Page 135 of Rags's Awakening
Casey reached out and patted her friend’s hand. “You will. You’d be surprised how it happens when you least expect it. You’ve got a lot to give, and I know you’ll find someone who appreciates you. Just let it go and don’t overthink it. It’ll happen.”
Zoe sighed. “I know. I’m just getting impatient. I think that’s why I keep seeing Ryan. It’s nice being with one guy instead of going on endless dates hoping one works out. Ryan’s stuck around longer than anyone else this past year. That counts for something, right?”
“I suppose. Just don’t settle because he’s still around. You deserve more. If you have those niggling doubts, then trust your instinct, not your fear of being alone. Does that make sense?”
“It does. But itisnice to have someone to go out with regularly. I know you’re right, though. I’ll see what happens over the next couple of months. He’s a nice guy—even if he’s a bit odd.” Zoe smiled.
“When things slow down in a few weeks, I promised to have you and Ryan over for dinner. How does that sound?”
“Great. And your man will be there, too?”
“Of course.”
“Now tell me about this party you’re going to at his clubhouse. Aren’t you scared and excited at the same time?”
“I’m excited to be included. It’s a big deal for an outlaw to bring a woman to a clubhouse party. This one’s especially important because it’s not just his club, but the charters and support clubs, too.”
“But aren’t you scared with all those dangerous men around? I bet they outnumber the women by a landslide.”
Casey chuckled. “They will. There are always way more men than women at the club parties. If this were my first time, I’d be terrified of the unknown, but I’ve been to enough club parties to know the score. I just have to stay glued to Rags’s side.”
“What if you don’t?”
“Then that could be trouble. I’d be seen as fair game, which means I’m looking for a fun time however the bikers want it.”
“Oh shit,” Zoe gasped. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“It isn’t, so I need to stay with Rags at all times.”
The memory of JT abandoning her at one of the last parties invaded her mind. He’d taken off somewhere, leaving her alone in a room of drunk, high men who kept leering at her. The only thing that saved her was JT’s property patch and Razor stepping in, his firm arm around her. Razor always looked out for her. He never said anything against JT, but she knew he thought JT was an asshole.
“Are you still with me?”
Zoe’s voice pulled her back, the memories scurrying to the shadows of her mind.
“Sorry. I was just thinking about JT and what a jerk he was.” She laughed.
“You have to tell me all about the party.” Zoe glanced at her phone. “I didn’t realize how long we’ve been here. I better get back to work.”
“Me too,” Casey said, pushing her chair back.
The cool air wrapped around them as they stepped out of the bistro. Hog followed behind them until Casey stopped in front of the theatre, waving to Zoe as her friend crossed the street and disappeared into the crowd.
***
Casey glanced atthe heap of clothes on her bed and sighed as she pulled out another pair of jeans, this time black skinny ones. She held them against her and studied herself in the full-length mirror.
“This won’t do. Damnit. Why am I overthinking this?”
She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand and sank onto the mattress, worn out from trying on combinations of clothes for the last half hour. Rags was picking her up in twenty minutes. She pushed to her feet, rummaged through the pile, pulled out a leather mini skirt and a lace-up front denim halter top, and started to dress.
The doorbell rang just as she tossed the wide-tooth comb onto her vanity in frustration. Her hair was more unruly than usual. She quickly pulled part of it back, secured it with a hair tie, then grabbed her small purse and leather jacket, and rushed down the stairs.
Rags stepped inside, then stopped short. His gaze locked on her face before sliding over her body, stalling at her top’s plunging neckline, his eyes smoldering with fire. “You look amazing, babe,” he said, stepping toward her.
“So do you,” she murmured, her eyes running over his tight black T-shirt, jeans, and cut, covered in a multitude of patchesthat marked him as a one-percenter who did some hardcore things for the club. The glow of the setting sun highlighted the skull, snake, and blood-dripping tattoos on his right forearm. Tribal bands covered his left, alongside the number 9—representing theIfor Insurgents. Right beneath it were the initials FTW. Fuck the world.
“Get over here,” he said, his voice low, his arm reaching for her.
