Tracker's End Page 5

  I slowly relax, going limp on his lap, resting my back against his front.

  “Good girl,” he croons. “Now this is what I wanted to say to you yesterday. I took Allie away and told her off. One, she doesn’t speak to you like that, ever; two, Clover was right there, and Faye will eat Allie for fuckin’ breakfast if she heard. We spoke, and then she left. That’s it, all right? I don’t want Allie to give you shit, and I’m trying to handle it.”

  I don’t know what to say. I’ve never verbally told Tracker I wanted to be with him, but apparently that doesn’t matter to him. What is happening right now? Is this his way of courting me? I blink slowly, trying to process things.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks, sounding a little amused.

  “I don’t understand what’s going on here,” I blurt out. “We can’t be anything more than friends, Tracker.”

  He turns me so I’m facing him.

  Why the man looks entertained I have no idea. “Did you just friend-zone me?”

  I sigh heavily. This right here is the problem. This is all a game to him, but to me, this is my heart on the line. “Why do you have to be so difficult?”

  He chuckles, his body shaking. I hold on to him so I don’t fall off his lap. “I’m the difficult one? You want me; I want you. It’s simple. The result should be you in my bed, and me in yours. You’re the one fighting it, not me. I’m more than ready to embrace the fact that we’ve been attracted to each other from the moment our eyes met.”

  I puff out a breath, irritated. “Are you always so . . . so . . . ?”

  “So what?” he prompts. “Sexy? Charming?”

  “Annoying,” I spit. “Are you always so annoying?”

  “Annoying because I’m calling you out on your shit?” he asks with a sexy smirk. “Most women want a man who knows what they’re thinking.”

  “You’d have the experience to know,” I mutter under my breath.

  “All the better to please you with,” he instantly replies, gently cupping my cheek with his palm. “Lana, you feel this. I know you do; I know I can’t be fuckin’ making up this thing between us. Tell me why you’re pulling back; tell me so I can fix it. This shit is driving me fuckin’ insane.”

  He makes it sound so easy, but it isn’t.

  It’s complicated.

  “Tracker,” I sigh, letting my hand run up his neck. “Of course I want you,” I admit quietly, my cheeks flushing at the admission. “But we want different things.”

  His blue eyes darken, lids lowering. “Tell me what you think it is that I want from you.”

  Talk about putting me on the spot.

  “Ummm.” I breathe. “Sex. Lots of sex.”

  And I’m not opposed to that.

  Not at all.

  He licks his lower lip, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “I want that, yes. What else?”

  I shrug. “That’s it, I guess.”

  “I see,” he says slowly, eyes lifting to mine. “Let me tell you something, Lana. I know you don’t want me to bring up Allie, but I want to explain something. With her, I rushed into shit without thinking. I was desperate for something I didn’t even want from her, something she couldn’t give, because she wasn’t you. She was easy, and easy didn’t work for me. Our relationship was based on sex and convenience—harsh, but that’s the damn truth. Good things don’t come easy; I know that now. I can be patient, take shit slow, because I know you’re worth the wait.”

  “What do you want from me, Tracker?” I ask. I feel like he isn’t telling me anything new. He isn’t telling me his end game.

  “I want you. For as long as you’ll have me.” His face is serious, more serious than I’d ever seen him.

  “Tracker—”

  “And you know what else?” he adds, flashing me a lopsided grin. “I know that you’re eventually going to give in. And when you do, it’s going to be fuckin’ perfect. So my dick can wait for you, Lana, because it has your name written all over it.”

  My mouth drops open at that last comment, which he of course decides to take full advantage of, surprising me with a kiss. His mouth is soft, perfect. Delicious. Forgetting everything and anything, I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back. I’ve wanted this kiss for so damn long, and to finally have it . . .

  It felt like Christmas morning.

  His hands wander down my back and land on my hips, gripping tightly, urging me on. Feeling bold, I let my tongue explore. He moans into my mouth, sucking and nipping on my bottom lip before pulling away. Groaning in protest, I pull his head closer to me, but he still lets his mouth leave mine.

