“When? … Shit. Okay. I’ll be right there. Don’t do anything.” Preacher hung up. “I’ve got to head out. I’ve got shit I need to do.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Yeah, stay here. If Bishop comes just hang out with him.” He already had on a pair of jeans, a shirt, and his boots, which were still open. “Don’t talk to him without me.”
She wasn’t inclined to know what club business was.
He pressed a kiss to her lips. “I’m sorry I’ve got to leave.”
“Club business. I recall my parents screaming a lot of the time about him always leaving and putting the club first. It’s fine.”
“You have no idea what is first to me.” He cupped her face, kissing her hard. “Don’t overwork yourself today.”
Within seconds he was gone, and she stared at the empty space where he’d been.
Pushing the blankets off her body, she padded across the bathroom and climbed into the shower. Her body still felt so alive from last night. She closed her eyes, and still felt the way his hands touched her body. Caressing over her breasts, down between her thighs, until she got to her pussy.
The memory was so clear, so vivid, it wiped away all trace of their very first time together. Not that there was a whole lot to remember from the first time. She’d been honest with Bishop that it was more a feeling the day after and a vague, blurry awareness of what happened. Nothing guaranteed.
Last night was the true night she had lost her virginity.
After finishing in the shower, she gathered her clothes, throwing them into the laundry bin before heading to her own room, to change.
As she was pulling up a pair of sweatpants, her stomach chose that moment to growl.
She went straight to the kitchen, putting a pot of coffee on, and then looking through the fridge for anything to eat. One of the few recipes she did know how to cook, and only because Preacher told her, was pancakes.
Bishop arrived as she was frying them up.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said.
When he tried to kiss her, she quickly dodged his touch and started to serve up pancakes. “Are you hungry?”
“Yeah, sure. Starving.”
“Good. I’m glad you brought your appetite.”
“Where’s my dad?”
“Why would you ask me where he is?”
“Because you’re home and I’m not? Why are you acting weird?” Bishop asked, frowning. “Where did you go last night?”
She looked at him. “I got a headache, drove home. How did you get home?”
“I used my bike.”
“Your keys are in the dish beside one the cabinet by the door.” She poured some warm syrup over his pancakes before taking a seat herself.
She didn’t want to look weird, but already she’d snapped at him.
Great, Robin, just great.
“What happened to you last night?” she asked. “I came back from the bathroom to see you’d gone.”
Bishop paused and took his time to chew his pancake. She wondered if he’d lie to her.
He kept on chewing, and she was almost anticipating the lie that would fall from his lips.
“I headed outside, you know, had a couple of smokes with the guys, that kind of thing.”
“Okay.” She wouldn’t ask him about what she saw and what she knew; there was really no point in asking him.
He’d either lie about it, or not say anything, or blame her in some way.
“What are you doing today?”
“I’m going to relax. Watch a couple of movies. I’m beat. You?”
“I’m going to work on my bike, unless you want to fool around? I’m up for that.”
She forced a smile to her lips. “I’m sure you are. Not today. I’ve got homework as well.”
“You’re always doing freaking homework.”
She let him have his mood.
That’s the guilt. When are you going to let him realize he’s the one that fucked up many times? He couldn’t keep it in his pants.
There’s no point, I don’t want him. I’ve never wanted him.
Even the first time she realized he was sleeping with other women, it hadn’t bothered her. She’d wondered many times over the years why she didn’t care until she realized the truth: the only reason she didn’t care was because she loved him but wasn’t in love with him.
“You want to join me in my homework?”
“Nah, I’ve got more important things to do.”
“You do realize it’s more important to graduate than fix your bike?”
“I’m not going to need to graduate. Not with me joining the club, remember? I’m eighteen now. I’ve a right to sign on as prospect and earn my patch.”
“Is that what you want?
“Yeah, it is.” Bishop pushed his chair back and left the room.
She stared at his empty plate. He wouldn’t even take his dish into the kitchen.
“This is his handiwork?” Preacher asked, staring at the body of one of the women who worked for him. She’d been reporting to the club from the moment he put the word out he was hoping to find any dirt on O’Klaren, and right now, he stared at the bastard’s evidence. He had a couple of eyewitnesses who had given O’Klaren’s description. The only problem, the witnesses were addicts, and none of them would be taken seriously.