Page 2 of Whiskey Throttle
“Yeah, Dom hasn’t been out of his hole in forever,” Em chimes loudly and dramatically. “Like a damn vampire, never seeing the light of day.
“I will end you, Emilio,” Dom deadpans. The guy could do so without being bothered.
“Vampires don’t live in holes, idiot,” Massimo corrects him.
Going over 90 mph, Em turns to flip him off, only to receive double birds fired back at him. Massimo almost swerves into his brother. Em shoves his foot toward Massi’s bike, which is a terrible move, nearly getting it smashed or cut off.
Neither of them thinks. It’s just action and reaction, all the damn time. I shake my head, watching them fight. This is the good shit. Not the galas, the fake smiles, the mothers shoving their daughters at me. Not the Morgan name that drapes around my shoulders like a custom-tailored cape.
Just my bike.
My brothers.
And a stretch of road that doesn’t ask me to be anything but me.
“If you nut brushes want to know, I was helping put away my professor,” Dom mumbles unexpectedly.
I turn to look over my shoulder at him. Still content to be at the back of the formation. He doesn’t gesture. Doesn’t flash me any signs. Just rides.
“Wait, is that true?”
For once, the twins are silent when I ask.
“Yeah, Diego and I.”
Diego drops back by Dom. Everyone has partnered up, except me. I feel a bit left out. Not by the formation, we trade places constantly throughout the ride. He got Diego involved instead of me, Dom’s oldest friend. I try not to sound butthurt, but I sort of am.
Why him?
The question burns my throat like cheap whiskey, bitter and unwanted. I push the throttle a little harder, feel the bike surge beneath me. It doesn’t help. I’m still stuck on the image of Diego and Dom working side by side.
The two quietest guys in our crew, now bound by some dark shared mission. I realize their chem degrees bring a shared interest and commonality, but fuck . . . Dom didn’t call me once.
Me.
The one who risked talking to the moody bastard while getting high. The one who opened the door to this friendship. But I guess even shadows find each other in the dark.
I don't want to be jealous bitch, but I am. Not just of the time they spent together, but of the closeness it built. Like they’ve got something between them that I’m not a part of. Fuck that, I know I’m the glue to this group.
“You good, Holli?” Diego’s voice cuts into the comms again.
He's back by my side, easy and chill, like he didn’t just throw my heart in a blender. Not on purpose. He’s not that kind of guy. Which somehow makes it worse.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just vibin’.”
“You sure? You’re riding stiff.”
His concern sounds genuine, but now I feel like a moody bitch for being in my feelings.
“Just wishing it was summer,” I add, fake chuckling.
It’s another lie.
I won’t be able to ride with these guys much over the summer.
That bothers me.
Everyone goes their separate ways except for Dom and me. He usually stays at school, haunts that out-of-town mansion of his, or holes up in the apartment building he owns. The twins are always gone, flying to God knows where and doing God knows what. They always come back with outlandish stories and a new STD.
