“Someone’s in a good mood,” Mary teases, bumping her elbow against mine.
I grin, smoothing the wrinkles out of two twenties the last customer left behind. “Well, yeah. We’re making money hand over fist tonight.”
“We sure are, but that’s not what I meant.” She fills up two more pints, pushing them down the counter to a pair of ladies celebrating their wedding and dissertations. Just thinking about that makes me want to drink, but good for them. “You walked in that door with a smile on your face.”
I guess there’s no hiding it. Whenever there’s five seconds of downtime, my mind drifts back to kissing Micah. How gentle she was, despite the fact that I could see the desire written in every inch of her body. She didn’t push. She savored me.
I’ve never had anyone treat me like I was worth waiting for. Sex is great, but a lot of people assume bi girls give it out like candy.
“Yup.” Mary’s voice crashes through my train of thought. “That smile. Want to tell me what happened?”
My blush would put a five-alarm fire to shame. “So you might have been right about that ride of mine.”
“Ride?” Charles—Charlie—swings in from the far tables, setting down twenty different glasses. How he balances them all at once, I’ve never managed to figure out.
Charlie is the other bartender on Mary’s staff, although it’s usually not busy enough to need both of us unless it’s ladies’ night. He gets to be the only gentleman in the room, but far as I can tell, he gets a kick out of it, and our regulars always ask about his boyfriend.
With a casual lean against the counter, he looks me in the eye. “I haven’t heard about any ride, Ms. Arjean. Spill.”
“Her name’s Micah. She’s...” How do I even describe her? Definitely not as a werewolf. Biker might give off the wrong impression. I’m taking way too long to answer this question and both of them are staring at me. “...new.”
“She’s six foot plus in leather,” Mary adds, helpfully.
Charlie’s eyes shoot wide. “Does this mean you got rid of what’s-his-name?”
Right, he has no idea. “Yeah, I broke up with Andrew. It was pretty awful. He’s pretty awful.”
“Well, I knew that from the moment we met.” Charlie and Andrew only crossed paths once. He came over to drop off my purse after I accidentally left it at the bar, but thinking of that night makes me wince. Andrew had stared at him like a total creep. “Even shea butter couldn’t fix that dried-up stick of a man. You deserve better.”
I realize that now. If only I had before everything got so nasty. “Does it make you feel better if I say I’m working on it?”
He grins. “I’ll feel way better if you tell me more about this Micah. Got a picture? Is she on Insta?”
Come to think of it, I’m not even sure Micah has a phone. “No, unfortunately. And we’ve been a little too busy for pictures.”
I realize how that sounds the second Charlie gives me a fondly scandalized look. “Well, then! Off to a good start.”
“I didn’t mean it like, um—” We definitely made out naked in the middle of a lake last night. I have no excuse. “I can tell you what she looks like?”
Delight shines in his dark eyes. “Oh, please do.”
“Like Mary said, she’s really tall. And could probably bench-press the back table.” Or maybe her motorcycle, but humans don’t usually do that. I don’t want Charlie to think I’m making stuff up. “White hair, hazel eyes. Likes to take me around on her very nice bike.”
“And she hasn’t been around here before?” He gestures at the crowd of women packing the bar. “Sounds like she’d fit right in.”
“Micah pretty much only hangs out with her club,” I say.
Charlie’s mouth forms a curious “o.” “You need to specify what kind of club. Mary said leather, so I’m making assumptions.”
My face hurts from how much I’m blushing. “Motorcycle club. Not BDSM.”
“Guess it makes sense you’d go for a rebel after running around with Mr. Straightlaced.” He sees someone waving for a drink, and stands upright. “Duty calls, but I have so many more questions for later.”
Business is good, which means the last few hours of my shift fly by. By the time Mary signs me out, I’m exhausted, but at least my wallet is full for the first time in weeks. I scan the crowd near the door, looking for Micah, but I don’t see her. As a rule, she’s pretty hard to miss.
With a quick glance at my phone, I check the time. “Five minutes past. Weird.”
Maybe she had to fill up the tank on her bike or something.