  “Lana,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead. I let my head fall against his chest.

  “Why did you stop?” I protest.

  He chuckles softly. “Because you said we can only be friends, remember? Friends don’t kiss like that.”

  I want to slap him.

  I lift my head and narrow my eyes on him. “You’re such an asshole.”

  “Hey, it was you who slipped in your tongue, not me. I was making it as friendly as possible,” he jokes.

  Definite asshole.

  I squirm on his lap, trying to get off him, while he tries to hold me in place.

  “Keep squirming,” he says. “Feels good.”

  I instantly stop.

  I can feel his hardness through his jeans, but I’d been ignoring it, pretending it wasn’t there. But now, as we both stare down at it between us, it becomes the huge elephant in the room.

  And it is huge.

  I’ve been with two men in my life, and neither of them had felt this big.

  “That’s quite a weapon you’re packing,” I exclaim, cringing as soon as the words leave my mouth.

  Yes, I just said that.

  Why do I have to be so awkward? I should just stick to writing and never use my mouth again.

  Well at least for words. My mouth could still do . . . other things.

  Tracker simply laughs. “All for you, Lana.”

  If that were true, I’d be the happiest woman in the world.

  * * *

  Tracker ends up staying over for the next few hours, just hanging out and watching TV with me.

  “You kind of look like her,” he says, nodding at the TV screen. We are watching Smallville reruns, and he is referring to the stunning woman who plays Lana Lang. “And you share the same name.”

  My eyes widen. “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m serious,” he says. “Petite, dark hair, porcelain skin, and stunning features.”

  I still don’t see it, but the compliment feels nice anyway. “Well, you don’t look like Clark Kent,” I say, pausing. “More like Thor.”

  He chuckles at that and mumbles something about having a hammer.

  When he casually slides his arm around me, leaning it on the back of the couch, I pretend I don’t notice. When he goes into the kitchen and makes us a snack, I feel amused. It’s like he feels at home anywhere, always comfortable and confident.

  I wish I could be like that.

  When his phone rings, I’m snugged in the crook of his arm.

  “Hey,” he says, then replies with, “Yeah, okay. Give me ten. Yeah. ’Bye.”

  Lowering his head, he says, “Gotta go.”

  He kisses my forehead, then walks to the front door, calling out for me to lock it.

  And I’m left sitting there contemplating.

  Is it possible for me and Tracker to have a relationship after all?

  FIVE

  YOU made up an Ed Sheeran drinking game?” I say into the phone, blinking slowly.

  “I did,” Anna yells, making me wince. “I drank every time he sings the words me and I. I’m drunk, Lana. Drunk.

  Druuunnnkkkk. Will you come and pick me up?”

  I smirk at her slurring voice. “Me and I, huh? How many songs did you get through?”

  “Not many,” she replies cheerfully. “Oops. Almost fell over.”

  I love Ed Sheeran.


  “Lana, why didn’t you come out? You need to get laid. I know it’s been a while, but it’s like riding a bike.” She pauses. “But the bike is a penis.”

  I start laughing at that.

  “I’m hungry too,” she continues. “I wonder if any sushi places are open right now.”

  I walk to my kitchen countertop and grab my keys. “Where is Arrow?”

  He didn’t usually leave her side unless he had to.

  “He’s on a run,” Anna says, sighing heavily. “I’m standing outside of Rift. Rake’s inside, but he’s hooking up with someone.”

  Typical.

  “Are you busy? I can catch a cab,” she says. “I told Arrow I wouldn’t leave alone though.”

  “Give me five minutes,” I tell her, and hang up.

  Rift is a bar owned by the Wind Dragons MC and is pretty close to my house. My mom is at the hospital, where she works as a nurse, and I am home alone on my laptop. The call from Anna was unexpected at this time of the night, but not unwelcome. Anna had invited me out, but I’d declined. I didn’t know Arrow was away on a run, and I didn’t want to be a third wheel. I also had a book I needed to finish. After Tracker left my house the other day, I was surprisingly inspired, and the sex scenes I wrote were hotter than ever. Looks like a kiss from him was just what I needed.

