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  Hook shot Striker a look over Marcie’s shoulder that was none too friendly. The other man held up his hands in a pose of surrender as if to say, “she’s all yours.” But she sure as hell wasn’t his. Shit, he hadn’t even seen her in at least a decade, and here he was acting like a caveman in front of his best friend.

  “You didn’t exactly get hit with the ugly stick yourself, Hook.” Marcie smiled and he swore he spied an answering desire in her gaze.

  “Hey!” Striker’s hands flew to his hips. “What the hell, woman?”

  Marcie laughed, the sound stroking Hook’s dick like a soft palm. “Sorry, Striker. You’re very sexy, too.” She patted Striker’s cheek, her tone like she was placating a jealous child. Damn, it was good to see her.

  Striker nodded with a pacified smile and Hook had the urge to smack the grin off his smug face. Striker appeared to relish Hook’s discomfort. Bastard.

  “So, what are you doing here, Marce?” Hook asked, falling back to the old nickname they’d called her as kids.

  “Her mom died,” Striker answered for her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, babe. I know you two weren’t exactly close, but it still sucks.”

  “Thanks, Hook.”

  “Anything I can do?” He couldn’t tear his attention from her gorgeous face. The same mesmerizing eyes and enticing lips he’d lusted after when he was young only grew more alluring with age. He needed to snap out of it before people started to notice him acting like a bitch in heat.

  “There is,” she said with a smile. “You can join me and Striker for a drink, or ten, as he put it.”

  “That, I can certainly do.” A drink, and if he was a lucky son of a bitch, maybe something more, because Marcie wasn’t a kid anymore and he’d wanted her for far too long.

  Chapter Three

  Marcie kept her focus on Hook as he pivoted, snagged the attention of the bartender, and ordered another beer for himself. Her eyes fell to his ass, encased in snug low rider jeans, and she was afraid she might actually start drooling.

  Shifting her stance, she felt the telltale dampness in her panties. Apparently, Hook still did it for her. Never had she had such an instantaneous physical reaction to a man. Trying to be discreet, she glanced down and noticed her now-hardened nipples were faintly visible through the fitted black blouse. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. The lights were dim and the crowded space made it difficult to get a good, assessing look.

  When she lifted her eyes, her gaze locked with Hook’s, who, full beer in hand, had turned back to face her. Marcie froze, unable to tear her focus away from the heat in his eyes that told her he knew exactly what she’d been staring at.

  Her back was to Striker, and luckily, he seemed oblivious to the sexual lightning strikes that now crackled between her and Hook.

  Striker broke the spell, choosing that moment to sling an arm over her shoulders and tuck her against his side as he lifted his beer. “To long overdue reunions,” he said.

  “And to growing up,” Hook added with a wink for Marcie.

  She smiled and clinked the neck of her bottle against each of theirs. “And to sexy bikers.”

  Both men laughed which made her smile, and they chatted for a few minutes, filling her in on the motorcycle club, and regaling her with horror stories of their time as prospects for the club.

  A lightness Marcie hadn’t experienced in a very long time floated through her. Being with these two as they bantered back and forth, teasing her and ribbing each other, went a long way toward chasing away the loneliness that had plagued her for the past few years.

  “So, Marce, fill us in on you. What are you up to these days? What are you doing for work? I love the hair.” Hook fingered a short lock of her hair. Her mind immediately imagined him sliding his hands through it and guiding her head as she sucked him deep. Oookay, not time for those thoughts. She swallowed and tried to focus on his questions.

  “Oh, I…uh, I sell drugs.” She smiled to herself and waited for the reaction that never failed to disappoint.

  Striker choked, and slammed his beer down on the bar while Marcie wacked him on the back.

  A dark and thunderous expression rolled across Hook’s face. “What the fuck, Marcie?” He practically yelled, but the sound was swallowed up by the rowdy bar patrons.

  With a laugh, she made sure Striker could breathe before addressing Hook. “I’m a sales rep for a major pharmaceutical company. I visit doctors’ offices and medical clinics, educating them on our products.” She couldn’t keep the shit-eating grin off her face. This felt so good, so familiar.

