Page 41 of Riding Dirty

“You should be,” he quips.

I roll my eyes a second time, then lift my hand to my forehead. Closing my eyes, I inhale through my nose, then let my breath out of my mouth. I cannot believe this conversation is happening.

But it is happening.

“I’m not.”

Alex doesn’t say anything immediately. Instead, he clears his throat. I watch as he reaches for his beer and brings it to his lips. My attention shifts toward the front door. I wait for Cake and Wrath to walk through at any moment. I’m not sure how long this little meeting between them will last.

My Coast.

All I wanted to do was eat some food, enjoy the fact that Alex and Coast had sorted their stuff out, and then have sex again. And trust me, I was ready for the sex part. Like, really ready.

It’s all I can think about, actually.

Except that the excitement and anticipation have fizzled quite a bit

I would have been okay with him ripping off my clothes and having me right here on this table at one point earlier in the evening. Truly, all I wanted was for Coast to touch me, to kiss me, to consume me.

But now… I want to feel like I’m his.

And being introduced to Cake, sitting here at the table with them, I felt anything but his.

I can’t help but wonder if he’s completely embarrassed by me. Maybe because I’m a cleaner, maybe because I’m not one of those women at his club. I won’t ever be one of them. I won’t look like them, I won’t act like them. I am myself, and that’s all I can be. I don’t have huge boobs or bleached-blond hair. I don’t wear skimpy clothes.

So maybe he is actually embarrassed by me…

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

ELODIE

When twenty minutes pass, then thirty, the drinks at the table are now warm, and I decide that I’m done for the night. Coast isn’t coming back. He’s got the key to my place, but he’s probably locked up and is gone.

Standing from the table, I lift my hand and call over Bonnie, the waitress. She’s been getting busier as the night progresses, and I’m sure she’d like us to get the hell out of here so someone else can sit down and spend some more money.

She hurries over to me, the bill in her hand. Reaching out with my card, I don’t even look at the tab. It doesn’t matter. She gives me a wink, then takes the card from me and turns right back around, heading to the back of the bar.

Alex thankfully doesn’t say anything to me. I’m not sure I could handle it right now, jokes or otherwise. I shift my attention from Bonnie and focus on the front door. I’m not sure relationships are worth feeling this way.

The highs are great, but the lows? It’s really depressing. All I want to do is go home and slip into bed. I want to forget this ever happened, and if miracles could be worked, I would love to forget Coast altogether at this point. And that is dramatic, I know, but still, the last thing I ever want to feel is like I’m not good enough.

I’ve lived my whole life being a second thought and just plain not good enough. I don’t want to be that way as an adult. I want more for myself. And I thought Coast could give me that.

Maybe because of his age, maybe because of the way he didn’t seem to have an issue with showing me affection in his clubhouse, in front of his guys.

But that was an illusion.

Because clearly, he’s just like all the others. And selfishly, I hate that. I wanted him to be different, and I wanted the way I felt to be real. I wanted more. My tongue snakes out, sliding across my bottom lip as I try to keep myself from crying.

Bonnie returns, clearing her throat as she thrusts the little plastic tray toward me with my card, a pen, and the receipt. Shifting my attention from the door to her, I take the plastic tray from her and turn to the table.

Flicking my gaze to the receipt, I press my lips together. I didn’t order with the intent of not paying my fair share, but I also didn’t think about how much it was all going to cost. I groan at the sight of the bottom line, then again when I add the tip.

“You good?” Alex asks.

He’s standing behind his seat, his hands gripping the back. He’s watching me, and I hate the expression of pity on his face. I wish I could slap it off. But that would be stupid, because I’ve earned that pity.