I wait another five minutes, and worry starts gnawing a hole in my stomach. Joking about Micah’s lack of a phone seemed funny earlier, but that means I don’t have any way to contact her if something goes wrong—for either one of us. The worry bites deeper, turning into a restless sort of anxiety, and I duck out of the bar, hoping to see her bike coming down the road.
Micah is right outside on her motorcycle. Relief douses me before I realize the reason why she didn’t come in to find me.
A uniformed cop is standing by the side of her bike, trying to look her in the eye. My whole body freezes up. Andrew is Highway Patrol, but any kind of badge makes me want to sprint the other way.
Did I get her in trouble? I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have—
“Listen, I’ve got to get inside,” Micah says. “You want to buy your own model, go see the Harley folks twenty minutes down the road.”
“I just might do that.” The cop smiles, but he looks as nervous as I feel. “You have a good day now.”
As he leaves for his squad car, I inch forward, caught between the fear of being seen and the notion that Micah could get arrested on the spot. Once the cop is out of sight, her head whips around, immediately meeting my gaze.
“Hey.” Tension pulls her brow tight. “Sorry I’m late. Uniform was fishing for a ticket.”
“Oh.” That’s terrible, but I breathe a little easier. “What an asshole.”
“It happens a lot.” Even on the bike, she’s tall enough to lean over and press a kiss to my cheek. “Don’t worry about it, okay? We’re fine.”
There’s a we. The words are a shock to the heart, but so viscerally comforting, like I should have known from the very beginning.
I nod and get on the bike with that pleasurable buzz spreading through my chest. Micah knocks the kickstand up and looks back over her shoulder at me. “You hungry? I thought I could take you out somewhere. Just the two of us.”
My teeth edge against my lip. “Like a date?”
She smiles. “If you like.”
Micah doesn’t strike me as the type to go out on a lot of dates, so I jump at the opportunity. “Definitely. Where are we going? The shake place again?”
“No, I want to get something we can carry.”
With a smooth rumble of the engine we’re off, the wind stealing away any chance I have to ask what she means. It’s hard to mind when I can hold Micah close, letting work and every other stress fall behind me like exhaust. If it wasn’t so dangerous, I could drift off here and now.
We ride for about an hour before Micah pulls over to a little shop on the side of the road. It’s made of rich red clay, blending in by the nearby mountain, but any businesses within a stone’s throw of Sedona have to: local law says so. A few wooden tables are strewn around outside, but they’re clearly meant to give anyone ordering beer a place to stand more than anything else.
“The food’s really good,” Micah says as she climbs off the bike. “Alejandra sneaks out here for takeout like once a week.”
The menu is pretty straightforward—everything starts on a handmade tortilla and goes from there—and it smells delicious. It’s been a while since I’ve dropped by to see Mom, much less cooked with her, but watching the food get made hits me with a wave of homesickness.
I wonder what she’d think, seeing me here with Micah.
She and Dad didn’t have much of a reaction when I came out of the closet, but I know it’s one thing for your daughter to say that while dating a supposedly nice young man, and another thing to be with a woman riding hell-bent for leather.
Micah orders chilaquiles, and I hold in a laugh. “That’s supposed to be for breakfast, you know.”
“What’s wrong with breakfast for dinner?” She pauses, clearing her throat. “Now I know why Alejandra smirks at me every time I get this.”
Oh, she’s way too fun to tease. The fact that she lets me tease, rather than taking it as a knock to her pride, is nice too. Something about seeing a person who could throw a motorcycle get flustered is unbelievably satisfying.
I get some enmoladas to go, and chat with the woman behind the counter in Spanish while our food’s being made. It’s nice to have the excuse—Andrew always got in a weird mood when I swapped languages on the phone—although her eyes keep averting toward Micah.
“¿Qué pasó?” I ask.
“No, nada.” Her lips purse. “No vino a causar problemas, ¿verdad?”
Here’s where I hope Micah won’t understand a word I’m about to say. “Para nada. Es prácticamente una cachorrita.”
That earns a surprised laugh, but the cook visibly relaxes, and it’s not long before Micah and I have hot boxes of food. They’re wrapped up, put into her saddlebags, and we’re back on the road again.
This time we don’t go quite as far, but Micah diverts off the road and into flat desert, taking us to a cradle of red rock that’s tall enough to hide the bike—and us. She takes out the food with one hand and pulls out a tightly folded blanket with the other, letting it fall and snap open in the air. I don’t recognize the pattern on the fabric, but it’s pretty.
