“Want to do something for dinner?”

I thought about my conversation with Puck earlier and shivered. Joe was obviously interested in me, and he was sexy, in a wholesome, mountain kind of way. Puck is sexier, my traitorous thoughts whispered.

Yeah, but Joe is normal, I reminded myself firmly.

“Why don’t you come over to my place,” I said abruptly. “I’ll cook for us. Maybe I can bum a ride to the grocery store if my car isn’t fixed yet.”

“Sure,” he said. “What happened to your car?”

“Broke down this morning on the way to school. Earl is fixing it for me.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you miss class?”

Pausing, I listened to the rustle of the water over the rocks and considered how to answer. “No, Puck Redhouse gave me a ride.”

Joe didn’t respond, and I stole a peek at him. He seemed pensive. “Thought you said there wasn’t anything between you.”

“There isn’t,” I insisted, wishing it was true. Why couldn’t I get Puck out of my head?

Like mother, like daughter.

No. I wouldn’t be that woman. I refused.

“Once upon a time there was something between us,” I said slowly, wishing I could just lie. Mom lied all the time. “It wasn’t anything real, though. Not many people know this, but before I came up here I lived down in California. My stepdad was a biker—a hangaround with a club down there. They weren’t particularly nice people. That’s where I met Puck.”

Joe had stiffened next to me. “So you followed him up here?”

“I guess you could say he rescued me. My situation wasn’t so good. He saw that and helped me get out.”

“Wouldn’t peg him as the knight-in-shining-armor type.”

A snort of surprised, startled laughter escaped me.

“No, that’s not really him,” I said. “He still saved me, though.”

“So that’s the past. What’s between you now?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I mean, he keeps an eye on me, I guess. In a weird way, I feel safer because he’s around. But he makes me uncomfortable, too—when we first met I got hurt, and he was part of that.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Definitely,” I admitted. Complicated. That was a good word. And Joe was a good guy . . . a guy who deserved better than fake. What the hell had I been thinking? I wasn’t my mom—I didn’t use men. At least, not on purpose. “If you’d asked me two days ago whether there was anything between us I would’ve said no way. There’s still not anything real . . . I like you a lot, Joe, so I’m going to be honest—he messes with my head and I don’t know where to put that.”

Joe nodded slowly, then gave me a pained smile.

“You know, I’ve spent years wondering why the hell I couldn’t meet a woman who wouldn’t play games. Now here we are and you aren’t playing games. Kind of sucks.”

I shoved against his shoulder, wishing I was a little less fucked up as a person. His arm tightened around me in a friendly squeeze.

“Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s make a deal—you figure your stuff out, and if I’m still around and you’re interested, you let me know. But I’m looking for something real and I don’t think you’re in a place where that can happen just yet. You need to work through whatever hang-ups you have about Redhouse first.”

“Is this the ‘let’s just be friends’ speech?” I asked, my voice wry. “I hear that’s the kiss of death.”

Joe laughed.

“No, I’d like to be more than friends—but I’m not an idiot. If you aren’t ready to date, I can’t change that. I’d rather you figure things out with Puck now.”

“There really isn’t anything to figure out,” I replied, my voice melancholy. “He and I don’t have a relationship and we never will. I think you’re right, though—I need to get my head straight. Until then we could still hang out and have fun, though.”

“Maybe.”

The sound of bikes cut through the air, their single headlights flashing across us as they pulled into the parking lot. Growing up in Teeny’s house had taught me a lot of things. By the time I was fifteen, I could take a hit, give a blow job, and cook for thirty men on a moment’s notice . . . I’d also learned to recognize the sound of certain motorcycles, particularly if they belonged to someone important. Things had been bad for me back home, but they’d have been worse if I hadn’t known to hide when the worst of them pulled in for the night.

Puck and his Silver Bastard brothers had just arrived. I knew it for a certainty, even though I hadn’t seen their faces over the glare of the lights. Guess old habits die hard.

“Your break is about over,” Joe said quietly. “I’ll walk you back.”

He stepped off the table and turned to me, lifting me down. We walked back over the road and crunched across the gravel as the Bastards backed their Harleys into line. I refused to let myself look for Puck. So what if I was weirdly hung up on him? Life is full of things we want that we shouldn’t have.

Cheesecake. Chocolate lava brownies with ice cream for breakfast. That last beer you have after the other beers . . . you know which one I’m talking about—the one that turns a little headache into the hangover to end all hangovers.