Page 35 of Logan
The day is uneventful. Ryan whines like a bitch. Honestly, he’s like a child who can’t find his pacifier. Our boss is this close to throwing him off the case, and it’s starting to show. I’m not saying Ryan isn’t doing a decent job, but he’s sloppy. He relies on everybody else, then gives us all orders like he’s in charge.
I’ve no qualms with being part of a team, or taking direction, but I’m not gonna be barked at by him or anyone.
Everyone is on edge because of Cini Media’s big gun lawyers, and they don’t come to play.
I’m also dealing with another case in between; a domestic violence order involving a woman and her children. They’re in protective custody, which seems to be happening a lot more often these days than I care to admit. So to say tensions are high is an understatement.
Plus, I called Becca back and got her voice message. I have no clue what’s going on, but I’ll get to the bottom of it. She’s safe, and that’s all that matters, but I’d be lying if I said her message didn’t have me rattled. To be honest, it isn’t the first time Becca has freaked out, and it won’t be the last.
When Luna asks me later if I’m still coming to the clubhouse for drinks, I take her up on the offer.
It’s been a long day, and there is also a chance I might get to see Logan again. Of course I also want to see my best friend and the girls, but my sex drive for Logan Dawson hasn’t just piqued, it’s off the scale.
Deep breaths, I tell myself. He barely ever comes to the clubhouse during the week…
The fact I even know that’s true is a testament to how screwed I am when it comes to him.
I remind myself it’s just sex. Nothing more. Okay, great sex, but if I only ever get to have it that once, it hardly seems fair. It almost feels as if the universe is punishing me.
I don’t change after work, I just go straight there, and Rip, one of the prospects, lets me in the gate.
“Hey there, little lady.” He tips his cap like a freaking cowboy.
I sigh. “What’s up, Rip?”
He looks me up and down and whistles. “Well, sugar, what’s up is my dick lookin’ at you in that getup.” He grabs his junk for good measure, giving me a grin with wiggling eyebrows.
Jesus H. Christ. He can’t be a day older than twenty-one, barely legal.
I try not to wince too much. He’s cute, but I’m not into younger guys. “Keep it in your pants, big boy. I don’t date minors.”
“I’m not a minor!” he calls after I pull past him and slide my window back up. “And you don’t know what you’re missin’ out on!”
I can only imagine.
I have absolutely no doubt that Rip does okay with the ladies, but he isn’t doing any of that shit in the clubhouse. I might not be an ol’ lady, but they talk. Any woman who frequents the club is off limits to prospects. They’re here to learn, work anddo all the shitty jobs the men don’t want to do. If they’re lucky, they’ll earn their patch, but that usually takes a few years. Even the sweet butts are off limits, and the ol’ ladies or club sisters—I’m considered one even though technically nobody has ‘claimed me’. When a biker claims you as his ol’ lady, you’re his, and he’s yours. You might even wear a cut yourself with ‘Property of…” on the back. Some of the women wear them, but not all.
I shake my head imagining such a thought. I mean, are we living in the dark ages? Who is ever property of anyone anyway? I’ve seen so many divorces and messy splits over the years that I can’t keep track, as well as men who want to control women.
The men of this club? I’m not just sticking up for them when I say they’re different. Despite women not making decisions at the table, they still have a strong vote behind closed doors, and there is no keeping down some of the ladies when it comes to opinions. Deanna, Cash’s ol’ lady. Luna. Jas. Stella. Willow. Star, Nevada’s ol’ lady, who’s also older than him. Halo, Riot’s ol’ lady, and even Lace, Manny and Bandit’s ol’ lady—yes, they’re a throuple. I cannot deny that I don’t envy that woman, not that I’ve ever had a threesome, but being sandwiched between two hot guys who are also hot for each other, sounds like my kinda fun.
Then I remember Logan. I wonder what he’d think about sharing me with another man. He probably wouldn’t care. It isn’t like he’s bothered texting me since our night of debauchery.
So fuck him.
I don’t need him to have a good time. I have my girls, and when Luna plonks a large cocktail in front of me, I give her a grateful smile.
“You’re the best,” I say as she plops into the booth seat next to me.
“I sense a little somethin’ somethin’.” She waves a palm in circles at me, and it’s just like Luna to know when something’s up. “Spill.”
“I slept with Logan,” I blurt.
Her eyes almost bug out of her head. “What the fuck?”
“I know. It’s a long story, and he hasn’t called or texted me or done shit since,” I go on like a broken record. “So that’s gonna be nice and awkward.”
“So that text you sent me earlier about us needing to talk?”
