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Shade’s Lady (Reapers MC #6.5)
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New York Times bestselling author Joanna Wylde returns to the world of the Reapers Motorcycle Club…
Looking back, none of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t dropped my phone in the toilet. I mean, I could’ve walked away from him if I’d had it with me.
Or maybe not.
Maybe it was all over the first time he saw me, and he would’ve found another way. Probably—if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that Shade always gets what he wants, and apparently he wanted me.
Right from the first.
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“Did you get my text?” Sara asked, pushing through the office door. I’d just finished tying my apron around my waist, and was leaning toward the cracked mirror on the wall for one last makeup check before punching in.
“No,” I replied, frowning. “Dropped my cell in the toilet this morning. I called the phone people. They said I didn’t have any insurance, so I’m fucked. I put it on Future Me’s list of things to worry about.”
Sadly, Future Me’s list got longer every day. She was supposed to pay our credit card bill, figure out whether we should break up with our boyfriend, and find a better place to sleep than my sister’s couch. She also needed to lose ten pounds and magically fix the rusted-out Kia Sedona currently broken down in my sister’s yard. Present Me would’ve felt guilty about dumping all this on the poor thing, but I only had three minutes left to punch in and start slinging drinks for drunken bikers, so it would just have to wait.
Yup. I’m organized like that.
Studying my reflection, I ran an eye down the length of my body. Tight tank with a hint of bra showing? Check. (Nothing like some boob action to bring in the tips. Not only that, Rebel had said he’d be here tonight, and he always liked seeing the girls.) Lipstick was bright and shiny, no smudges on the teeth. More eye makeup than I’d usually wear, but ever since I’d started hanging out with Rebel’s biker friends, I’d kicked it up a notch. Made me look wild and sexy. Not gonna lie—I liked this new me. I liked her a lot. I guess if there was one good thing about my sister’s life falling apart—and me moving to Violetta to help with the kids—it was that it’d forced me to change my life, too.
“Shitty about the phone,” Sara said. “No pun intended. I got stuck washing glasses this afternoon. Now my hands are all chapped. We were so busy that I didn’t get to take my break, so I couldn’t run out to pick up some lotion. Was hoping you could bring some in with you.”
My fellow waitress ran a hand through her blonde hair, then gave it a shake. Her impressive rack shook at the same time, and I sighed, feeling a little jealous. Sara’s girls were big and bountiful. No push-up on earth could ever make my modest rack compete. Still, my jeans were tight, my bra was red, and I’d recently run fresh out of fucks to give.
Life could be worse.
“I wish I had your tits,” I told Sara.
She laughed. “I wish I had your butt. Just think of it—we could form one perfect waitress and turn into an unstoppable tip-earning machine.”
I giggled. “So where do I fall on the slut scale?”
Sara studied me thoughtfully.
“I think right around a seven,” she said, nodding in approval. “Slutty enough to make bank on tips, but not full-on club whore. If it’s your goal to make Rebel horny as hell by the end of your shift, you’re right on target. We gotta get out there, though. It’s gonna be a crazy busy night. We’ll work our asses off but at least we won’t be bored.”
“Works for me,” I said, giving her a wink in the mirror. “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s being bored. Although Rebel better watch himself. I caught him groping some other girl last night while he thought I was in the stock room. He keeps that shit up, I don’t care how horny he gets—he’s on his own.”
Sara raised a brow. “You think he’s cheating?”
I turned to her, shrugging unhappily.
“I don’t have anything solid,” I admitted. “But something feels off to me. I mean, he’s a huge flirt—we all know that.”
“Most of them are.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “So it’s hard to know how much of it’s just him being him or if there’s more going on. He’s been acting weird, though. I don’t know… I guess I’ll figure it out sooner or later. You know what’s really lame?”
“I feel like a total bitch saying this, but in some ways I think I’d miss riding with his club more than I’d miss Rebel. If we broke up, I mean.”
“There’s a whole bar full of bikers out there,” she pointed out. “And don’t think they haven’t noticed that cute butt of yours. Rebel’s a fun guy, but if he turns out to be a dick, it’s not like he’s your only option. Hell, you could just buy your own motorcycle. There’s no law saying only men can ride—Rebel’s club is just a bunch of weekend warriors. Real clubs like the Reapers may be all hardass about women as members, but there are riding clubs for girls, too. Those Ladies of Harley seem to be having a pretty good time. They certainly party enough to keep up with the boys.”