Unruly

1. Chapter 1-2

“Ellie?” Noah reached out, fingers catching a lock of hair and tugging like we were the kids we hadn’t been in years. Noah was turning twenty-four this year, old enough to have more of a plan for his life, old enough to stop running from anything that had even the shadow of commitment to it.

I was only two years younger than him, but sometimes I felt older. He was a mistake I kept making and had been making since not long after I was old enough to get a driver’s license. Noah helped me learn, and we’d celebrated with what had turned into a decidedly unhealthy relationship. I wasn’t ever going to get my life together if I didn’t figure out how to change my bad habits, and Noah Dash was a bad habit. We were never going to be anything but friends who were n***d together sometimes.

He was propped up on one arm in his bed, looking like we’d been doing exactly what we had been.

“Do you want a ride to the bar tonight?”

“I thought you didn’t want me on your bike where we might be seen,” I asked, my voice sounding a little more upset than I wanted to admit. He’d given me a lift to his apartment, but that wasn’t quite the same.

“What’s between us is between us,” he said, as if that answer was going to sound less irritating with repetition. It didn’t.

I rolled onto my side so I was facing him. “I’m going to drive myself.”

“Come on, Ellie, don’t be like that.”

“Leave it alone.” I folded my arms, feeling silly as I did so. It was hard to look stern while we were both n***d.

“You know people would misunderstand if you were on my bike regularly.” Noah’s fingers trailed up my spine. “Showing up at Wolves is like a statement.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want them to misunderstand.”

“There’s no one else on the bike.” Noah sat up and eased closer. “You know that, don’t you? I might go on a date or whatever, but that’s not anything. I just like a little strange, you know?”

“I know, Noah.” I’d known that he wasn’t particularly celibate before we were together, and that hadn’t ever changed. It was his way of making quite clear that he wasn’t in a relationship.

I wasn’t sure whether I was more embarrassed that I’d wasted years in and out of Noah’s bed or that I’d resorted to manipulation to try to get him to see that we were having a relationship. Either way, the truth of the matter was that Noah Dash wasn’t going to change—and neither was I. I didn’t want forever, but I was over being someone’s secret. He wouldn’t carry me on his Harley more than once in a while because people might think I mattered. God forbid, they might even think I was his old lady. The truth was that I was his best friend and regular bedmate since we were young enough to start exploring. That was it, though.

I used to think it was enough.

I used to think it would change, that he would change.

I even used to think I might change.

“Do you think you’ll ever let people know about us?” I asked, even now hoping that he’d tell me I was wrong, even now hoping that there was an answer he could offer that would let us keep this messed-up thing that we’d had. Neither one of us had ever tried dating anyone else. We’d settled for this, and it was no good. Not for me. Not for him.

“What if people did know?” I asked, pushing a little harder for the answer I hoped to hear.

Instead he looked as if I’d just told him I loved him. Sheer terror was written on his face. “Ellie . . . come on. People know we’re friends. All they don’t know is that we do this.” He gestured between us at the bed. “Why would we need to tell anyone our business?”

That’s all this was to him: friends who sometimes had s*x. That was the bald truth. We were friends, so we talked, and if we were in a bad way about anything, we knew that we could call at any hour of the day or night. And if we had a need for something other than talk, we had that too. It looked a lot like a relationship, and maybe it was. It wasn’t one that worked for me, though. I wasn’t ready for kids or a husband or any of that forever stuff, but I was ready to matter. I was ready not to be a dirty secret.

And I was ready for someone who knew why I was in a lousy mood this week, who cared enough to remember what week it was, who understood why I needed reassurance. I didn’t want to have to tell Noah to be kind to me because I needed it a little extra this week.

Noah wouldn’t change, and I couldn’t. What we had wasn’t enough. I was done with that, with him, with being the girl who didn’t deserve more.

I started to climb out of bed to grab my clothes.

“Where are you going?” Noah tugged me back onto the bed and rolled me under him. “I just got you here, El.”

“You got me here six years ago, Noah.”

“I did, didn’t I?” He grinned down at me. “Beautiful Miss Ellen, all n***d and in my sheets . . . so why can’t I take you to the bar tonight? It’s been a while. No one would think anything.”

“Just let it go. Please?” I asked, hating that he thought that my worry was being found out. I’d all but asked him to be open about us, and he still couldn’t hear what I was telling him.

“I’ll take you home later if you still want to get your car.” He was curled behind me, holding me to him as he did only when he was too exhausted to remember that friends don’t cuddle. He kissed my shoulder and murmured, “I hate when we fight, Ellie. Just think about it.”

