I unlock my front door and let myself in, feeling silly in my corset and garter belt. I layered as much sexy as I could beneath my leather riding clothes and then drove out there like an idiot. At first, I told myself I was going just so I could get the truth out of Royal about Sully, but then … I guess I imagined that I'd leave his truck there, that he'd drive me home on his bike, that we'd …
I take a deep breath as I close the door behind me and run my fingers through my hair. Last night, Royal was claiming me. I felt it. And well, I think I was laying my own claim on him, too. I let him inside of me without a condom and I haven't taken birth control anything in forever. Like I said, random sex isn't really part of my everyday. I plan sex, map it out, prepare for it.
And now what?
First thing's first. I dig around in yesterday's grocery bags until I find the morning-after pills I bought, taking one with a glass of water and praying that its eighty-nine perfect effectiveness at preventing pregnancy will apply to me. I really can't be in the other eleven percent category—especially since I'm really not looking forward to having an STI conversation with a physician, Royal, or anyone else.
I sit down hard on the edge of my couch.
This isn't like me at all. I'm going crazy here. I do everything by the book. I wouldn't even give my last boyfriend a blow job until we both got tested.
I'm coming unhinged—and it's all because of Royal McBride.
My stomach twists into a knot as I glance at my cell, hoping that at some point today, he'll call me back. I can understand why he doesn't want to see me, but what the hell happened last night? I thought we were done and then he came back to me. I even came out of my bedroom to find that he'd locked my front door for me.
Royal and me, we get along so well, have so much chemistry. If he wasn't an MC president, I'd say we were a match made in heaven. Right now though, this sure feels like hell.
I lean into the cushions, my phone tucked tight in my hand. I still have Royal's keys and his truck, so the asshole can't avoid me forever. If I have to, I'll drive over to his house myself, and we can talk. We might not work as a couple, but I can't pretend I'm not feeling anything at all. If he hadn't come back here last night, I would've been able to force myself up and into a gray skirt suit, headed to the office and buried myself in work.
Now?
Now I'm dressed in leather from head to toe with a purple corset hiding underneath, my hair hanging in loose waves around my shoulders. I'm still Lyric, but I'm different. It's subtle, but I can feel it, like a tiny spiderweb crack spreading across my psyche.
You can't just do that to someone and then walk away.
I stand up, snatching Royal's keys off the counter and heading for the door. I've made up my mind. If he won't see me, then I'll just wait him out. He broke into my house—twice—so I don't see any problem with breaking into his.
One way or another, this all going to end tonight.
I'll make sure of it.
Fortunately for me, I have a good memory when it comes to directions. If I've been somewhere once, I can get there again as long as I have a familiar starting point. I don't know what Royal's address is, but I'm confident I can figure it out.
I take a deep breath and sweep my hair over my shoulder, grabbing the iPod I found in the center console earlier. It's already plugged in and loaded up with several playlists. I pick the happiest, most upbeat one I can find and start down the road, trailing the coast and enjoying the golden glint of the California sun on the surface of the waves.
The song “Underdog” by the band You Me At Six plays loudly over the speakers as I weave my way north, flickers of memory from my first motorcycle ride bright and vibrant against the forefront of my mind. Despite what I told him, I really did love it. It might sound cheesy, but I felt like I was flying, like I was weightless. Like I was free.
I suck in a deep breath and try not to think too hard about that. I am free already, right? Right?
My eyes stray to the speedometer, to the careful positioning of the needle two miles below the speed limit. That's me, Lyric Lenore Rentz, always safe and slow and steady. There's nothing wrong with that, not really, but … I push the gas down a little harder, enjoying the easy acceleration of Royal's truck.
When I roll the window down and smell the salt of the sea, I can almost forget that I'm nervous about going to an outlaw MC president's house and letting myself in without his permission. At least his dogs like me, right?
I stay on the same road for a couple of miles and then realize that the houses are starting to look less familiar, taking a sharp right at the next corner and circling back around until I recognize a cute little seaside cottage that we passed yesterday. It's only once I get on that road that I realize somebody's following me.