  “Christ, woman.” Hook shook his head. “Point to you for that one.”

  Striker mock glowered at her. “I forgot you could give as good as you get.”

  “By the way.” She turned to Hook. “How much do I owe you for the beer?”

  The glower he gave her had her barking out a laugh. “Please, woman. No way are you paying for the beer.”

  She frowned. Not acceptable. She wasn’t a weak girl who needed to be taken care of anymore. And she wasn’t a charity case. “I pay my own way. Always.”

  Hook cuffed her gently under the chin. “Not when you’re out with us, you sure as fuck don’t.”

  She rolled her eyes. This was why she hadn’t called them when she arrived in town. Their need to protect, to take care of her, to take over her life. For six years, from the time she was ten until her mother moved them away at sixteen, she’d taken no responsibility for her life, allowing them to do just about damn near everything for her. Not anymore. “Really, Hook, I insist.” She dug a five-dollar bill out of her back pocket and held it toward him.

  “Noted.” He winked at her as Striker snorted under his breath.

  Since he obviously wasn’t going to take the money, she shoved it down the front of his shirt. She rested her back against the bar and raised a challenging eyebrow.

  Hook burst out laughing. “Okay, Miss Independent, you win that round. But don’t think I won’t find a way to get this back to you.” He winked and moved closer to her, stretching his arm across the oak behind her. His hand lightly cupped the bare skin of her upper arm. The skin of his palm was warm and strong, callused and arousing, not like Tanner, whose hands were the soft hands of a tax attorney who detested physical labor.

  Tanner.

  Shit! He had to be back from the restroom by now.

  She straightened and searched the thickening crowd, but couldn’t see past the bodies to get eyes on their table. Seconds later, her gaze landed on the face of a very irritated Tanner as he wormed his way through the throng, straight toward the reunited trio.

  How the hell could she have forgotten about Tanner? Jesus, she’d come over to the bar to grab him a beer. Instead of returning to him with it, she stayed at the bar, lusting over Hook, and drinking Tanner’s entire beer. She just had this feeling the guy wasn’t above making a scene in public, especially given all the alcohol he’d been putting away. If only the moron had shown his true colors a few days ago, she’d have dumped his ass. It would be over and done with.

  The last thing Marcie wanted was for Tanner to get aggressive with Striker or Hook. Not only would she be mortified by the public display of manly tantrum, but she had no doubt that either of her old friends could annihilate him with minimal effort.

  Please don’t let it come to that.

  Tense once again, the relaxed feeling of reminiscing with old friends obliterated by the scowl on Tanner’s face, Marcie tried to shrug out of Hook’s embrace. She took a step forward, but his sizable hand tightened around her arm. His hold didn’t hurt, not in the least, but it was firm. The message was clear. He had no intention of letting her go. Ugh, this train was on the fast track to shit town.

  Hook became aware the moment Marcie tensed next to him. She had been relaxed, lightly leaning into his body, and joking with him and Striker like no time had passed. Catching up with her was the most fun he’d had in quite a while. The feel of her lithe body pressed against him, even i
n such a platonic way had him thinking all sorts of dirty thoughts.

  Then, like the flip of a switch, she grew rigid under his arm. He peered down to find a look of dismay on her pretty face. What was that about? Glancing up, he couldn’t miss the angry male shouldering his way through the happy drinkers, a look of fury on his pretty-boy mug.

  Marcie attempted to maneuver away from him, but Hook wasn’t having that. There was no way he was letting whoever this asshole was upset her.

  The man caught Striker’s attention as well. Striker stepped in front of Marcie, blocking the bastard’s path before he was within grabbing distance of her.

  Ten minutes in her presence and the two of them were falling back into old habits of standing between Marcie and the evils of the world. It felt good. It felt right.

  “Get the fuck out of my way, dude.” The man snarled at Striker.

  “Not gonna happen, dude.” Striker stood in a loose pose, meant to deceive the world into thinking he wasn’t a lethal fighter.

  “You do not want to get in between me and my woman.” The idiot was up in Striker’s face now.

