Page 123 of Bleed Me

After a moment of silence, Giver admitted, “I don’t want a hall pass.”

My eyes drifted shut because I knew we were taking another wonderful step in our relationship. I knew Giver would overlook any possible future indiscretions with his alter ego. “Good. Because I was totally bluffing.”

Me not sharing him made him laugh. “That’s my girl.”

I nodded, his leather rubbing my skin. “Yeah, I’m your girl, Giver. In fact, your girl is going to go get your helmet.” I got off the bike, pleased he did, too.

We both walked through the woods and toward where Giver had his unfortunate temper tantrum. And where I saw his helmet land. “Who is Jazebelle?”

Giver exhaled, “Just a friend from the past. Little pixie of a thing.” He chuckled. “We used to think she was dating twins.”

“Twins?”

“Yep, Nash and Nelson. Possessive little fuckers.”

I bent down and grabbed his helmet. “Meaning?”

Walking back toward the bike, Giver explained, “It was like they were always fighting over her, even though the three were supposedly just friends.”

“Uhh, sounds kinky.”

Laughing, and totally jealous, he threw an arm around my neck and yanked me to him. “Oh yeah? You want some twin action?” I melted to his side, loving how he felt and smelled—leather and man. “Dick ain’t enough for you?”

Dick in my life was finally funny. I laughed freely! “You’re right! I got the best of both worlds!”

Giver quickly looked over his shoulder. “We got company.”

Headlights turned a corner and headed down Delilah’s road. “Maybe an airport car service?”

Letting each other go to palm guns, I dropped the helmet at the bike as we ran past it and toward the house.

Giver whispered, “Thinkin’ you’re right. A man is in the backseat.”

Pulling out my cell, I quickly googled ‘professional boxer’ living in that little town of GA. Immediately, Maverick Hutton appeared. I clicked on an image, then showed Giver. “This is what he looks like.”

When the car pulled into the driveaway, we stopped running so we weren’t heard trampling through the brush but were close enough to hear, “Thanks, man,” as a big guy with a wide frame and impressively built arms got out of the car. Carrying a medium-sized duffle bag, he shut the door and headed for the front door of the house.

“That’s him,” confirmed Giver.

Not even two minutes later, the garage door was opening. The very well-built guy was walking out of the garage with a cell to his ear. He paced, running fingers through his dark hair. As soon as he heard something on the phone, he stopped and bit out, “Where the fuck is my wife, and why is she not answering her goddamn phone?” He listened for a few seconds, then added, “Someone better start fucking talking to me!”

Next to Giver, I whispered, “He sounds like an asshole.”

But then the guy sighed, hundreds of pounds melting off his tensed shoulders. “Oh, thank fuck! The dark house scared the shit out of me.” His head jerked back. “Plan B?” Listening, he started smiling. “Shit! Plan B. Okay, uh… I got it! I’ll just jump in my truck and surprise her there.” After a few seconds, Boxer Boy’s head slightly wobbled on his neck, showing a very playful side. “Thank you. I’ve been told I’m quick on my feet.” He did the little light-on-his-feet boxing move I’d seen in the ring.

I muffled a giggle, thinking it was cute.

The biker at my side quietly mumbled, “What a putz.”

Boxer Boy was far from a putz. He was actually fucking hot as hell, and the size of a man to back up anything he did, including his playful side. “I’m glad to hear you think so, Tuck.”

Giver bitched, “How’s Tuck liking this guy?”

Oh. This has nothing to do with Delilah.

Maverick had deep dimples when he smiled. “Love Bug, ya there?”

“Love Bug?” grumbled Giver. “You’re lucky you married a biker, babe.”

As fine as Boxer Boy was, he was no fucking James Gunn Dalton.

Just then, the sky opened up. Rain poured down. There was nothing we could do to find shelter. We had a job, but Maverick ran back inside.

Giver and I sighed, believing all was well, until three single headlights got my attention. I smacked the side of Giver’s thigh. He looked over, then tensed, then he looked to my phone again. We stared at Maverick’s picture. Giver groaned, “Babe, they picked the only one in the public’s eye.”

We both now stared at the house. I pleaded, “Don’t come out… Don’t come out…”

But he and fate wouldn’t have it in our favor that night.