Page 33 of 12 Months of Mayhem

With one arm still looped around my neck, she grabs a small bag, winks at Juniper, and then her hand slides down, teasingly brushing over my belt buckle as she tugs me toward the front of the bus.

“George, I’m heading to get cleaned up. Don’t wait up,” she calls over her shoulder.

George chuckles. “As if I would.”

He gives me a knowing smirk as we step down the stairs and into the cool night air. She lets me go, but I immediately take her hand in mine.

“Which way to the bathrooms?” I ask.

She nods toward a dimly lit block of buildings ahead. “Over there. It’s usually fine, but now and then, some drunken idiot stumbles in, thinking he might get lucky… or try to cop a feel.”

I laugh. “So, you really wanted a bodyguard?”

She nods, her voice playful. “Yep.” Then, quieter, she adds, “But maybe you could guard my body inside the cubicle?”

As we walk toward the block, her hand warm in mine, my mind drifts. I don’t even know her name. It’s crazy. Most people start with that, right? But with her, it hasn’t mattered. From the moment we crossed paths, everything felt different. She’s got this energy, this wild spark that’s impossible to ignore. There’s something about how she moves, talks, and teases like she knows she’s got me hooked, and she’s enjoying every second.

And damn, I like it.

I glance at her from the corner of my eye. The way the moonlight catches in her hair, and her lips twitch into that half-smile when she knows I’m watching, there’s a freedom to her, a recklessness that pulls me in, makes me forget everything else. I’m supposed to be thinking about my club, the next move, keeping everyone in line. But when she’s around? All that fades into obscurity.

This one feels different and I’m in deeper than I probably should be.

We reach the shower block, and she stops, turning to face me, her fingers still loosely intertwined with mine. “You good out here?” she asks, but a teasing gleam in her eyes sends heat surging through me.

I smirk, shaking my head. “You really think I’m staying out here?”

She bites her bottom lip, playful and tempting, before pulling me toward one of the cubicles. My heartbeat kicks up a notch, and I follow because I can’t resist her.

Inside, the air is cooler, the faint hum of water dripping from a nearby faucet. She drops her bag onto a small bench and turns to me, pressing her body against mine. For a split second, I forget everything—where we are, who I am. It’s just her—this woman who has me completely unraveled.

The truth is, I don’t care. Not tonight.

Moving closer, I lean in to kiss her, and she pulls back.

“Hang on a minute.” She reaches into her bag, pulling out a bottle of Jack Daniels. Without hesitation, she tips it back and takes a swig, her lips curving into a mischievous smile as she hands it to me.

“Liquid courage?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

With a soft laugh, she shakes her head. “More like a breath mint for both of us.”

I can’t help but chuckle as I take the bottle, swishing the whiskey around in my mouth before swallowing it. The burn is familiar, but there’s something about this moment that makes it taste a little sweeter. Turning back, I shut the door behind me, locking us in. She extends her hand for the bottle, and I pass it over without a word. With a grin, she drops it back into her bag, the sound of glass clinking against her things, then steps back, her eyes never leaving mine.

She kicks off her shoes, one after the other, and with a smirk that makes my pulse quicken, she says, “Take a seat.”

Leaning back against the cool tile wall, I fold my arms. “I’m not really one for spectator sports. I prefer to play.”

Her grin widens, eyes flashing with that wildness I crave. She takes another step back, but her gaze stays locked on mine, a silent challenge hanging in the air between us. That’s the thing about her—she’s always testing how far I’m willing to go. And every time, I’m more than willing to find out.

With a sigh, I finally give in and sit on the bench, stretching out my legs. “You know, at some point, you’re going to have to tell me your name.”

She gives me that playful smirk again, the kind that’s always got something behind it. “You can call me whatever you like.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Hellcat?”

Laughter spills out of her, the sound light and free, and she nods. “I like that.”

“For now, Hellcat it is.”

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