“Sleep,” I sigh. “I’m exhausted.”

  “It’s not even ten. Last time I checked, we’re the same age, and ten is not your bedtime or mine. Come out with me tonight. Please,” she begs.

  “I don’t want to,” I tell her. “Can’t we stay in and watch a movie?”

  She rolls her eyes. “You may as well move into the retirement village down the street and skip the best years of your life. They’re wasted on you and your old-lady ways.”

  “I don’t act like an old lady. I just went on a date the other night. I go out all the time.”

  “How did that date go, by the way?” she teases.

  She knows exactly how it went, and now she’s being a total shit.

  “Oh, that’s right. He shit and ditched.” She breaks out into a fit of giggles.

  “Shit and ditched? You’re ridiculous.”

  She reaches across the bed and nudges me, but my eyes dip to my phone, and hers quickly follow. “Are you waiting for a call?”

  “No,” I snap, being overly defensive and setting off all the Luna bells.

  She sits up quickly and extends her hand, ready to snatch my phone, but I move faster than her. “Oh. My. God,” she says with wide eyes. “You’re talking to him.”

  “I am not,” I lie, clutching my phone so tightly my knuckles turn white.

  “You are.”

  “Am not.”

  She extends her hand, palm out. “Let me see, then. Prove me wrong.”

  Fuck. I lift my leg, placing the phone underneath, and sit on it. “I don’t need to prove anything to you.”

  She smiles and hums to herself. “You’ve always been a horrible liar, Ro.”

  “I don’t lie.”

  “God, you’re so full of shit.”

  “Am not.”

  “Get your ass ready. We’re going out in thirty, or else I’m going to flip your phone when you’re asleep. And remember, unlocking it isn’t an issue since we share the same face.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “It’s why you love me.”

  “I love you because I have to.”

  She crawls off my bed as she laughs. “Keep lying to yourself. Thirty minutes and not a minute more.”

  “But it’s late.”

  “For old people. Not for us.”

  “Where the hell are we going? It’s a weekday.”

  “We’re going for a beer at the Neon Cowboy.”

  “That place is a shithole.”

  “It may be a shithole, but it’s filled with hot men and ice-cold beer. I need to walk on the wild side, and I need a wingwoman. You drink, I’ll handle the men.”

  “I just have to be your wingwoman? You’re not going to force me to dance with some slimeball biker because he’s your flavor of the month’s friend?”

  “I promise I won’t do that,” she says, making a cross mark over her heart.

  “Fine. Two beers. I want to be home by one.”

  “I can deal with that. Get your ass moving and your makeup back on,” she tells me before she finally leaves my room.

  I flip my phone over and see no missed texts from Dylan. Part of me is a little disappointed that he didn’t have anything more to say. I ignore the weird mixed feelings, leaving my phone behind on my bed while I get ready to hit the biker bar and make sure Luna doesn’t get herself into trouble, which she seems to attract more often than not.

  “I’ve missed this place,” Luna says with her foot on the railing running along the base of the bar and her elbow resting on the top. “There’s something special about it.”

  I look at her like she’s grown an extra head. “You’re a weirdo. There’s nothing special about this place. It’s an old dive bar.”

  “It’s where Mom and Dad met.”

  “Negative, sparky. They came here that night, but they met on the side of the road.”

  “I like my version better.”

  “Shocker,” I mutter against my beer bottle.

  She turns, facing the overly crowded bar filled with her type of men…easy. “There’s a lot to pick from tonight.”

  “It’s like a biker buffet made just for you,” I say and take another drag of beer.

  “I don’t even know where to start,” she tells me, surveying the landscape of denim and leather. “So much I could do, so little time.”

  “Pick one. I’m sure the others will be here next time. It’s not as if they’re looking for anything long-term.”

  “That’s exactly why I love it here more than anywhere else. The last thing I want is a man clinging to me, needing a relationship. No one’s locking me down and stealing my freedom.”

