Page 65 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

DEAN

The engine’s roar filled my skull as I leaned into another curve, the bike responding like it was part of me. I’d been riding more than working this past week, chasing that fleeting moment when the wind drowned out everything else. But today, like every other day, the quiet always came back.

I had been riding so much, I felt like I was permanently vibrating. I’d wake up in the middle of the night feeling the vibration in my soul. I’d taken the long route around Larkspur Lake, the kind of ride that was more about emptying my head than getting anywhere.

My bike growled beneath me, its power humming through my grip on the handlebars. I liked it like this—just me, the machine, and the road. No distractions. No noise in my head. Just the steady thrum of the engine and the occasional flash of sunlight breaking through the canopy above.

A lot of guys had helmets with headphones so they could talk on the phone or listen to music. Not me. I wanted the silence. I was riding the bike because I wanted the noise of the engine. And it was a damn good running engine. Perfectly tuned. The muffler was loud, but that was good. Loud pipes let people know I was coming.

I could see a few boats out on the lake. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to be out there instead of here, to feel the water beneath me instead of asphalt. Sometimes, I needed the serenity of the lake. When I did that, I took the boat out. When I wanted noise and chaos, I hopped on the bike.

It was strange not to have Seth around. I was so used to cleaning up after him metaphorically and literally. He disappeared after the festival. He knew he was in deep shit and had chosen to run instead of face the consequences. That wasn’t a surprise.

I pulled into the gravel lot of Ma’s Diner. A neon sign flickered, announcing the place was open. I killed the engine and the sudden silence pressed against my eardrums. I stayed planted on the bike, leather gloves flexing against the handlebars. It always took a few seconds for my brain to slow down.

“You look like hell.”

I scowled and turned to see my old friend Eddie leaning against the wall of the diner, smoking a cigarette. His salt-and-pepper beard had gotten longer since I’d last seen him. I pulled my helmet off and hung it on my handlebars.

“Nice to see you too,” I muttered, swinging my leg over the seat.

Eddie pushed off the wall. “Heard about the fireworks show. Town’s still talking about how Dean Jackson went full action hero.” He smirked. “Though the version I heard had you carrying three kids and a puppy out of the flames.”

I scoffed. “People need better hobbies.”

“Come on.” Eddie jerked his chin toward the door. “Coffee is on me. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

The diner smelled like twenty years of fried food and stale coffee. The smell of stale cigarettes permeated the walls. I had a feeling the place wasn’t big on following the no smoking law. We slid into a cracked vinyl booth by the window. A waitress named Darla—the same one who’d worked here since high school—brought two mugs without asking.

Eddie dumped three sugars into his. “So Seth.”

I clenched my jaw. “Not talking about Seth.”

“Fine.” He stirred his coffee slowly. “Then tell me about the girl.”

My fingers tightened around the mug. I frowned at him. “What girl?”

Eddie’s grin was all teeth. “The one you were making out with before playing hero. Half the town’s got opinions about you two. And I’m not blind. I saw the picture in the paper. Looked serious.”

I was so sick of people running their mouths. “People need to mind their damn business.”

“Small towns, brother.” Eddie took a loud slurp. “So? She the reason you look like death warmed over?”

I stared into my black coffee. Eddie was a good guy, but I wasn’t necessarily interested in spilling my guts. “Portia’s…” My throat closed around the words. What was she? A complication? A distraction? The only thing that made sense in this mess?

Eddie waited. When I didn’t continue, he leaned forward. “You know, when my Lisa left, I drank for six months straight. Nearly lost everything.”

I glanced up. Eddie never talked about his ex.

“I fucked up. If I could go back, there are so many things I would have done differently. Women are different. They need things we don’t.”

I gritted my teeth, my fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the table. “I don’t need a lecture, Eddie.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying, man. Women don’t stick around for half-assed effort. You either show up or you don’t. And from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re too busy running to figure out which it is.”

“Portia’s not Lisa,” I said finally. “And I’m not looking to make the same mistakes you did. I’m not with Portia. I’m certainly not married to her.”

He chuckled. “If you let her walk away without even trying, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”