Off limits.”
“Get real,” I told him. She looked about thirty.
“She’s a good bartender,” he added.
In other words, I better sniff for pussy elsewhere. “Fine. When did she start wearing knee-highs?”
The stack of bracelets on her wrist jingled as she passed Prius another beer, then went to tend a couple down the bar. My gaze followed her legs. The white knee-highs with pink tennis shoes directed the blood flow straight to my dick. The red shorts she wore barely covered her ass. And what an ass. Deliberately, I licked my lips, knowing she caught the gesture from the corner of her eye. Girl had eyes on everyone, while I watched her ass. Nice, full, and bouncy. I groaned.
“Where was I last month?”
“In and out of therapy.” About a year ago, my pack had plowed through the local biker’s compound and come away with their territory. But I lost brain cells due to a massive hemorrhage, and now I couldn’t remember what I ate yesterday. My memory came and went. I never knew what I’d forget tomorrow. The bright side? I couldn’t give a shit about things I didn’t know. Come tomorrow, I’d forget her legs. Just as well. “I got no place looking up shorts.” I let the cold beer slide down my throat.
“Head on home. There’s plenty of girls working tonight.”
Natie bent over the bar. Long, straight brown hair fell over her big tits that cushioned her chest as she cleaned the top after a couple in the middle had left. I waited for her to look over at us. When she did, I raised my beer and mouthed another over the loud jukebox. Not that it mattered to her if I yelled over the music.
In acknowledgment, she nodded, then reached inside the cooler for my beer. I watched the red cotton shorts slide up higher over her ass and caught a glimpse of the crease between her ass cheeks. Adjusting the dick in my pants, I turned my chair away. In the alcove, I found old Bernie shooting pool in a kilt. When he bent and stretched over the pool table, I turned back. With my luck, I’d remember his sagging balls for the rest of my life. Didn’t wanna chance it.
My brother kept picking on the girl who worked the bar with Natie. Fucking hypocrite. Didn’t want me near Natie, but he sure didn’t keep his distance from… I frowned. What’s her name? I couldn’t remember her name.
“Hey there, sugar,” a cowboy at the end of the bar slurred. “Wanna serve me tonight? ’Cuz I only got an hour more to waste.”
Natie passed me another beer, and I swiped a thumb over the inside of her wrist as if I didn’t mean to. She snatched her hand away. I smirked. My cock didn’t care if she worked at a church, let alone a bar, and the full moon made her look extra special tonight. To boot, I couldn’t remember the last time I got relief. “Call up the pack and let’s have a run,” I told Prius.
Prius sighed. “We ran last night.”
“You need to get laid, bro, not run. Single girls in the pack are waiting. Nothing would make them happier than some Alpha dick. One night and you’ll be good to go.”
I shook my head. “They’ll think too much of it. Don’t wanna go there.” The last thing I needed was a one-night-stand drama spreading over my pack and into this tiny town.
“Hey!” the cowboy yelled. “You deaf? Bring me a drink.”
“Here we go,” Prius mumbled and stood. “No more drinks.”
“Wasn’t talking to you,” cowboy said.
“She is deaf, so talk to me.”
“I wanna drink.”
“You staying at the motel next door?” Prius asked.
“Just passing by.”
“House rules. Two drinks max if you’re on wheels. Got no taxi around here either. Walk it off.”
Natie filled a glass of water and extended her hand over the bar.
The cowboy swung.
The glass nicked her face and hit the wall.
On instinct, I leapt onto the bar top and lunged for the cowboy. We tumbled onto the floor. I sank my teeth into the guy’s jugular and growled from the bottom of my lungs when my teeth descended.
Milana Jacks, author of Jade Dober urban fantasy, grew up with tales of water fairies that seduced men, vampires that seduced women, and Babaroga who’d come to take her away if she didn’t eat her bean soup. She writes about extraterrestrials and fantasy creatures roaming the Earth where she resides with her mate and their three little monsters.
When not writing about Jade, she writes sassy romance novellas for busy women who need quick hotness on their ereader pages.
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