Flame Read online

  Contents

  Don’t miss out!

  Prologue

  1. Gigi

  2. Pike

  3. Gigi

  4. Pike

  5. Gigi

  6. Pike

  7. Gigi

  8. Pike

  9. Gigi

  10. Pike

  11. Gigi

  12. Pike

  13. Gigi

  14. Pike

  15. Gigi

  16. Pike

  17. Gigi

  18. Pike

  19. Gigi

  20. Pike

  21. Gigi

  22. Pike

  23. Gigi

  24. Pike

  25. Pike

  26. Gigi

  27. Pike

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  About the Author

  Also by Chelle Bliss

  Acknowledgments

  Flame Copyright © 2019

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you suck.

  Publisher © Chelle Bliss September 17th 2019

  Edited by Lisa A. Hollett

  Proofread by iScream Proofread, Deaton Author Services,

  and Read By Rose

  Cover Design © Chelle Bliss & Lori Jackson Designs

  Formatted by Chelle Bliss

  Cover Model: Dylan Horsch

  Cover Photo © Aaron Rogers & Dylan Horsch

  To every woman who’s still searching for their FLAME…

  * * *

  Never settle.

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  Prologue

  Gigi

  Mistake: an error in action, calculation, opinion, or judgment caused by poor reasoning, carelessness, or insufficient knowledge.

  * * *

  Life is a series of mistakes. I’ve made my fair share of them. Some were grander than others, but each time, I tried to learn a new lesson, driven not to make the same one more than once.

  Falling for the wrong man has been my problem. Sure, I’d done stupid things like every young person. Things that could’ve changed the way the rest of my life had played out.

  I didn’t fear much. I also didn’t think too far into the future, wondering how my newest mistake would alter the rest of my life. That’s the thing about youth. We spend so much time in the now, we rarely think about the future because time seems infinite while we feel so indestructible.

  Mistakes are how we learn and evolve. At least, that’s what my father told me, trying to get me not to make the same mistake twice.

  But I didn’t listen. I’d made the same mistake twice. I’d loved two boys in my life—Erik and Keith.

  Both said they loved me.

  Both cheated.

  Both broke my heart.

  The only thing I got right with Keith, my high school sweetheart, was that I didn’t sleep with him. Just before graduation, I caught him cheating and later found out it wasn’t the first time he’d done me wrong. C’est la vie.

  I thought Erik, mistake number two, was the real deal. I thought we’d go the distance, but again, I was wrong. Although I gave him my virginity, trusting him more than anyone in the world, he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants either.

  I seemed doomed, weaving a web of ex-boyfriends and cheaters to carry with me, altering the way I’d feel about men for the rest of my life.

  I didn’t want to be that girl.

  I didn’t want to be bitter and untrusting of every man for the rest of my days. I knew there was goodness in the world.

  My parents had been married for over twenty years. Happily married at that. My mother was everything to my father. She could do no wrong in his eyes. He worshiped her. Treated her like a goddess. I grew up watching that goodness, seeing how a man should love a woman. But no matter where I looked, all I seemed to attract were cheaters.

  After cheater number two broke my heart, I vowed to myself never to let it happen again. I’d either have to learn to keep things casual with the men in my future or hone my man-picker and try to weed out the slimeballs from the good guys.

  How totally laughable is that?

  But then I met the man, the one I thought was number three. The one I couldn’t imagine getting it right with because everything about him screamed error in judgment.

  He was different from any man I’d ever opened my heart to before. He was different from the boy I’d first given my body to.

  …But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t become mistake number three.

  1

  Gigi

  “He wants you.” Tamara, my cousin, elbows me in the ribs while she gawks at a guy across the bar. “And he’s hot, bitch.”

  I glance in his direction and look away quickly when our eyes meet.

  Holy shit.

  The guy isn’t just hot, he’s Freaking Fine with capital Fs.

  But the last thing I need is more complication in my life, especially after what happened with Erik.

  I tear my gaze away from him and roll my eyes at my cousin. “I’m not here for a hookup, Tam. I’m here to be with my girls, not some…”

  “Hot piece of ass?” She finishes my statement and shoots me a smug grin.

  “He’s not that hot.” I throw the thin red straw from my drink in her direction, hoping she’ll change the subject.

  I’m completely lying, of course.

  This guy is hot as fuck. He’s not a pretty boy…although he is handsome. He’s a little rough around the edges and probably couldn’t pull off the corporate look to save his life, but that doesn’t make him any less hot. There’s no way a guy like him rides his bike on the weekends and sits in a cubicle all day to pay the bills.

  He lives the life.

