King slowly shifted me off his lap and set me back on the passenger seat.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said softly. “And while I am both appalled and incredibly turned on by the idea of being the first one inside that pretty pussy of yours, I feel it necessary to point out the holes in your little theory about the person you were, before you came stumbling into my life.”

“What would those holes be?” I asked.

“First, your virginity theory. Who the fuck cares? If your memory comes back and you go back to a life where I’m not around, at least you’ll have enough amazing memories to last you through faking the orgasms with whatever schmuck you’re with.”

“Why is he a schmuck?”

“Trust me. A guy who let you wonder far away and hasn’t found you by now, if he’s even looking for you at all, is a fucking schmuck. I didn’t even like you at first. In fact, I downright fucking hated you, and I still didn’t want you more than ten feet from me. Neither did my cock.”

I shuddered. “And the next hole in my theory?” My voice was strained.

“Tattoos. Anyone who doesn’t like my art can kick rocks.”

“It’s that simple?”

“Yes, it’s that simple,” he stated flatly. Then, his face grew serious. “It’s that simple, but not because of some guy who may or may not be out there pining for you or the fear that you will regret letting me fuck you or tattoo you.” King traced a line from the back of my hand to the top of my shoulder like he was creating an imaginary tattoo. “It’s that simple because you can’t live your life for someone you might be. So what if your memories come back and the person you were before comes with them? She will just have to fucking deal with the fact that you were here when she wasn’t. Make your mark while you still can, pup.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It is.”

“It’s not. I just…I can’t,” I breathed. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing that I wasn’t protecting her.

“You made a promise that you would protect me. Well, I made a promise that I would protect her,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“Have you even thought that who you are now is exactly the person you’re supposed to be? That maybe with the slate wiped clean of bullshit outside influences that you are now more yourself than ever before?” he asked, with each point he was trying to make he grew louder.

“No.” I hadn’t thought of that. King had a point. “But living life thinking that was the truth was a gamble I’m not willing to take.” I looked down to the floor and wished it would open up and suck me down into it.

“So, let me get this straight. You were willing to fuck random bikers, but you can’t be with me?” There was a hint of cruelty in his voice. If his intentions were to sting, they worked.

“That’s a low blow.”

But King continued on as if I hadn’t just interrupted. “So I’m just like them to you? Just like a biker you don’t want to fuck and end up regretting?

King turned the key and started the truck, pulling back onto the highway.

“No, you’re not like them at all,” I whispered, unsure if he heard me.

“How is it that you can see me as worse than them when I know you want me? I can feel it. Don’t fucking deny it. Because it’s bullshit, and you know it.” King looked straight ahead at the road. He turned up the radio until Johnny Cash was singing so loud it rattled my eardrums. The tears in my eyes spilled over onto my cheeks.

I leaned against the window and hugged my arms to my chest. The lights from businesses and signs blurred together as we passed into streams of colored lights.

“You’re right. You’re much worse than them,” I whispered, knowing full well that King couldn’t hear me over the music. “Because with them, it wouldn’t hurt this much.”

Chapter Nineteen

Doe

King hadn’t come to bed in days. I still helped him at night in his studio but our conversation never escalated to anything more than him barking orders at me.

On Saturday morning I’d found a box on the kitchen counter with a note addressed to me. The card read:

FOR OUR DATE. BE ON THE PORCH AT EIGHT-PREPPY

Our date? Why would we go out on a date? Inside the box was a short black strapless dress and a pair of matching heels.

Preppy had made sure I had a bunch of jeans and tank tops to wear on a daily basis. He even stopped at a store and let me pick out some underwear and bath stuff one day, but I didn’t have anything like this.

The clock on the stove read only ten am. I was disappointed I’d have to wait so long to put it on.

At eight o’clock sharp, I stood by the steps and fidgeted with the hem of my new dress. I’d spent hours showering, shaving, and blow-drying my hair. I was beyond ready, thrilled to be doing something new and grateful for the distraction.

I had no clue what Preppy had up his tattooed sleeves.

“You ready, Doe?” he asked, bounding out from the door under the stairs.

He draped an arm over my shoulder and ushered me toward King’s truck, which was already parked in front. “I wish I could take you in my car. But you know, it fucking blew up and shit,” he said bitterly.

His usual short-sleeved dress shirt had been swapped out for a dark blue long-sleeved button down that he wore untucked over a pair of dark boot cut jeans. His usual bow tie carefully in place. He smelled like he’d just gotten out of the shower. Like soap and shaving cream.

“Did you shave?” I asked. His beard looked just as long as it had that morning.

“Huh?” he asked, looking down at me.

“You smell like shaving cream, but you still have your beard.”

“It’s a date, baby girl. I manscaped in case I get lucky.”

I laughed. “You’re not getting lucky.”

“I know. King would kill me, and I rather like my life. So, I think we’ll leave that off the table. For now.” He winked. “Besides, you may not let me get my cock wet, but maybe someone else will take pity on me when the night’s over and let me get it in.”

I laughed at Preppy, his smile taking the edge of his crude words.

“You look nice,” I said. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that Preppy actually blushed.

“Thanks. But tonight, I’m not Preppy.”

“You’re not?” I asked. “Then, who are you exactly?”

“Nope, this is a date. So tonight, you can call me Samuel. I would say that you look nice, too, but you look way more than nice. I would say…”

Preppy took a step back and slid his hand down my arm, to lock his fingers around my wrist. He, then, lifted my arm and twirled me around slowly to appraise me. My face flushed with embarrassment when I noticed he was staring at my ass.

“Hot. You look HOT, baby girl. Pancakes do a body good. Real fucking good.”

“Thanks.” I felt my cheeks redden. “I wish you could call me by my real name, too, but I don’t know—”

The roar of a motorcycle drowned out my words. We both turned toward the noise. King pulled up the gravel drive and parked a shiny black bike next to one of the house pilings. It was the first time I’d seen him drive anything other than his beat-up old truck. He swung off his bike and ripped his helmet off his head, tossing it to the ground as he stomped toward us with furious steps. His brows furrowed, and his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes firmly locked on me as he approached, looking me up and down and then to where Preppy was still holding my hand.

My heart beat in a quick, uneven rhythm as he approached. My palms began to sweat. I plastered a fake smile on my face.

“Where the fuck did you get THAT thing?” King roared, pointing to my dress. His gaze darted back and forth from me to Preppy.

Preppy smiled and released my hand. Once again draping his arm over my shoulders, he tugged me into his side.

King’s eyes widened at the gesture, and I thought for sure he was going to punch one or both of us. Preppy, however, seemed unaffected by King’s mood.