  “Oh brother,” I grumble. “Well, you’re wasting time. You only have me here for two miserable hours, tops. Better get your ass moving.”

  Luna turns toward me and adjusts her breasts. “How do I look?” she asks.

  I glance her way, taking in my identical twin, who’s more put together and all glitz and glam. Her dirty-blond hair cascades over her shoulder, framing her cleavage perfectly. Her blue eyes pop with the smoky cat eye she went for, which is perfect since she’s on the prowl.

  “You look gorgeous…as always.”

  “You do too, except for the old, oversized T-shirt and leggings. I gave you a half hour, and you look like you’re ready for a slumber party and not a biker bar.”

  I shrug. “I give no shits. I’m not here to get laid. I’m here to make sure you don’t get into any trouble.”

  “I’m here to get into a little trouble, babe. Don’t rain on my parade. You stay here and hold up the bar, and I’ll live enough for the two of us.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I say, hating that I agreed to come here tonight. “I’ll be right here, keeping the seat warm.”

  She touches my shoulder, moving my hair. “Smile a little. It’ll make you look more approachable.”

  “I don’t want to be approachable.”

  “Maybe your prince charming will be here.”

  I stare at her with zero amusement on my face. “You’re losing time.”

  She pops up on her toes and kisses my cheek. “Wish me luck.”

  I roll my eyes. “Good luck,” I mumble, but I know she doesn’t need it.

  The men haven’t taken their eyes off her since we walked in. Every single time someone walks by, they make comments about her “sweet ass” and “pretty lips” without even trying to be coy. They think they’re the wolf and she’s the prey, but with Luna, they all have it ass-backward. She knows exactly what she’s doing and what she wants, and she will stop at nothing to make it happen.

  But with all things Luna, she makes some missteps and gets herself into sticky situations. She does need a wingperson with her, but she needs a brother. I don’t have the patience at times to deal with her bullshit or the strength to deal with the men.

  She looks over the crowd, zeroing in on someone. Her posture changes, and she pushes her tits out more, even though they don’t need any more attention. A second later, she’s off, stalking toward her target.

  “Hey, darlin’,” a man mutters at my side no less than five seconds after I’m alone.

  “Not interested.”

  “I didn’t offer anything.”

  I turn my face toward him and glare. “I’m a lesbian,” I tell him because it’s the only thing men like him seem to understand and run away from faster than if his ass were on fire.

  He stares at me a bit, his eyes wandering to my shirt. “Figured by your outfit, but thought it was worth a shot in case I was wrong.”

  “If you don’t have a pussy, I’m not interested,” I tell him before throwing back half of my beer.

  “I can find some pussy for us if you’re into a group thing.”

  I shake my head. “No cocks ever, buddy. Sorry, but you’re wasting your time.”

  “Fuckin’ shame. All that ass and tits for nothing.”

  “Yeah. Yeah,” I mutter.

  I can already tell tonight’s going to be a long and miserable time.

  6

  Dylan

  “Yo, fuck off, man,” I growl as the man stands next to Rosie, staring at her like she’s about to become his next meal.

  She freezes, her entire body tensing as soon as the words leave my mouth. She turns her head slowly, and her eyes widen for a split second as they land on my face. “What are you…”

  I swing my gaze back to the asshole standing a little too close, staring at her tits and ignoring my request. “Either you’re deaf or stupid, and I’m guessing the second one is right, but you have three seconds before…”

  “Before what?” he replies without looking at me because he’s too busy sizing up her breasts, creating fantasies that’ll never come true. “Bitches like her play hard to get. It’s their thing. They like—”

  I don’t let him get the rest of the statement out of his mouth before I thrust my arm forward, and my fist connects with his face, snapping his head back. He staggers backward, but before he loses his footing, I grab him by the shirt and yank him toward me so we’re eye to eye, his nose bleeding.

  “I asked you nicely, and you didn’t listen. I warned you, and you still didn’t fuckin’ listen. I figure an asshole like you only understands a message when it’s delivered with a fist. Now, you can go, or we can take this shit outside and I can finish beating your ass to a pulp, busting up the rest of your face.”