  He’s all in.

  Balls deep in the biker world by the looks of him. This isn’t a getaway weekend to let his shit hang out and cut loose for a few days. Nope. This life—the drinkin’ and ridin’—is part of his core.

  On a hotness scale of one to ten, he’s totally a twenty. But Jesus, he’s a little scary too.

  I’ve known plenty of bikers in my short twenty years walking this earth. Growing up with a biker dad who had biker friends, I’ve been around guys like the hottie my entire life. Since I worked at Inked during my summers, my circle of bikers grew, but they were all good guys…at least in their own fucked-up ways.

  Mallory lifts the shot glass in front of her lips and stares over the rim at me. “You know how to get over a douche like Erik?”

  I shake my head. “Don’t say it,” I warn her.


  She slams back the shot and winces before the liquid has even slid down her throat. “Fuck, tequila is no joke,” she grits out and coughs into her hand until tears are in her eyes.

  “I told you,” Mary, her identical twin sister, says and shakes her head in judgment. “You never listen.”

  “I’m fine. Anyway, what was I saying?” Mallory pauses as she slides the empty glass across the table. “Ah. I was telling you how to get over Erik.” Her lips tip up. “Get under someone else.”

  Ugh.

  That’s totally Mallory, but not Mary. They are like night and day. Yin and yang. I’m not sure the world could take two Mallorys anyway, so it is a good thing they’re so opposite. One’s a wild child, and the other is a bookworm.

  Tamara nudges another shot of tequila in my direction. “Have a drink. Maybe you just need a little liquid courage to go talk to Flame.”

  I raise an eyebrow, glaring at my not-so-innocent cousin. “Flame?”

  “Well…” She glances in his direction again and shrugs. “He’s hot as fuck, so Flame works. Like, he’s so hot, you’ll get burned.” She laughs, finding herself funny even if no one else at the table does.

  I tap my finger against the table, staring at her in disbelief. “You know what happens when I drink tequila, Tamara?”

  Her smug smirk grows bigger. “I do, and I’m counting on it.” She waggles her eyebrows.

  Oh boy. Tamara is supposed to be my voice of reason on this trip. We lied our asses off to our parents about spring break. We told them we were staying on campus to catch up on homework and to study for final exams. They would literally shit a brick if they knew we were here, especially during Bike Week.

  “Was Erik even a good lay?” Mallory asks out of the clear blue because her mind always seems to be thinking about sex, even if it isn’t her own.

  “He was good.” I grab the tequila because if my mouth is full or I’m coughing from the burn, I can’t talk about having sex with Erik.

  I don’t know if he was good or not. He was good for me, but he was also the only person I’d ever gone all the way with. Sure, I fooled around with other guys, but my experience wasn’t as impressive as some people’s.

  My answer to Mallory’s question isn’t a complete lie, but hell if I know if anyone else would say he was good or not.

  I wince before the tequila even touches my tongue.

  “Good or great?” Mallory asks.

  I tip my head back, letting the liquid slide to the back of my mouth before it makes its way down my throat. My eyes tear up immediately, and I almost regret choosing the liquor over talking about my lack of sexual experience with my best friends.

  “Does Erik look like he’d be great?” Tamara asks Mallory, saving me from answering.

  Tamara knows all about my sex life and everything that happened with my exes. We’ve always been open and honest with each other. I know she’s been with a few more guys than me, but she doesn’t judge me. But Mallory doesn’t have a clue because she’d totally judge me. She judges everyone.

  “He looks like he’d be a lame lay,” Mallory says, totally judging Erik.

  “Oh, stop, Mal. He does not,” Mary replies and pushes a chunk of her long red hair behind her shoulder.

  “I’ve been with enough guys to be able to spot a bad, good, and great fuck a mile away.” Mallory turns her attention toward the hot guy who was staring at me. “And he—” she tips her head in his direction “—would be a great fucking lay.”

  Mallory has no problem putting herself out there with men. She’s unapologetic about her sexuality and goes after what she wants. I envy her, but only a little bit. Not the part where she sleeps with any guy who is even mildly good-looking and wants to get in her pants. But the part where she’s so self-assured and gives no fucks what anyone thinks about her or her activities.

  Mary purses her lips and looks at her sister in disgust. “You can’t tell by looking at someone. Stop with your bullshit, Mallory. Just because you’re easy doesn’t mean you’re better than the rest of us.”

  Mallory sits up straighter and tilts her head, turning her attention toward her sister. “Sweetie, I’m not easy. Trust me. I make men work for this.” She waves her hand in front of her chest. “I don’t give it away to just anyone.”