And then he slept . . . and I slid out of his bed for the last time. I felt like a thief as I tiptoed over to gather my clothes, shoes, and books—but better a thief than a fool. Maybe there wasn’t anyone out there who would be happy to be with me. Maybe I was an i***t for caring that Noah didn’t want more. I didn’t mean to care, but I had enough of my heart in the mix that I couldn’t stay, not if I wanted to respect myself at all. The next time I let a man into my bed, he sure as hell wasn’t getting into my heart. Keeping s*x and love in separate rooms was a safer plan. I didn’t love Noah anymore, but I had been lingering on the edge of it far too long. I could love him like a friend, but I couldn’t do it and sleep with him. I’d rather have love or s*x because this half-assed mess of neither and both was breaking my heart. No matter what, though, I wouldn’t be hidden away by anyone again.

“Never again,” I promised myself as I went downstairs.

At the bottom of the steps, I pulled the building door closed behind me. Not for the first time, I was left stranded because of Noah Dash.

Truthfully, I was stranded in more ways than one. Job opportunities meant moving, and because of Noah I hadn’t been willing to leave Williamsville. Admittedly, fashion industry jobs weren’t thick on the vine in Tennessee—but those that were certainly weren’t in Williamsville. I was here because of him, though.

My more immediate issue was getting out of his neighborhood. Later when I was calm, I could think about getting out of town entirely . . . or decide if I really wanted to go. For now I needed a ride.

I could call my mother—who was more of a roommate than a parent—but I didn’t know that I was in the mood for her counseling me on patience. For reasons I wouldn’t even try to fathom, she thought Noah could do no wrong. That left me with calling my friends who didn’t know about Noah, calling Noah’s cousin, Killer, or calling the bar.

I called the bar.

“What’s up, little bit?” Mike asked.

“I need a ride. No questions, and no one who’d tell tales about . . . anything.” I walked farther from the building where Noah lived. I felt like a vagabond with my boots, bag, and helmet, but I was afraid I’d wake Noah if I tried to put them on inside.

Mike sighed. “I can call a taxicab. Depending on who’s working, they might not tell Miss Bitty.”

“Ugh.” I sat on the curb and shoved my feet into my boots. “Mama’s got everyone in her damn pocket. I swear she’d put a tracking chip in my a*s if the veterinarian would do it.”

Mike snorted. “Don’t go giving her ideas.”

It was one of the mysteries of my life. My mother never put any restrictions on me, but she kept awfully close tabs on my comings and goings. There was no way that the local drivers wouldn’t tell her where I was.

“I can send the new guy to fetch you,” Mike said. “He just walked in. Seems a good sort. Wouldn’t tell . . . either of the young’uns.”

“That works.”

Mike paused and cleared his throat before asking, “Do I need to guess where you are, or do I just assume you’re with one of the young’uns?”

“Got it in one.” That was the thing. People did know, maybe not everything, but enough for me to be embarrassed by the fact that Noah treated me like I was a secret.

“Do I need to send a helmet?”

“I have mine,” I said, glancing at it, trying not to think of going shopping for it with Noah and Killer. “I just need a ride . . . and if you can avoid mentioning it to Uncle Karl or Echo.”

Mike’s tone shifted. “You know better than that, Ellen.”

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. Everything to do with Noah or Killer was reported to the Wolves’ president and to the biker who’d raised both boys. It was simply the way of it. Hell, I’d been the one reporting things over the years. Everyone did it. Echo cared about every little detail of their lives. Nothing was considered too insignificant to mention. Killer had coped by devoting himself to Echo, becoming Echo’s right hand. Noah had done the opposite—refusing to even be patched into the Wolves.

“What’s the new guy’s name?” I asked.

“Alamo.”

“Okay.” Admittedly this was a somewhat silly question. I’d know him when he arrived because he would be wearing club colors, the Wolves’ insignia clearly marked on either a black leather vest or jacket. Plus, there weren’t any Wolves I didn’t know other than the new guy, so a biker who arrived with club colors was obviously my ride. That said, I wasn’t going to be rude and not know his name.

I disconnected and sat on the curb. I wondered if anyone else realized that this week was the anniversary of my father’s death. Noah certainly hadn’t, and that told me more than anything else. A man who wasn’t there for me wasn’t what I needed. A woman didn’t need a man at all. Mama had been telling me that since my father died . . . but sometimes I wanted one, not just in my sheets but in my life. I wanted someone who cared about me, who remembered to hold me, who treated me like I was special. Instead, I was waiting for a stranger.