“Sorry, this bimbo has brains,” she says and pushes my head away. “Is it possible you’re being a little dramatic about the party?”
Is it possible? Sure, it is possible. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. The fact that Tracie is asking me if I think I’m being dramatic tells me one thing—she likes Jeremy. She’s been defending him and the cocksucking queen for weeks now. This is how it has always been with us. When we were kids, if Tracie had a toy, I wanted it. If I had a new bike, she wanted a new bike. It was all fun when there were enough Ken dolls to go around, but now it’s becoming a problem. I admit to having developed a brief crush on the first baseman of the high school’s baseball team back when Tracie liked him, but it was fleeting. He’s a nice guy and all—he just doesn’t do it for me.
No, I’m an idiot who falls for men in worn leather who have sex in public places.
CHAPTER 14
January
15 months to Mancuso’s downfall
Just as we round the corner behind the library and are about to step into the school’s back parking lot, I see his familiar Harley off to the side. It’s old and a little beat up, but Jeremy loves that bike, and I don’t blame him. I have a lot of good memories of that bike. But that’s not what I should be focusing on right now.
Diesel is across the lot near the entrance, resting against the side of his bike waiting, telling me that there’s been some kind of mix-up in the schedule today. I feel like a kid who has to choose between Mommy and Daddy in the divorce. I guess if that’s the analogy I’m going with, then Jeremy is Mommy because he’s a huge bitch.
There is an annoying, distracting giggle coming from behind us. Tracie’s face hardens as she turns around. It’s maybe half a second before I turn around, but by the time I’m barely catching the sight of the leather vest, Tracie’s already trying to block my view and drag me in the opposite direction. I won’t be moved, though.
I look back, wishing I hadn’t. Jeremy has a girl whose name I don’t know pushed up against the lockers, with one of his hands on her hip and the other pressing against a metal locker beside her head. His body is leaning into hers, keeping her in place. I can’t see either of their faces, but their actions and intent are unmistakable. Flashbacks of that night in the clubhouse slam me from all sides. I’ll bet he’s going to get laid. She’ll give it up easily for him because he’s Jeremy and he’s on his way to being Forsaken. And maybe it will break her heart, or maybe she won’t give a damn. But it doesn’t matter how she feels. I’m too consumed with my own humiliation at thinking he and I could have been something to care if she’s going to be the next one he hurts.
From here, it looks like he’s trying to inhale her. They’re kissing pretty hot and heavy for being on school grounds—especially since he doesn’t even go here anymore. And all I can think is that he is a serious fucking asshole, and if he likes inhaling things so much, maybe he should inhale his own dick. It’s not like he has no idea that I could see him, but he doesn’t care.
The girl runs her hands down his arms as she leans in and presses her body against his lower half. She lets out a breathy sigh and giggles again. And I want to smash her fucking skull into the metal locker behind her head. What a stupid bitch. It’s not like he’s saying anything charming or trying to woo her. All he’s doing is shoving his tongue down her throat.
Not that he’s so bad at it.
Still—asshole.
Tracie tries to gently guide me away from them, but I can’t help myself. I can’t help but hate her even though she’s likely to fare no better than I have.
“Come on,” Tracie whispers. “This is what I’m talking about. You’re so upset, and it’s not like you’re together.”
I don’t move. I want him to know I’ve seen it. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Aunt Ruby over the years, it’s this: Forsaken men are tough, but Forsaken women are tougher. Old ladies are expected to handle shit that nobody else can or would be expected to. They have to be both a raging bitch and know their place. I don’t want to be someone’s old lady, but I don’t know what else I’d be, then. I grew up with the club and all it means. I know better than to talk about club business, and I know the score if any of the brothers gets busted. Having a little taste of what it’s like to be with a Forsaken man, I don’t think I’m cut out for life with a civilian. Honestly, I don’t think they’re going to be able to handle my temper tantrums. Grady tantrums are something special. Even if I don’t want the heartache of being with a biker, I don’t know anything else.