  “Dylan, what the…” Ian, my younger brother and the bartender in this shithole, starts to ask before we make eye contact, and his voice trails off before he finishes.

  “Shut it,” I tell Ian before giving my full attention back to the asswad in front of me.

  The man paws at my hand, trying to break my hold, but he gets nowhere. I only tighten my grip and maintain eye contact.

  “Bitch isn’t worth it,” he mutters, finally smartening up.

  I inch closer so I can smell the stench of old beer on his breath. “Wanna rephrase that?”

  “I’ll go,” he whispers, the fear in his eyes clear as day.

  “Now, apologize.”

  His eyes widen. “No fuckin’ way.”

  I raise my hand, and he cowers immediately.

  “I’m sorry,” he tells Rosie, but there’s no sincerity in his voice.

  I tilt my head, glaring at him. “Say it like you mean it.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he repeats in a softer tone.

  I release my grip on his shirt and push him away from Rosie, finally letting him stagger until he bumps into a table and finds his footing.

  “You’re gonna pay for this shit,” he seethes, wiping his upper lip where blood had started to collect. When he drops his eyes to his hand, seeing the blood, his anger only grows as his gaze hardens. “You have no idea what you started, boy.”

  I let out a bitter, short laugh, not giving two fucks about the drunk asshole. I jerk forward as if I’m going after him again, and he flinches, causing my laughter to grow.

  “You’ll wish you never touched me!” he yells, inching backward like the coward he is.

  “Fuck off!” I yell back and step toward him. “I think you need to be beat unconscious.”

  “Clusterfuck,” Ian mutters, and even though I’m not looking at him, I have zero doubts he scrubbed his hand down his face and cursed into his palm.

  The man stares at me from a safe distance and lifts his hand, giving me the middle finger before running toward the exit like his ass is on fire and the fresh air will somehow put it out.

  When I turn around, Rosie’s standing with her arms crossed, head cocked, and those beautiful, pouty lips flat. “Do you feel like a big man now?” she asks.

  I blink, cocking my head just like her. “I’m the asshole in this somehow?”

  She twists her lips. “Uh, yeah.”

  I scrub my hand across my forehead, trying to understand her way of thinking, but come up with nothing. “Wanna explain to me how?”

  She rolls her eyes and lets out a grunt. “You hit him.”

  I nod. “Fuckin’ A. I should have beat his ass, too. He got off easy.”

  “Dumbass,” Ian mutters, pretending to clean the counter, but he’s eavesdropping because he’s a nosy fucker.

  She unfolds her arms and steps toward me, looking so small and fragile yet powerful at the same time. “I had things under control.” She extends her arm, finger pointed, and pokes me square in the middle of my chest. “But nooooo, you had to come in and ‘be the man’ and insert your fist and mouth where it wasn’t asked for or needed.”

  “Ro…” I smile at her cuteness. So tough. So fierce. So…weak.

  “No,” she snaps, poking me harder. “Not every woman is in need of a rescue.”

  I glance down at her painted nails, unable to stop my smile from growing wider from her attempt at being scary. “And what were you going to do if he laid a finger on you? Would you have poked him to death with that black nail?”

  Her eyes narrow, and her finger stays where it is. “Ever think I can throw a punch too, but I prefer to use my words like an adult?”

  “Doll,” I whisper, smirking at the thought of her trying to punch that asshole.

  “Dick,” she bites out.

  I reach up, lifting her chin with my finger, and gaze into her blue eyes, which are filled with defiance and anger. “Doll,” I repeat. “Why you gotta be so hard? Your job is to be soft and sweet.”

  She doesn’t tear her eyes away from mine as she says, “I’m not weak.”

  “Never said you were, baby. There’s a time to be hard. A time to be sweet. And when I’m around, willing to pop a guy in the face for disrespecting you, I’ll be the hard one while you stay sweet. You feel me?”