  About four inches shorter than Striker, he was lean and athletic looking, but his physique was the type honed on the racquet ball court or golf course as opposed to Striker and Hook whose muscles came from working on bikes and MMA training.

  Hearing the guy call Marcie his woman surprised Hook, and he looked down at her with a quirked brow. She looked like she wanted to sink into the ground, face red with embarrassment and eyes pleading.

  “Please, Hook, it’s okay. He’s here with me,” she whispered.

  It didn’t escape Hook’s notice that Marcie didn’t call him her boyfriend or any other possessive label, just said they were in the bar together. “Bro, Marce says he’s cool.”

  Striker turned gauging for himself whether that was true, but he moved slightly, letting the man see Marcie.

  Partly because he enjoyed the feel of her, and partly because provoking this guy gave him a thrill, Hook didn’t release her. Instead, he stroked the ball of her shoulder like he had every right to his hand on her.

  “Hey, Tanner. I came to get your beer, and ran into some friends I haven’t seen since I moved away.” Marcie’s voice was light and breezy. “This is Striker.” She pointed at Striker. “And this is Hook. Striker lived next door to me growing up and Hook is his best friend.”

  Hook didn’t care for the phony cheerful quality in her voice. So what if she didn’t get this overgrown baby’s beer to him when he snapped his fingers? The dude should be getting his own damn beer, and Marcie’s.

  He and Striker both nodded at Tanner, but neither moved to shake his hand. Tanner didn’t seem eager to get friendly either, blatantly ignoring them and focusing on Marcie.

  “Let’s go, Marcie. Billy’s taking a piss then we’re gonna bug out. I’m tired of this shit bar. Hell, I’m tired of this shit town.”

  “Sure, okay.” Marcie looked at Hook and raised an eyebrow. He supposed that was code for time to let me go.

  After he released her, she hugged Striker. “So good to see you, Dylan.” She stressed his name and Striker smiled.

  “You too, TJ,” she said in a low tone as she slid her arms around his waist. Christ, he hadn’t been called TJ in almost as long as she’d been gone. The name sounded nice on her lips.

  He wrapped his arms around her in an embrace that was too familiar for just an old friend. Her soft breasts pillowed against his upper stomach, the pebbled nipples searing him like two lasers. His cock twitched in his pants. There was no way Marcie could have missed it; it was like a live animal clawing to be free. She stiffened slightly but didn’t give any other indication as to the intimacy of the hug.

  Hook kept his focus over her head, glaring at Tanner, whose jaw was clenched. He slid his hands down her back, resting them just inches above her ass. Tanner’s jaw ticked, but the pussy didn’t seem to have the balls to do anything more.

  Striker cleared his throat and Hook backed off. The game was fun, but not if it would cause trouble for Marcie after she left.

  Releasing her, he bent down and whispered in her ear. “You okay with this guy, gorgeous?”

  “Yes of course. I can’t tell you how good it was to see you. Sorry we didn’t have longer to catch up.” She gifted him a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was not the same woman he’d been talking to five minutes ago. She was a tense, uncomfortable version of the typically vivacious Marcie, and Hook didn’t care for it at all.

  She didn’t leave him much of a choice, so Hook stepped back and watched her walk away. Tanner moved in next to her and wrapped his arm around her upper arm in the same spot Hook had his hand just seconds before.

  Hook met Striker’s stare and wasn’t surprised to see anger reflected at him. “What the fuck was that, brother? Looks a little bit like you were trying to mark some territory that ain’t yours. Only thing you were missing was the leg lift.”

  Hook shrugged. “Didn’t like the asshole. Come on, you can’t tell me you didn’t notice the change in her when he came over.”

  “No, I noticed it.” Striker frowned. “Think we should follow them?”

  “Nah, she’s a big girl. She can go out with whoever she wants.” Hook turned toward the bar. He needed a fuckin’ drink.

  Striker snorted. “So says the man who looked at her like he was a junkyard dog and she was a juicy steak.”

  More like he was a horny man and she was the woman whose brains he wanted fuck out. No need for the analogy. When he didn’t reply, Striker laughed.