  I didn’t plan on getting out of the car, so I didn’t bother to change out of my black track pants and white tank top. Sliding my feet into ballet flats, I grab my purse and get into my car. Ronald, my beat-up old Honda, sits next to my new car, a black Hyundai Tucson. The seat covers are a hot pink that make me smile every time I see them. Making sure to drive the speed limit the whole way, I find a parking spot and pull out my phone to call Anna. When she doesn’t pick up, I groan and try again.

  Nothing.

  I’m about to get out of my car, dressed properly or not, when she calls me back.

  “Where are you?” she asks in greeting, slurring her words slightly.

  “Parked.”

  She cheers. “Which car are you in?”

  “The Tucson.”

  “Okay, we’ll be right there,” she says before hanging up.

  We?

  Guess Rake needs a ride too.

  Wrong.

  When I see Anna and Tracker walking side by side to my car, my eyes go big. He looks good. His blond hair is loose and sitting on his shoulders and he’s wearing dark jeans with a shirt rolled up at his wrists. Matched with biker boots, the chain hanging from his wallet, and his cocky grin, the man exudes power and sexuality. Has it only been two days since he was at my house? Has he always looked this good? I marvel at my self-control for having ever denied him. The man is a god. Ever the gentleman, he opens the car door for Anna before sliding into the front passenger seat, flashing me a grin and leaning forward to kiss my cheek. I can faintly smell a woman’s perfume on him, making me grit my teeth.

  “Fun night?” I ask, forcing a smile.

  “Just got better,” he replies, then turns his head to look at Anna. “Made her drink some water, help sober her up.”

  I turn to look at her too. “How you feeling, Anna Bell?”

  Her eyes are closed.

  And then she starts snoring.

  Tracker bursts out laughing, slapping his palm on my dashboard once.

  I narrow my eyes on him. “No need to beat up my car.”

  His mouth twitches. “Sorry, baby.”

  Baby?

  That is new.

  And I don’t know how I feel about it. The man has me confused, lost, and drowning. I want him—I don’t want to want him, but I can’t stop. I am a shipwreck, and he’s the storm. I can see him coming, but I still don’t move out of the way.

  I start the engine and look straight ahead. “Where to?”

  “Clubhouse,” he says. “You can sleep there too.”

  “And why would I do that?” I ask, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. “I’ll drop you and Anna off and then go home.”

  “I don’t want you driving alone,” he states. “So you’re staying. You’re safe; don’t worry. It’s not like it’s just going to be you and me alone there, there’s always someone at the clubhouse. We can grab some food, and by the time we get back Rake will probably be there anyway, and he sure as fuck won’t be alone.”

  “That’s just what I want to see,” I reply. “A live show starring my best friend’s brother.”

  Is that meant to make me feel more comfortable? I guess Rake is a safety net to me in some ways, because I already know him, but I don’t want to see him in his element.

  “You won’t see anything,” he says, smirking. “Just the audio. ‘Ohhhhh, Rake . . .’ ”

  I giggle. “Seriously, there is something wrong with you guys.”

  “You only live once, Lana,” he says. “You have to enjoy it, otherwise what’s the point? No regrets.”

  “Grab every day by the balls?”

  He laughs. “Exactly.”

  “I suppose I could try that.”

  His outlook on life is infectious. He always makes the best out of every moment, every situation. I wish I could be more like him in that aspect.

  “You can start by staying at the clubhouse tonight.”

  Why did he want me to stay there so badly?

  “And if I say no?” I cross my arms, challenging him.

  “Then I’ll just make you.”

  “Unfortunately for you, there’s something called free will,” I reply, flashing him a dirty look.

  “Yeah, but I’m bigger than you. I can carry you with one hand, so you have to do what I say.”

  “Bossy,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Not bossy,” he replies. “The boss.”

  “You wish.”

