Page 67 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

“At making things easier.”

I shrug, because that sounds too close to something serious. “Humor is mostly a defense mechanism.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Only mostly?”

I run a hand through my hair. “Mostly. The rest is poor impulse control and unresolved issues.”

That earns another laugh, and she shakes her head like she’s caught me out at something. “You always joke around like that? Or are you ever serious?”

I gasp, pretending to clutch my pearls. “Me, serious? Never.”

I can’t wiggle my way out of this one. Sadie looks at me seriously. “Why?”

I could lie. I could make something clever out of it. Instead, I glance toward Owen, who’s now shouting at the claw machine as if volume alone might improve his chances, and answer honestly. “Because it’s easier to make people laugh than to let them see when things are bad.”

Sadie’s expression shifts at that. She doesn’t push, which I appreciate, but her eyes soften with a kind of understanding that makes my chest feel oddly bare. She knows what it’s like to be the one who keeps the smile in place for everybody else. She knows what it costs.

By the time we head home, Owen is asleep in the back seat, one hand curled around the stuffed bear I won for him on a shooting game. After five failed attempts and a string of increasingly dramatic accusations against the machine, he allowed me to convince him that you never win on claw machines. He was suitably impressed with my shooting skills, though if Sadie was, she hid it well.

Sadie sits in the passenger seat with her shoulders finally loose, one hand resting on her knee. She’s tired, but she looks relaxed. When she turns to look at me, I see the warmth in her eyes, a softness that’s not always been easy to bring out. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

I keep my eyes on the road. “For what?”

“For making him laugh.”

I laugh under my breath. “You think that was for him?”

She looks at me then, really looks, and I swear something in the air between us changes. Not in a dramatic way. More like a thread drawing tight. “You made me laugh, too,” she admits.

I glance at her, and there is the smile again, smaller this time but real. It makes my chest do something annoyingly stupid. “Good,” I tell her. “That was the whole point.”

Chapter 20

Sadie

After putting Owen to bed, I linger in the doorway longer than I need to, watching him sleep beneath the glow of the small bedside lamp. The fair had finally exhausted him, which was no small achievement. He clutches the stuffed toy Dash won for him beneath one arm. His dark hair sticks up in every direction from the bath he barely stayed awake through. Even asleep, he looks completely content, and for a moment, I stand there, simply enjoying the sight. Days like today remind me how much has changed.

A few months ago, Owen’s world revolved around our small house, preschool, and the occasional weekend visit with Ethan. Now he spends his afternoons chasing dogs around a motorcycle clubhouse, has somehow accumulated an entire collection of biker uncles, and talks about the Wild Riders as though they have always been part of our lives. He seems happier than he has in a long time. If I’m honest, so am I.

When I first arrived here, I expected danger. That assumption seems almost ridiculous now. There are certainly dangerous men in this building, but they are not dangerous in the way Ethan always implied. The Wild Riders are protective, loyal, and infuriatingly stubborn. They take care of each other. They take care of their families. And, whether I like admitting it or not, they have taken care of Owen and me from the moment we arrived.

I quietly pull the bedroom door almost closed behind me and step into the hallway.

“There you are.”

I look up to find Dash leaning against the doorway to his bedroom, one shoulder resting casually against the frame. The hallway light catches in his blond hair, and there’s something unfairly attractive about how relaxed he looks. Dash’s confidence slips through every smile, every joke, every movement, making it impossible to tell where the charm ends and the man begins. His grin widens when he catches me studying him. “That look usually means you’re about to insult me.”

“I was considering it.”

“Good. I’d hate for you to lose your hobbies.” I laugh despite myself. The sound seems to satisfy him.

I have begun to suspect that making me laugh has become something of a personal mission. It isn’t just the jokes, although there are certainly enough of those. Dash notices things. He notices when I’m worried, when I’m overwhelmed, and when I’m carrying too much inside my own head. More often than not, he responds by finding some ridiculous way to pull me back into the present.

“Come downstairs and have a drink with me.”

The invitation is delivered casually, but my immediate reaction is anything but. A flutter of nervousness flicks through me, irritating and surprising. The problem isn’t the drink itself. It isn’t even the idea of spending time alone with Dash. We’ve already spent the entire day together at the fair. We’ve talked, laughed, and shared enough stories that I should feel perfectly comfortable around him by now. Unfortunately, that’s precisely the problem. The more comfortable I become around the Wild Riders, the more complicated everything feels.

At first, the attraction had seemed straightforward enough. After years trapped inside a marriage that left me feeling unwanted, it was hardly surprising that four handsome men had caught my attention. Attraction is simple and easy to dismiss. What’s happening now feels far less manageable because, somewhere between the clubhouse dinners, the endless conversations, and the way each of them seems determined to show up whenever I need help, attraction has started to turn into something deeper.