Last Ride (Wind Dragons MC #5.5)(8)

I honestly don’t know how I became the person everyone comes to for advice and help. Me. I wing it and make light of everything, and have no clue how to navigate through life, but at least I never give up.

Maybe that’s why they come to me.



“This isn’t what I had in mind,” I admit, as I glance around Lana’s book signing. “You brought me here to protect you from fangirls? You need to get over yourself, Tracker.”

“They all f*ckin’ rush at me and touch my abs,” he complains, looking down at me. “I need a woman to protect me. Lana is busy signing, and you’re badass enough to take on all these women.”

“I’m not going to hurt Lana’s readers,” I say, amusement filling me. “You never should have posed for the cover of that damn book, then none of this would be an issue.”

“I’d still come to support Lana,” he says. “So they’d still be all over me.”

He clearly has no issues with his ego.

“Stop pretending you don’t love it.”

“Don’t love the ones who try to grab my dick,” he grumbles, shoulders hunching. “It’s a very awkward situation.”

I bark out a laugh. “They grab your dick? Don’t lie. As if any woman would do that. You’re exaggerating. Come on, I want to see what they do to you.”

“You want to see random women swarm me? You’re supposed to be here to protect me.”

“You’ll be fine. Soak up the attention, Tracker. Put those pretty-boy looks to good use. Help promote your woman and break the stereotype that most bikers are old, with beer bellies.”

I spot an author I really like signing near Lana, selling books. “I’m going to get some books signed.”

I walk away, leaving Tracker standing behind me, jaw dropped. Surely he can manage alone for a few minutes. I end up chatting with a few amazing readers, and a few authors too. When I look over an hour later and see about ten women around him, I realize that, no, he probably can’t manage alone. Lana waves when she sees me pass her table, so I walk over to her. She’s been busy since I arrived, but now things are starting to die down a little.

“I didn’t know you were coming today,” she beams, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

“Wish I could say I just came to support you, but the truth is, your man brought me,” I tell her, pointing at Tracker. “I’m protecting his virtue.”

“Looks like you’re doing a great job,” she says dryly as we see a woman lift his shirt up to get a peek at his abs.

“If that was Dex, that bitch would be on the floor,” I comment, but Lana just laughs.

“Wow, they actually really like him. Do you think because he’s my friend I don’t realize how good-looking he really is? Because all I see now is . . . Tracker,” I say, wide-eyed.

After all, I’ve seen him lick beer off the kitchen table.

Then again, when I first saw him I did think he was pretty amazing. Don’t think Lana would appreciate hearing that though. I remember him catching me in their fridge the first time I met him, smelling the water to make sure it wasn’t vodka. He thought I was weird. And cute. It feels like a lifetime ago now.

“He’s delicious,” Lana says, glancing at him from head to toe. “He could be a model full-time if he wanted to.”

I smirk as I see him posing for photos, smiling away with the women. “I need to record this shit to show everyone. It’s so hilarious. He’s loving life but pretending he doesn’t like the attention. The men are going to give him so much shit.”

I pull out my phone and press RECORD as I walk closer to him, just in time to hear a woman ask him when he’s going to be on another cover.

“Okay, ladies, show is over,” I say, grabbing Tracker’s arm. “Our model needs a break.”

I drag him back to Lana’s table. “Tag, Lana, you’re it. I’m going home to my son, then I have to go and pick up my daughter.” I pause. “And I need to eat. I’m hungry and I want a burrito. Chicken, white rice, and chipotle sauce. All the veggies, jalapenos included.”

Lana pats the seat next to her, and Tracker fills it, not looking happy.

“You’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Just tell them some jokes—that will scare them away.”

I know he secretly enjoys it; no one made him come here today. I’m onto you, Tracker.

I’m about to walk away, when Tracker stands up and grabs my upper arm. “I know I’ll be fine.”

I turn and face him, tilting my head to the side. “Then why did you want me to come here under the guise of protecting you?”

He removes his hand from my arm and looks down, a sheepish look on his face. “We never get to spend any quality time together anymore. Back in the day, all we used to do was hang out. I don’t know, I guess I was just wanting some Faye time.”

“Oh,” I reply, expression softening. “We can make some time to hang out, Tracker.”

With everything going on in my life right now—being a mother, work, and the club—I guess even I’ve forgotten how all of us just used to hang out 24-7. Back then, we didn’t have kids though, and most of the men were single and had nothing better to do than harass me. I make a mental note to plan some bonding time for us. Maybe we could go shooting or something.