I watched Dutch find Indira. Watched Colt tear the world apart to get Lilac back. Watched Holden fall apart and rebuild himself for Bea. I was happy for them. I never wanted it.
Then I walked into The Velvet Hour. Now I get it. But I have a fight on my hands because Austen counted four times we’d met while I only remember two.
Yeah, I’d been in her orbit twice before I walked into her bar, and both times I’d catalogued her as irrelevant and moved on. I do that.
I’ve been running the same plays for years, and nobody ever called me on it until a copper-haired bartender looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe.
Turns out you can’t run the same plays on the woman you want as your old lady. So I’ve got to clean up my act. Be the hot biker, without the games.