Micah offers the blanket to me. “Put this wherever you want to sit. Then we can eat.”
I choose a spot close to the rocks and out of the wind. It’s late enough to have cooled down, so I sit down close to Micah as she pops open the boxes, handing over my enmoladas and a plastic fork. My mouth waters, and I tear out a bite dripping with mole and cheese before I can even think about how hot it is.
Ow.
Worth it.
“Good?” Micah asks. Her bite is twice the size of mine, but she doesn’t seem to have any issue with it, humming in delight as the taste settles. “Mine is.”
“It’s great.” I’ll give the rest a second to cool off, though.
“I thought about taking you somewhere fancy, but...” She frowns. “Doesn’t really matter if I can pay the bill at places like that. They always make it clear I’m not welcome.”
“This is way better, trust me.” It definitely qualifies as the most informal date I’ve ever been on, but great food under the stars is downright cozy compared to a crowded restaurant where it’s hard to talk, and I’m checking my makeup every twenty seconds to make sure it hasn’t smudged. “But does this mean we’re, uh, dating?”
Micah goes quiet, suddenly focused on her food.
“I don’t know what that’s like,” she admits softly, brow tense. “I mean, in theory, sure. But I have no idea what you’d want out of that, or what it means to you.”
Well, that’s...honest. So honest that it throws me for a second, but my shoulders relax. I would much rather get told the awkward truth than have someone telling me whatever they think I want to hear. It’s a vulnerable thing to do, and Micah doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who bares her heart with any kind of ease.
“Because I’m human?” I ask.
“Because I don’t date,” Micah clarifies. “Being out here like this? I’ve never done it before. Just seemed like the right thing to do.”
That’s good to know, although I can’t deny my curiosity. “Have you done anything with anyone else before?”
She smiles, small but genuine. “Figuring out I was gay was the easy part. I kissed a girl for the first time when I was thirteen, and I fooled around a bit when I got older. But it never went anywhere. I didn’t really want it to either. There was nothing pulling me closer.”
I’m retroactively super embarrassed about telling her we weren’t going to have sex at the lake. She hasn’t slept with anyone. Just because someone is dripping with sex appeal doesn’t mean they’ve actually gone all the way. “And now?”
What changed? What made her want me, when she never wanted anyone else this way before? I’m human, and I’m a total mess in comparison. Not to sell myself short, but I wouldn’t blame anyone for not wanting to pick up so much baggage at once.
Micah sets her food on the far edge of the blanket. Well, the box—it’s already empty. “I don’t want to scare you.”
I put mine away too. It’s fantastic, but I’ll survive if it turns into leftovers. “Because it’s only been a few days? Or something else?”
“Because you’re the first thing I think about when I wake up, and the last thing I think about when I go to sleep.” Hazel eyes stare deep into mine. All that intensity, no filter, makes me shiver. “Because the first time we kissed, I thought—there it is. This is the feeling I’ve been waiting for. But I don’t know if you feel the same. I don’t trust myself not to look for something that isn’t there.”
My heart aches. It’s not pain exactly, but a longing so sharp and twisting that it’s hard to tell the difference. “I kissed you back, Micah. I feel the same. At least... I think I do. I keep telling myself not to rebound on you, that I should wait and think things through, but I don’t want to. I want you and this, whatever it is.”
She leans closer. Only an inch, but that subtle movement makes me so much more aware of the heat of Micah’s body, rolling off her in waves. I can’t get over how strong she is, practically larger than life. It could have been intimidating, but honestly it just makes me want her more.
“Can I kiss you again?” she whispers.
“God, yes.”
Micah doesn’t hesitate, her lips finding mine, open and eager. I clutch at her shoulders because she’s not close enough, and she lets me move her, light as air, as if she’s not the most powerful person I’ve ever met. The kiss gets rougher, hotter, and when Micah growls deep in her throat, I realize how much she’s been holding back.
My nails scrape slow, light lines up the back of her neck, and Micah shudders. She nips at my mouth, and I’m happy to return the favor, only to let out a light moan when her tongue soothes the ache, warm and gentle.