  “Jack,” Hook said to the bartender. “Double.”

  Chapter Four

  Marcie stood in the dingy bathroom of the only motel within tens of miles of Crystal Rock. Her hometown itself didn’t boast any lodging, so they were forced stay outside of town, in the Tortoise Inn, an old ramshackle motel with six drab rooms and zero amenities. Unless you counted the ability to rent a room by the hour an amenity.

  With the scratchy, cardboard-quality motel towel tucked around her body, she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She rubbed the cracked mirror in a circular motion, clearing the steam. The woman staring back at her had tired eyes and a sadness that spoke to how lost she was feeling. Though they weren’t close, her mother’s passing only exacerbated the feeling. The woman in the mirror hadn’t felt right in a long while and seeing Striker and Hook last night clued her in to why.

  She was lonely. Bone-deep lonely.

  Sure, she had friends, but she was lonesome for family. For people who knew her. Really knew her—good, bad, and ugly. None of those people were in Seattle. Even after ten years of living there, she hadn’t made strong, lifelong connections. Her own fault. So focused on fostering her independence, making a life for herself, and being self-sufficient, she managed to alienate virtually everyone she met.

  Striker and Hook already knew her flaws, secrets, fears. They had lived the unpleasantness with her, and cared for her anyway. But they’d coddled her for years, and she didn’t need that anymore. Didn’t need anyone to run her life. Somehow, she had to find a balance of relationships, both platonic and romantic, and independence so she could begin to develop a social life and find some contentment.

  She cringed at the reflection, her eyes locking in on the three new finger-shaped bruises ringing her right upper arm.

  It was no mystery to Marcie why Tanner had grabbed her in the same spot as Hook. He may have held her in the same location, but that’s where the similarities ended. Whereas Hook’s large, callused hand felt warm and arousing, Tanner dug his fingers into the delicate skin of her arm with a force that had nearly made her stumble. She’d barely been able to tolerate the pain long enough to leave the bar without a scene. No doubt, had Hook or Striker noticed, a brawl would have broken out, and that was the last thing she wanted to deal with after such an emotionally draining day.

  Not to mention she didn’t need them to fight her battles. She’d shoved out of Tanner’s hold
and gave him hell in the parking lot, at least until his friends emerged from the bar. He was quiet and contrite on the taxi ride to the motel. She’d been prepared to pick up where she left off and tear him a new one when they arrived at their room, but he’d been dead asleep after she made a quick trip to the bathroom.

  Her boss had introduced her to Tanner at a company barbecue; the two men had been roommates in college and remained close friends. She chatted with him for a while at the party, found him mildly interesting and his GQ looks appealing. He was flirty and sweet and by the end of the party had asked her to dinner. At the time, she’d thought he could be a good place to start. Go on some dates, make some new connections. See where it led.

  Marcie really didn’t date very much. The only example of man-woman relationships she’d been privy to growing up were beyond dysfunctional. Cash for sex and abusive drunks. Not exactly Disney movie love. Striker’s home life was pretty on par with hers, but he’d been older and better equipped to handle it, and she’d never spent much time around Hook’s family.

  More than one john had beaten her mother, stolen from her, come on to Marcie, and generally treated her like shit. As a result, Marcie had a hard time trusting people, particularly men and tended to avoid close relationships with them. It was no mystery as to why she’d become so fiercely, and admittedly over the top, independent.

  She’d only slept with two men in her twenty-six years, Tanner being the second. For a few weeks, she’d hoped Tanner could cure some of the solitude that seeped its way into her life, but that was turning out to be not the case at all.

  He wouldn’t care beyond the ego-bruise associated with being dumped. Heartbreak wouldn’t be an issue since there wasn’t really any substantial emotional connection between them. After only a few weeks, the L-word hadn’t even crossed her mind, and she’d bet money on the fact that he wasn’t nervously awaiting the right time to profess his own love.

  Tanner pounded on the paper-thin door, and Marcie jumped so hard she nearly dropped the abrasive towel. “Unlock the fucking door, Marcie.”