  Mary, Tamara, and I laugh, but Mallory is shooting daggers at us, looking like she’s ready to lunge across the table and wrap her skinny fingers around our necks.

  “You guys can kiss my ass,” Mallory snaps. “We’re talking about Gigi and the sexy beast over there making goo-goo eyes at her. Is Miss Priss too good for a biker guy like that? Or maybe you’re too much of a prude to even talk to a hot-ass guy like him.”

  I grind my teeth and glare at Mallory. Sometimes, I hate her. She can be such a bitch. If it weren’t for the fact that she is Mary’s sister, she wouldn’t hang around us. But wherever Mary goes, Mallory’s right there with her. They’re a package deal.

  “I am not a prude,” I hiss and return her glare.

  “Mal, by your standards, everyone around this table is a prude,” Tamara says, coming to my defense.

  Mallory tips her head back and cackles. “Tam, I know you’re not a prude. My sister might as well be a nun, and sweet little Gigi over here—” she waves her hand in my direction, and I do my best not to slap it away “—is well on her way to sexual boredom.”

  The two shots of tequila I’ve already downed along with the beer I’ve been nursing are starting to work their magic. Between Mallory’s annoying words, the hot guy across the bar, and the alcohol running through my veins, I’m ready to blow.

  I curl my fingers around another shot glass, and I know I’m going to regret everything about tonight when I open my eyes tomorrow. But right now, I don’t give a shit. I’m over the conversation, and I’m so totally over Mallory, I’ll do anything to shut her up.

  “Fuck you, Mal. I’ve been around men like him my entire life. I didn’t grow up like you, in a mansion surrounded by overprivileged assholes. A badass biker guy like that doesn’t scare me.”

  “Put up or shut up, sweetie.” Mallory grins, thinking she’s proved her point because she’s always the unpredictable one in the group, while Mary and I play shit safe.

  The chair scrapes against the floor and my knees wobble as I stand, but I can’t stop now. If I falter in any way, I’ll never hear the end of it from Mallory. The last thing I want to give her is more ammunition.

  I lift the tequila to my lips, pouring it down my throat and barely wincing this time because it’s already working its magic. “Don’t wait up for me tonight.”

  Tamara’s hand is on my wrist before I have a chance to storm away in dramatic fashion. “Do you think this is smart?” She stares up at me with wide eyes. “Don’t listen to her. You know she’s a bitch, Gigi, and she’s just trying to piss you off.”

  I pull my arm away, feeling surer than ever that this is, in fact, the right thing to do. I’m going to prove them all wrong.

  I can be wild.

  I can be reckless.

  I know how to have fun, and I can most certainly talk to a hot, badass biker guy without turning into a mumbling idiot.

  “I’ll be fine, Tam. I won’t be back at the hotel room before the sun rises.”

  “Gigi, don’t do this,” Tamara begs, reaching for my hand again and missing.

  “One second.” I take another step backward.

  Mallory’s face is covered in a shit-eating grin, and Tamara and Mary both look horrified before I turn my back to them and make my way through the crowded bar.

  Goddamn Mallory and her self-righteous bitchiness, making me do crazy shit. Well, it’s not entirely her fault. A man named Patrón is just as much to blame as the bitchy redhead sitting at my table.

  My eyes lock with the handsome stranger’s, and all rational thought and any reason to stop what’s about to happen go right out the window. God, he’s beautiful. He has the sexy bed-head thing nailed with his light-brown locks goi
ng all different directions, begging to be touched and smoothed. The way his lips curve at the side, exposing just a hint of white teeth renders me a little stupid, and I almost trip over my own two feet, but I somehow stay upright.

  Reaching into my back pocket, I grab my phone and unlock the screen as I take the final steps to the guy who’s freaking hot.

  This man isn’t a college boy, looking to guzzle beer and make out at a frat party. Nope. Not this guy. He looks like the type who would have a different chick on the back of his bike every night of the week and make zero fucking apologies for it, offering nothing but a good time.

  “Hey.” I try to sound upbeat and excited instead of terrified and pissed off. “What’s your number, handsome?” I lift my phone, moving my gaze from his face to the phone and back to him.

  The corner of his mouth ticks, and I ready myself for a barrage of questions, but they don’t come. “Hey, darlin’,” he says smoothly.

  Oh my God.

  His voice is like velvet sliding over my skin, deep and gravelly. I stand there, unable to move, staring at his mouth, surrounded by that killer beard.

  I’ve never kissed a guy with facial hair. I wonder what it would feel like to press my lips to his. Would the beard tickle? Get ahold of yourself, girl.