Page 8 of Burly Biker of Misty Mountain

I gripped the steering wheel and tried to keep my gaze focused straight ahead. But I still caught myself stealing a quick glance in the rear-view mirror as the Rusty Elk Tavern faded from view.

I pressed my lips together, silent. Maverick had promised to call tomorrow. Would he actually do it? Or would he ghost me like so many other men on dating apps did?

It seemed too good to be true. I was still partially convinced the whole thing had been a dream and I needed to pinch myself in order to wake up.

“Turn the car around,” Bristol declared. “I’ll get his number for you.”

I laughed, shaking my head.

“No, I’m not doing that.”

“Fine. I’ll get his number for myself.”

“Bristol!”

“What? That five o’clock shadow would leave beard burn on my thighs for days.”

Heat flushed up my neck. The laughter died in my throat, replaced by a bitter taste in my mouth.

For years, I’d heard stories about the men that flocked around Bristol like bees to honey. She was rarely single, and never for very long.

Even though I grappled with a little jealousy over it, in the end, I was happy for her. Bristol was gorgeous, charming, and accomplished. It really wasn’t surprising that men fell in love with her so easily.

Bristol and Maverick would make an incredibly attractive couple…

I shoved that thought to the back of my mind. Merging onto the highway, I headed for the airport. Under normal circumstances, I would have been eager to spill every detail to Bristol. But for some reason, I didn’t feel like sharing.

Maybe because it didn’t feel real. And I didn’t actually expect Maverick to call. So, I didn’t want to get my hopes up. If I told Bristol that he had my number, she would pester me endlessly for information. It would be humiliating to tell her that I never heard from him again.

Besides, Maverick and I weren’t dating or hooking up. Technically, we weren’ttogetherin any sense of the word.

Use me as your practice run. So when the right guy comes along, you’ll know what to do.

He was teaching me how to flirt. That was all. Nothing more.

Bristol wouldn’t understand because she had started dating when she was fifteen years old. I was twenty-seven and I didn’t know what it was like to be kissed. I never had the guts to tell her that, even though I had a feeling she already suspected it.

“Relax, sweetie,” Bristol said. “I was kidding. I wouldn’t take your man.”

“He’s not my man,” I countered.

“I know. That’s the problem.” She sighed wistfully. “But he could have been.”

“Okay, now you’re just being dramatic.”

“At least tell me you got his number,” Bristol protested.

I winced and glanced at her. She rolled her eyes.

“Did you give him your number then?”

I directed my gaze back to the road, saying nothing.

Bristol hummed, intrigued.

“So it seems there’s a silver lining after all. When you have nasty, filthy sex, I better hear every dirty detail. Don’t leave anything out.”

“That’s not happening,” I replied, amused.

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