  “This what you wear to bed?” he says, and I turn in time to see him staring at my chest. I’m not wearing a bra, because I don’t really need one. My breasts are small, but I’m fine with them. They’re perky and easy to manage. My ass, on the other hand, is large and round. I try to contain it, but the thing has a mind of its own. I am a petite girl at five foot two inches, and my backside looks like it belongs on someone with a different frame.

  “Yes,” I reply, shrugging, feigning nonchalance.

  “Christ, woman. You look sexy in anything,” he says, sliding his large hand over my thigh.

  I slap it away. “Tracker!”

  “Lana!” he replies mockingly. “You seem tense. I think you need a few hours of fucking. Some orgasms would do you some good. Let me help. Fuck the friends-only shit. Literally.”

  Is he drunk?

  I nod my head, agreeing with him. “You’re right. Maybe I’ll find someone to take care of that for me. There are a few guys at school who’ve asked me out.”

  Suddenly it feels like all the air is sucked out of the car.

  I look at Tracker, whose blue eyes are steady on me. “You touch anyone, they die. I didn’t take you for a bloodthirsty woman, but so be it.”

  I roll my eyes at his dramatics. “So, what? I have to stay celibate until you decide you’re sick of chasing me, while you get to fuck your way through the female population?”

  “Who said I’m fucking anyone else? I’m not asking you to be celibate. Trust me, that’s the last thing you’ll be, it will just be me in your bed every night.”

  I squeeze my thighs together.

  “Will Allie be joining us?” I ask him in a dry tone. It is only a matter of time before they are back together again. They’d been playing this game for years, and I refuse to be caught in the cross fire.

  I hear his teeth grinding.

  I’m annoying him? Good, the feeling is mutual.

  “I prefer not to share, but if that’s what you want,” he finally says in a tone that I don’t appreciate.

  “I think I’ll pass,” I say, exhaling deeply.

  “How did you afford this car?” he asks, effectively changing the subject. “Faye give you an advance or something?”

&nb
sp; My fingers tighten on the wheel. “Not that it’s your business, but I had some money saved.”

  “Do you? Interesting. Very mature of you.”

  “Girl needs to protect herself,” I say, my meaning obvious.

  “From who? Me?” he asks, sounding incredulous. “I’ve never wanted to protect a woman more than I do you, and you think you need to protect yourself from me?”

  This escalated quickly. I want to explain to him that I meant that I needed to protect my heart, but I don’t. I don’t have to explain things to him. I’m not his, and he sure as hell isn’t mine. I ignore the pang in my chest at that thought, and put the car in drive, concentrating on the road ahead of me.

  “So do you want to get a bite to eat?” he asks after a good ten minutes of strained silence.

  “Anna said she was hungry,” I say quietly.

  “Anna’s knocked out, but we can grab something for her so she has food when she wakes up.”

  That is thoughtful of him.

  “Okay,” I concede. “Where do you want to stop?”

  “I know a place,” he says.

  “Is it a drive-through?” I ask, staring down at my clothes. Why didn’t I just get changed?

  “No,” he replies, chuckling. “But no one will dare look at you the wrong way if you walk in there with me.”

  “Still,” I grumble.

  “I’ll give you my shirt to put over your tank top. It will be fine.”

  “You’re not wearing your cut,” I point out.

  “It didn’t go with my outfit,” he jokes, making me smile. That’s the thing with him. He’s so good at making me feel at ease, even right after a tense situation.

  “You’re not wearing your hair in a bun,” I exclaim. “It looks sexy in a bun.”

  “I’ll remember that for next time,” he says in a low, husky tone that I could get used to.

  I clear my throat. “Was Rift busy?”

  He grins, looking amused by my terrible small talk. “It was packed. Place is doing great. We hired some new girls for the bar.”

  “Is that why you smell like perfume?”

  When Tracker doesn’t reply, I turn to look at him. He’s trying not to laugh.

  “You’re an awfully jealous woman for someone who keeps rejecting me at every turn.”

  “I’m not jealous,” I scoff.