  Her teeth grind together, sending a vibration to my fingers. “I don’t need you to be the hard one.”

  “Too late,” I tell her, letting my gaze drop to her full lips and thinking about all the wicked things they could do that don’t involve talking. My thumb moves across her skin, brushing the bottom edge of her mouth. It takes everything in me not to bend down and taste her. “Who hurt you, baby?” I whisper.

  “Stop calling me that,” she says, but she’s done nothing to move away or break the contact between us.

  She likes me. She can deny it all she wants, but a woman who claims to be as hard as her doesn’t stay in my grasp, holding my eyes, and paying close attention to every word I’m speaking unless they’re at least a bit interested.

  “What do you want me to call you?”

  “Ro,” she whispers, shivering as my finger caresses her skin again.

  “Ro,” I repeat, loving “baby” more, but whatever makes her happy, I’ll call her…for now.

  She blinks at the sound of her name and clears her throat, stepping backward and out of my grasp. “Thanks for the save, but next time, I don’t need it, Dylan. I’m a big girl.”

  Here we go…back on the hamster wheel that’s Rosie Gallo’s brain of independence.

  “You keep saying that.”

  “I figure a man such as yourself needs to be told more than once before it actually sinks in.”

  “It’s permeated, Ro, but doesn’t mean I’ll listen.”

  “Impossible,” she mutters, turning her back to me to face the bar.

  My eyes drift over her body, taking in the luscious curve of her ass and dip of her waist. The woman is perfect in every way. Not skinny and frail like many women, but soft and subtle…made to be touched.

  “Another beer,” she tells Ian with a slight chin lift.

  He glances at me, and I nod.

  “What the fuck was that?” she asks, her eyes moving from him to me and back to him. “Did you just ask for his approval?”

  Ian’s eyebrows rise for a moment, probably shocked someone challenged his ass about anything. He’s not typically the type people fuck with, even women. Ian tosses a towel over his shoulder and leans over the bar, getting close to Rosie’s face. “No, ma’am. Just lookin’ at my asshole brother, wondering how long he’s going to stick around or if he’s going to get the hint and walk away. He’s definitely not the best Walsh brother. He’s not even in the top three. He’s wasting his time with a primo piece of ass like you.”

  “Ian,” I warn.

  “Dylan.” He smirks, testing my patience.

  “The last thing I need is either of you archaic assholes bothering me. There isn’t a Walsh brother on the planet that I’d give a piece of ass to, and that includes you—” she points at me, glaring at me over her shoulder, and then she turns back to Ian “—and you.”

  “Fair enough.” He shrugs and pulls a beer out from the cooler, popping off the top, and setting it in front of her.

  “I’ll take one too,” I tell him as I move next to her, not ready to call it a night or leave her alone.

  Rosie lifts the bottle toward her mouth, but before she takes a sip, she glances over at me. “Maybe you should go to the other end over by the bimbos who are more your type.”

  I touch my chest, pretending to be offended by her statement. “Why do you assume they’re my type? Maybe I like women more like you. I don’t like easy.”

  She grunts, keeping her eyes on me as she places the rim of the bottle against her sweet lips and downs half the contents.

  “I prefer a little chase in my hunt,” I say just as she places the bottle back on the bar.

  She wipes her lips with the back of her hand like she’s one of the boys, but nothing about her screams masculinity. “All men say that, but none of them mean it. As soon as pussy’s right in front of your face, you couldn’t care less how you came about it as long as you get it.”

  “You know nothing about me.”

  She lets out a small laugh, and her blue eyes sparkle in the shit lighting of the bar. “You know nothing about me either.”

  “We can change that,” I offer, wanting nothing more than to learn everything there is to know about Rosie Gallo.

  “Not on your life,” she mumbles, going back to nursing her beer and ignoring me.

  But I like her attention, even when it’s bad. I grew up with negative bullshit and it didn’t break me then, so she sure as fuck won’t chase me away now.