Visiting the clubhouse did have some perks, obviously. I can stare at Tracker when he isn’t looking, sad as it sounds, and so far I find myself doing it at every opportunity. Anna is also here more often than not, so I’m looking forward to spending more time with her.
“That works,” Tracker replies. I don’t miss the way his gaze lowers to my chest, then lower, over the curve of my thighs. The tension in the room suddenly spikes. I quickly look away and am relieved when Clover comes back into the room, books and case in hand. She sits next to me and shows me all the different coloring books Tracker has bought her. I can feel Tracker’s eyes on me, but I stay focused on her. Or try to, at least.
“I want to play a game,” Clover says after fifteen or so minutes of coloring silently.
“What a great idea!” I blurt out. Tracker smirks, clearly aware of just how tense I am around him.
“How about hide-and-seek?” he replies, glancing down at the little girl. “You go hide and I’ll come find you.”
Clover grins, and I watch her dart off the couch and into the hallway. I look back at Tracker to see his gaze steady on me. “I want to ask you something.”
“What?” I ask, pushing my glasses up on the bridge of my nose.
I shift in my seat again as he lazily peruses my body from head to toe once more, his lips kicking up at the corner. “You free after you finish up here?”
Am I free? I open my mouth, then close it. “Why?”
“I want to take you for a ride,” he says, licking his lower lip.
“A ride?” I repeat slowly. My mind jumps to dirty things.
He nods, eyes flashing with amusement. “Yes. I want to take you out on the back of my bike.”
His intense stare lets me know that this means something important. I don’t understand much about his MC lifestyle, except bits and pieces I’ve seen for myself or what Anna has told me. Excitement flutters in my stomach at the thought of my arms wrapped around him, my hair blowing in the wind. But then I think about Allie, and the butterflies exit, my stomach plummeting. This is always the issue with Tracker.
He isn’t single. Even when he says he is, he isn’t. She is always there. Sometimes on the sidelines, sometimes in the forefront, but nevertheless, there.
Why does it have to be her? Anyone but her. I am not about to share him, or any man. I want a man who only has eyes for me. A simple enough request, I’d think, but proving hard to find. The fact that I have a hard time trusting men doesn’t help either. I am one of those suffer-in-silence, keep-everything-to-themselves type of people. I hardly ever put myself out there, which is probably why I’m still single.
“What about Allie?” I ask, curious as to what his answer will be.
Anna told me he’s on and off again with her, and it’s been this way for years. To me, it sounds messy. A complication I don’t need or want, no matter how drawn to him I am.
I want him, badly. But Tracker is bad news. I think about him. I dream about him. I fantasize about him. But I keep my distance. Why? Because I’m smart enough to know that we have no future. My head tells me one thing—stay away—but farther south says something else—invite him in. I get wet just at the thought of him. He has that much control over me. The wanting, will it ever end? I sure as fuck hope so.
The reality is that he probably has that effect on most women. Including Allie—that’s why I do what I can to discourage his flirting and persistence, which is getting more and more frequent and which I’m having a harder time refusing.
Tracker scowls, a look of displeasure entering his dreamy eyes. “Allie and I are over. I’m not seeing anyone right now.”
But for how long? I don’t want to be caught in the cross fire of their relationship. While he may insist that it’s over with them, it’s clear she doesn’t think that, which suggests he’s leading her on. Why would I want a guy like that? I am worth more than that.
I am at war with myself. I can only hope and pray that my mind wins over my body.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Ummm . . .”
I don’t know what to say. The rejection is hard to form on my lips. The sounds didn’t want to come out, my body betraying me once more.
His eyes and mouth soften, as if he senses my inner turmoil. “I thought maybe you and I could—”
Could what? Have sex?
Did he think I was a sure thing?
I mean, he had to know I was attracted to him, right? I can’t stop the excitement I feel at the thought of being with him. Just thinking about his touch makes me blush and my sensuality come alive. I want to explore that side of me, with him.
Then something occurs to me. Does he want me to be his rebound girl? The thought of that hurts. As lame as it sounds, I don’t want to be his rebound, I want to be his forever girl. His wife. His old lady, as I’ve heard Faye being called.
Yeah, I’m living in a dream world. And if Tracker knew my thoughts he would run to the other side of the country. I don’t even know if he does commitment. From what I heard, he wasn’t always faithful to Allie, another strike against him. Cheating is unforgivable to me. William was the first and only cheating scum I will have anything to do with. If Tracker’s okay with sleeping around on a girl who cared about him—even if she is a massive bitch—then he’s not someone I want to waste time on.
“I don’t think so, Tracker,” I reply before he can finish his sentence, looking down as I speak. The words hurt coming out, because really all I want to scream is yes! My resolve hardens and I push those thoughts away.
“Why not?” he asks quietly. “I’ve seen how you look at me.”
Yep, he knows. Of course he knows.
No wonder he thinks I’d get on the back of his bike just like that.
He knows.
And I can’t believe he just said that. Red-cheeked, I choose to ignore his comment and point toward the hallway. “Go and find her.”
