Page 56 of The Belle and the Biker

That leaves me with a warm glow for the rest of the night. And I manage not to punch anyone else, too.

When the bar closes at 4 a.m., we find bad news at the trailer. Buttercup escaped, went right through one of the screen windows.

“Let’s look for her tomorrow,” Crash suggests. “We can go back to where we found her.”

“Okay,” I say, but I don’t have much hope.

Gloomily, I go to my “book of good deeds” and erase “Rescued a dog.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Crash says. “You did rescue her. You fed her and everything.”

“No, I failed. I’m a lousy dog owner.”

There’s a cot in the trailer now, and Crash strips down and settles into it. He sleeps between the door and me. The bed feels big and empty without him there.

CHAPTER18

Crash & Savannah

Maybe there issomething to all this karma business Savannah’s always talking about—because I’ve done some bad shit in my day, and it feels like it’s all coming back to punish me now.

Lying on the cot, listening to her moan my name, is giving me a case of blue balls so bad that my whole body aches. A cold shower doesn’t help, and my right hand brings only temporary relief.

I finally drift off to sleep. I wake up stiff and sore to the sound of a ringing phone and the smell of bacon and eggs.

My stepmother’s calling, or rather, it’s most likely my dad. I regret giving her the number of this burner phone because my father has been using her phone to try to call me. His team is getting antsy about handling the “Crash” problem and worried about the optics come campaign time.

I stalk out the front door, wearing only my boxers and clutching the phone so hard that I hear a cracking sound from the protective case. The early morning air is chilly, but it does nothing to cool off the burn of my anger.

I shoot off a quick text. “Stop fucking calling me, or I’ll get a new number.”

An answer comes back right away. “This isn’t your father. It’s Barbara.”

“What does he want now?” I demand without bothering to say hi.

“Nothing. He’s not here.”

“Why did you give him this number? I told you to keep it to yourself and only use it in case of emergency.”

“He insisted.” There’s a strain in her voice that I’ve never heard before.

“Are you all right?” I ask uneasily.

“I’m fine. I was just… Your father is very anxious for this campaign to be successful.”

I snort in contempt. “I’m not doing anything to sabotage it, but I’m just not going to lie, paste on a happy face, and pretend he’s been a good daddy.”

She lets out a sigh. “I should have been a better stepmother when you were a teenager. I should have tried harder.”

“No, you tried plenty. I should have been a better stepson. My problem was with my father, not you, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” I grimace. “How are the kids?”

My three half brothers. Liam, Thomas, and Jason. Twenty-one, nineteen, and eighteen. Daddy’s perfect little family. They’re nice enough kids, although we have nothing in common. I don’t ask about them often enough.

“They’re doing very well! Jason’s just starting at Yale, Thomas is a junior there, and Liam is attending Harvard Law.” Her voice lightens as she talks about them.

“That’s great. But I really have to go. And Barbara, I’m sorry, but if Dad keeps calling about the campaign, I will change my phone number, and I won’t talk to you again until after the campaign ends. Tell him that.”

She hesitates. “Could you do me a personal favor? Could you go out on just one date with Astrid Menasco?”

---