“You feel so good.” The words are a low rumble against my mouth, yet I feel the subtle vibration like a long caress down my spine. “Just...tell me if you want to stop.”
“You too,” I whisper. “Even if you’re some cool and in-charge alpha, that doesn’t mean you can’t say no.”
She pauses, but the look on her face reads as surprise rather than repulsion. “I’m more worried about making a fool out of myself.”
That I can work with. My first few times were a fumbling mess, so the easier I can make it for her, the better. In fact, it’s kind of hot to be the more experienced one. “Then how about I show you the way?”
Micah lies down when I push against her shoulders, muscles taut under the thin fabric of her shirt. I straddle her hips, and the sight of her under me is such a rush it leaves me dizzy. We kiss again, quick and messy, and her hands slide up my back, one slow caress from hips to head. Then back down again, just as careful, like worship.
“You can take my shirt off,” I whisper.
“Okay,” she murmurs, fingers slipping under the hem.
Micah’s touch leaves hot trails along my skin as I duck through the tangle of fabric, quickly abandoned to the blanket. She leans up when I do the same to her vest and tug up her shirt, immediately indulging myself with a brush of my palm against the solid core of her abs, muscle flexing taut at the contact.
“Do you even do, like, sit-ups?” I ask.
She frowns, confused. “No. I don’t need to.”
That is absolutely cheating, but I can’t complain when I get to have my hands all over her and enjoy every second of it. Micah kisses down my jaw and lower still, seeking the pulse in my throat before her teeth scrape against it. I gasp, knees pressing in against either side of her hips, and get an idea.
“Wait a second,” I say, breathless. “Let me move.”
Micah relents just long enough for me to shift my legs, straddling her thigh instead. That part of her is damn solid too, and even the brief friction through my leggings is enough to send a thrill of pleasure through my nerves. She notices, one hand gripping my hip hard enough that I bite back a groan.
“You like that?” With a smile, I lean down to kiss her again. “Soon enough, you’ll feel how hot I am for you.”
“I already can,” she growls back.
Good.
I slip my hands around her wrists—as best I can—and guide Micah’s hands to my breasts. Taking off my bra in the middle of the desert doesn’t sound like the greatest idea, but that doesn’t stop her from exploring, slow caresses becoming a bolder squeeze as I occupy myself with her mouth. Every time I roll my hips, the friction gets sweeter, and Micah’s touch gets more insistent, starting to wander: my back, my waist, the curve of my ass.
It feels incredible. I’m the one who said no sex, but I’m already starting to regret it, and there’s a limit to how far heavy petting can go before Micah might as well be in my pants. Can it really be a bad idea when she’s so eager?
I slide my body a bit higher, wanting to be closer and ease some difference in height, only to bump against something hard and round in her pocket. The unexpected contact draws a short moan from my throat, and I blush. The sound was straight-up wanton.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “You’re carrying around something heavy.”
Micah goes very, very still. Still enough that I pull back to see her face, which has gone from super into what’s happening to something far more conflicted. Except I don’t have the first clue what’s going on.
“Micah?” My hands settle on her shoulders, away from anywhere more distracting. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” The tension bleeds away from her face, but what’s left behind is far more distant. “I just realized how late it is. I shouldn’t stay away from the pack for long.”
That’s fair, but the change was so sudden, I can’t help but think something else passed me by. “Sure thing. Can you hand me my shirt?”
She grabs it from the blanket, folding the shirt right side out first before offering it to me. The gesture is so instinctively polite I want to kiss her, but something made Micah hit the brakes. I’m not going to rush right back in.
I get to my feet on slightly shaky knees, ignoring the throb of heat between my thighs that hasn’t gotten the memo. Without her body against mine, it’s actually pretty cold, so I don’t complain when Micah rushes to put away the food and blankets before starting up the bike.
As she leads us back to the road, I play that moment over and over in my head, trying to figure out what caused the switch. There could be a hundred reasons for it—from her confession, we were in uncharted territory anyway—but the shutdown was so complete, when seconds before, Micah had been pulling me closer like she never wanted to stop.
I hope she’s okay.
With my cheek pressed against Micah’s shoulder, I let my mind drift, watching the road around us melt into darkness.