He stands, but then crouches in front of me, his hands resting on both of my thighs. “We would be so fuckin’ good together, you know that, right?”
I know. We would be. While it lasted anyway.
Then I’d be left to deal with the ramifications of giving in to him.
A broken heart.
“Yeah, but for how long?” I reply, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “I don’t want to be just another woman to you, Tracker.”
He studies me, eyes flashing. “I don’t think I’d put in this much effort for a one-night stand, Lana.”
I think about that. What am I to him? Just a game? I don’t know. I wish I could know what was going on in his head, but either way I’m not ready to risk my heart with this man. I need someone I can trust, someone who I know will be faithful and loyal to me. When I stay silent, he sighs.
“Luckily I’m a patient man,” he murmurs, sliding a finger down my cheek with a gentleness that surprises me. He stands and calls out, “You better have found a good spot, Clover, because I’m coming.”
I try and hide my grin as I watch him roam the clubhouse, looking for Clover. She must have hidden in the kitchen, because I hear laughter—his low chuckle and her high-pitched squeals—coming from there. For a second, I imagine that this was our house, and he was playing with our daughter.
Aaaand that’s why I’m a good writer. I have a huge imagination.
Shit.
* * *
“This place is huge,” I comment, walking around the clubhouse. I’ve been here before but was never given a full tour. I stop at a wall full of mug shots. “Keeping it classy?”
Tracker laughs with Clover on his shoulders. “Wall of fame.”
I look at his. “You look really young here.”
He nods. “I was nineteen. It was just for fighting. I’m not a drug lord or anything.”
“Good to know,” I reply at the same time Clover asks, “What’s a drug lord?”
I glance at Tracker with wide eyes. He stops and says, “I didn’t say that.”
“Yes you did!
”
He lifts her off his shoulders and starts to tickle her. She soon forgets her question. He nods in approval and continues walking with me outside, to the back of the large compound, with Clover holding his hand. There’s a grassy area there, and Tracker points to it. “We should sit there and have lunch.”
“A picnic!” Clover calls out. “I love picnics.”
I look to Tracker. “What are we eating on this picnic?”
He pulls out his phone. “Whatever you want.”
“Who are you calling?” I ask in suspicion. Was he getting some random woman to bring us food? I know that the club has groupies, because Anna told me about them. Apparently Rake is the one who gives them the most attention, but that doesn’t mean Tracker doesn’t. The thought makes me seriously angry.
“A prospect.”
Oh, well then.
“Prospects do lunch runs?” I ask curiously. I don’t really understand everyone’s role in an MC. I know there is a hierarchy but have no idea what it is.
“They do whatever we tell them to do,” Tracker says firmly. Yikes. That doesn’t sound like fun. Why would anyone voluntarily sign up to do that?
“How does someone become a prospect?” I ask.
He studies me. “Why are you asking? Do you want to join?”
I laugh at his teasing. “I’m curious.”
“Afraid I can’t tell you that,” he says quietly. “But I can tell you it isn’t pleasant.”
“Then why do they want to do it?” I ask.
He smiles then, and it reaches his eyes, almost blinding me with its force. “We’re a brotherhood. A family. We have each other’s backs no matter what. There’s no judgment here, only acceptance. Who wouldn’t want that?”
“I heard somewhere that the prospects have to fight to prove they’re worthy and that’s how they get accepted.”
He smiles, looking amused, but says nothing.
“How about some sandwiches?” I suggest, changing the subject. “Clover likes ham and cheese.”
“Okay, anything else?” he asks, pressing more buttons.
I ask Clover and she says she wants sushi. I think she’s been hanging around Anna too long, and Tracker says the exact same thing.
“Don’t you have work?” I ask, leaning back on my palms.
“Not today, I don’t,” he replies.
Thirty minutes later, we’re sitting on a blanket outside, enjoying the warmth and eating the sushi and sandwiches Blade dropped off. Blade is one of the newer prospects, and Anna told me Blade is his given name, not a club name, which I found interesting. Clover is playing with her dolls and drinking a juice box. Tracker makes conversation, asking me questions about myself and hanging on my every word.
“So why did you choose business?” he asks, popping a tuna roll into his mouth.
“I’d like to own my own business one day,” I say. “But it’s broad enough that I can keep my options open.”
He nods, looking at Clover. “Maybe you could open your own day care.”
Laughter bubbles out of me. “No, I don’t think so. I like kids, and they like me, but I don’t think I could run a day care or anything like that. I’d go crazy.”
“Really?” he asks, sounding surprised. “You’re great with her.”
“Thank you,” I say, ducking my head. “She makes it kind of easy. I don’t think all kids are as cool as her.”
Clover gets up to chase a butterfly, and Tracker takes advantage of her absence, lowering his tone. “I don’t think you’ll get another job as a nanny though,” he states, eyes raking over me.
“What? Why not?” I ask.
“Because you’re too beautiful,” he says with a laugh. “What woman would want you around her husband all day?”
“Faye,” I point out.
