“I can just walk,” I told him. “It’s only a few blocks.”

He shook his head, offering me a hand up.

“I’ll give you a ride,” he insisted. “Just give me ten for a quick shower.”

“All right—you want coffee or something? I can fix it while you’re in there.”

“No, I gotta get going.”

• • •

It was a long ten minutes, mostly because I’d forgotten to pee before he started his shower. The apartment looked even smaller in the daylight, and the sound of running water filling it didn’t help. One silver lining? Hard to feel horny while you’re doing the pee-pee dance, even though I knew he was naked right on the other side of a narrow, flimsy door. Took all my energy not to have an accident in my pants.

I found my phone out next to the couch, so I grabbed it, looking for a distraction. It was nearly ten in the morning. Wow. Jess had texted me about an hour earlier.

JESS: You alive? Looks like someone didnt come home last night. Painter? We should talk.

I sighed, then messaged her back.

ME: I stayed at his place but not like you think. We’re just friends. How was Taz?

JESS: Useful. He fucked me hard and then fixed the sink because it was dripping and wouldn’t stop. Now he’s cooking me breakfast

ME: Wow. Sounds like a keeper.

JESS: Im not into keepers. I’ve decided from now on I’ll just stay mentally celibate. That way I can get laid but still hold firm to my ideals. You coming home soon?

ME: Yup, just a few

JESS: Ha! You said your coming. I meant cumming. Shit, that would be funnier without autocorrect ducking it up.

“What are you smiling about?” Painter asked, stepping out of the bathroom. I would’ve answered him, but I’d temporarily lost the ability to breathe or form words. This was because he’d pulled on a pair of jeans, but no shirt. Throw in the fact that his hair was wet and tousled, and little drips of water were running down his pecs and across his abs?

Unfair. Deeply unfair.

I managed to collect myself, then scowled at him.

“Put on some clothes,” I said, pointing toward his bedroom. “If we’re going to be friends, you need to keep it decent.”

He raised a brow.

“Guys leave off their shirts all the time,” he pointed out reasonably. I crossed my arms, staring him down.

“The friend zone only works if you stay in it,” I declared. “You’re out of bounds. Put on a shirt, okay?”

He smirked at me, then swaggered into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him.

Jerkface.

• • •

Later that afternoon, I still held out hope that our new friend zone status meant I might get taken out for dinner, given that we’d missed breakfast. Then my phone buzzed.

PAINTER: Hey—I have to leave town for a week or so. Not sure how long. You can reach me by text if you want, or call if anything comes up.

MEL: Since when do we text?

PAINTER: Since I’m allowed to have written communication that hasn’t been screened by a guard first. You know, to make sure you weren’t sending me secret code messages about global domination or something in your letters

MEL: You mean you didn’t figure out the messages? But I thought they were so clear. First you get the guns, then you get the women . . .

PAINTER: No wonder the revolution didn’t pan out. Prob for the best. Knowing my luck I’d be first up against the wall.

Okay, so I wasn’t getting dinner. But at least things weren’t weird anymore. This friend zone thing wasn’t all bad.

CHAPTER NINE

PAINTER

“So tell me more about this guy, Pipes,” Gage asked, staring ahead at the highway. We’d been driving for nearly four hours, and I knew we had to be close to Hallies Falls by now. Damned good thing, too, because I was more than ready to be out of this fucking cage of a semi cab. When I suggested we set him up as a long-haul trucker, it’d seemed like a good idea. Gave him an excuse to come and go, a place in the back to sleep if he needed it, all good shit. I hadn’t been thinking about how small that sleeping space was, or that I might get stuck in it, too.

Small spaces made me think of prison.

Of course, so did talking about Pipes.

“So, he was in our block with us,” I said. “Probably about thirty years old, and with our club alliances, partnering with him seemed natural enough. He prospected when he was eighteen—Dad was a patch holder. Things started going downhill when their old president died about two years ago. Marsh was their VP at that point—he’s the president now. Seems weird that we’ve never met him at a rally or anything.”

“That’s enough to raise red flags right there,” Gage agreed. “We’re supposed to be allies, but they never come to any of our events. I knew Rance was on it, though, so I never gave it much thought. Always been a profitable partnership. In a weird way, I’m glad it came up—gave me an excuse to get away from The Line.”

“What’s up with that?” I asked, curious. Gage rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then answered.

“Guess I was bored,” he said. “Been looking for a reason to step back for a while. As fun as it sounds to be surrounded by bare ass and tits all the time, those tits are attached to a lot of fuckin’ drama. I’m burned out on it.”

I gave a laugh, because you couldn’t argue with that.

“I have a feeling that we’ll be involved here for a while,” he continued. “This situation will need watching, and I wanted a change of pace. Timing was good.”