“Yeah, but Sin would never cheat, and besides, we know your character,” he says. “We all know you’re a good girl.”
“And how do you know that?” I can’t stop myself from asking.
Tracker just smiles, slowly, his eyes crinkling. “I know women, Lana. Plus Anna never shuts up about you. You’ve been around us for a while now, we’re not strangers. I know you’re a good woman.”
“Define good,” I reply to him. “There are plenty of good women who like being free and open . . . sexually.”
He nods. “I know that. Good to know that you do too. But not all women think of others in every equation. Just like not all men are good, not all women are either. I wasn’t talking about sexually, necessarily, you brought that up yourself.”
I had, hadn’t I?
“Right,” I mutter.
He glances at me curiously. “You’re fuckin’ cute, you know that, right?”
I look down at the grass between my fingers and pull out a few blades, avoiding his eyes. “Thank you.”
His compliments embarrass me, but I like hearing them and I like how they make me feel.
“Don’t thank me, thank your mother,” he teases, then lifts my chin up with his finger. “I assume you got your looks from her?”
I move my face out of his hold and keep my eyes on Clover, who is now playing nearby. “I do look like her a little.”
“I like it when your eyes stay on me,” he says quietly, which brings my gaze straight back to him. In his eyes I see the honesty in his statement. He likes my eyes on him.
“Why?” I ask.
He raises his eyebrow. “You know why. You’re right next to me, so don’t pretend you can’t feel it.”
Was he always so forward?
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lie.
He makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Don’t lie to me, Lana. The pull between us is so strong it’s only a matter of time before I’m deep inside you.”
My eyes widen. “Tracker, you can’t just say shit like that!”
“I just did,” he replies smugly. “You best get used to it. I tend to say whatever the fuck I’m thinking.”
“I’m starting to see that,” I reply dryly. “Nothing embarrasses you, does it?”
He shrugs. “Don’t care what many people think, and the ones who I do care about, take me as I am.”
I smile. “Good answer. I like that.”
“Good. Now tell me something about you that I don’t already know.”
“How do I know what you do and don’t know already?” I fire back.
He glances at Clover and replies, “Exactly. It has to be something not many people know. A secret.”
I look down at the grass, thinking. “The first time I saw you, I thought you belonged on the cover of a magazine.”
I look up to see him smiling widely. “Don’t know about that, but fuckin’ happy you like what you see. When I first saw you, I thought you were beautiful. Not my usual type, but striking with all that dark hair and eyes, petite but banging body. Innocence radiated from you. You looked to Anna, and I could tell right then how close the two of you were. You aren’t like the usual women I see around the club.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I ask quietly.
He just grins. “Yet to be seen.”
I don’t know what to say to that, but luckily Clover interrupts.
“I’m thirsty!” she says.
I hand her a juice box, helping her open the straw and stick it in the hole. “There you go.”
“Thanks, Lana,” she says, then looks to Tracker. “Uncle Tracker, Mama says you like Lana.”
Tracker chuckles, while I feel my face heat at her admission.
“Is that what she said to you? Or what you overheard?” he asks Clover.
She sighs, guilty as charged. “I overheard.”
Tracker throws his head back and laughs. “You’re trouble, Clover, just like your mom. And you can tell her I said that.”
“I will,” she tells him with wide, innocent eyes, then returns to her playing.
“Fuck, she’s cute,” Tracker says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Do you
want kids one day?”
I nod. “Sure. Two would be nice.”
“Two,” he repeats, tilting his head to the side. “I can work with that.”
Wait, did he mean . . . ?
Deciding to choose my battles and leave that comment alone, I talk to Tracker for another hour until he gets a phone call and has to leave.
When I realize I don’t want him to go, I mentally chastise myself. Keeping my distance is going to be hard, but it’s something that needs to be done.
“Do you want to go inside and read a book?” I ask Clover, packing up the blanket.
“Okay,” she replies, rubbing her eyes. “Maybe we should nap too.”
I love this kid.
THREE
WHEN I arrive at the clubhouse the next day, I’m dressed in a cuter outfit and annoyed that I put in the effort. I’d gone with my favorite pair of jeans and a strapless top, and my hair is down and brushed. Underneath my glasses, my eyelashes are coated in a thin layer of mascara and lined with a little eyeliner. I probably should wear my contacts, but I hate trying to put them in. I keep poking myself in the eye every time I try. Besides, I think my glasses suit me.
Faye is feeding Clover breakfast in the kitchen when I walk in. She looks up when I enter, smiling. “’Morning, Lana.”
“Good morning,” I tell the president’s beautiful wife, then look down at Clover. “’Morning, Clover. Don’t you look pretty today?”
She is wearing a pink princess dress and has a crown on her head. “Thank you, Lana!”
When I turn my head I see a book left on the countertop, the cover a dark gray. On it is an attractive shirtless man. I pick it up and examine it, goose bumps appearing on my flesh. “You like this book?”
Faye beams. “Yes! Have you read it? I’m halfway through and can’t put it down. Zada Ryan is quickly becoming one of my favorite authors.”
Tracker's End Page 2
