Sharing my Best Friend's Brother

Chapter 8

Ashley

I check my phone for the tenth damn time this morning, the screen flashing the same empty s**t it showed me last night—no missed calls, no texts back.

Three times I called him.

Three times it rang out.

And still not a goddamn thing.

I try to play it cool. He's the president of a whole motorcycle club. Man's got an empire of outlaws to run; he can't exactly drop everything to blow my phone up like some lovestruck teenager.

Besides, he deserves space. Boundaries.

I remind myself I'm not his girlfriend—no matter how bad I want that title. I don't get to demand his time the way Christine used to.

But tell that to my chest when it's caving in, or to my brain when it won't shut the hell up.

Because I basically spent the whole night wide awake.

Worrying.

Craving.

Laying in bed with my vibrator in one hand and his name stuck on my lips like a hook from some slow R&B track I couldn't shake.

Nothing compares to the real thing.

The way he manhandles me, folding me into whatever position he wants just to drive himself deeper.

The way his c**k drags along my walls until I'm screaming his name like it's the only word I know.

Last night, I even thought about pulling up to his house in the middle of the night.

Just showing up like, what's good—you alive?

But I stopped myself.

I've never done that before, and I'm not about to start now. Gray usually comes to me, either on his bike or we meet somewhere neutral.

That's our thing. That's our balance.

Still, here I am, thumbs flying across the screen, breaking my own promise not to double-text—or in this case, quadruple-text—because apparently my ass has no self-control when it comes to him.

Me: Good morning. Was hoping to see you last night, but u never returned my calls. Hope you're ok.

And the second I hit send, my stomach knots. Because now it looks like I care too much.

Which... I do.

But I swore I wouldn't chase him again. Not after that first night I crossed the line and told myself I'd take whatever piece of him he was willing to hand over.

I can still remember it clear as day—me working every ounce of charm I had, acting like some desperate high school girl trying to bag the quarterback. Only this wasn't prom night, and I wasn't seventeen. It was Zuri's birthday party, and Gray was drunk enough to finally stop pretending he didn't want me.

Didn't even matter that he was still technically married. His wife had already ghosted him, left him cold. And you can't really "step out" on somebody who packed up their s**t and walked out first.

That's what I told myself, anyway.

Made it easier to justify climbing into his bed, letting him kiss me like I was the only woman he'd ever touch again.

Easier than admitting the truth—that I wasn't stepping into some fairytale. I was just filling the space she left behind.

A distraction. Nothing more.

And that's supposed to be enough for me.

I think.

At least when he's answering my messages, I can pretend I matter. But the second he goes quiet? That's when it hits—the reminder that I don't really have a claim. Not the way Christine still does on paper, or the way an ol' lady would at the clubhouse.

I'm not his wife. Not his girlfriend. Not his nothing.

And yet, I'm the one losing sleep, staring at the screen, waiting for his name to pop up like a fool.

It pisses me off. Makes me feel weak, pressed, like I've turned myself into exactly what I swore I wouldn't be—some side piece hoping he'll pick me.

Except I'm not "some side piece." I'm not the random chick he drags along for a joyride, or a warm body he f***s just to get through the night. I'm the one who knows the way his shoulders drop when he finally lets himself breathe. The one who's seen the cracks he hides from everybody else.

So why the hell am I sitting here wondering if he even cares I'm worried? Wondering if some other woman is stretched out in his bed, getting what I spent all night craving?

I guess I'm just hoping he wouldn't do me like that.

That he wouldn't hurt me like that.

Yeah, he can get any woman he wants. Women line up for a man like Gray. But let's be real—I'm a dime f*****g piece, and he should want to keep me around.

I'm not just cute. I'm smart. I'm fun. I can drag him out of that broody headspace when he's acting like the world's burning down around him.

And in bed? Please. I put it down. I know what I bring to the table—and it's not just s*x, even if that's all he lets himself admit half the time.

Still, my brain won't quit whispering that ugly little if.

What if you're not enough to keep his attention? What if your time's already running out?

I shake it off, roll onto my side, and glare at my silent phone like it owes me an apology. Because if Gray's stupid enough to lose me? That's on him.

One thing about me—I'll never beg a man to see my worth.

If Gray can't figure out what he wants, someone else will.

Not that I want someone else. God knows I don't.

I want him.

His calloused hands. That gravel voice. The whole dangerous aura that makes my p***y throb just from being in the same damn room.

But I'll be damned if I let him think I can't live without it.

So I grab my phone again, thumb hovering, fighting the urge to send another text. Something blunt. Something that screams, "I'm not waiting around for you, Prez."

But I don't.

Because that would still look like I'm in my feelings.

And if there's one thing I refuse to be, it's the girl blowing up his phone while he's out there ignoring me.

That's not me.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Ugh.

I toss the phone across the bed, drag myself up, and head for the bathroom.

If he's not gonna answer, fine. Let him sit with that. I've got better things to do than stare at a blank screen all day.

Even if, deep down, we both know I'll check it again in ten minutes.

After putting on my makeup and a cute little fit, I grab my phone again, and instead of rereading Gray's unread messages like a clown, I scroll down to Alyssa's name.

My girls never let me wallow too long. She and Chelsea will drag me out of my own head, whether I want it or not.

I hit call, flopping onto my bed as it rings.

She picks up on the third ring, her voice tired but alert. "Ash? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," I lie automatically, even though I'm not. "Just bored as hell and figured you and the babies could use some company. You home?"

She snorts. "Of course I am. I've been up since 4 a.m. with the twins, and Zuri just woke up demanding pancakes."

Right on cue, Zuri's scream echoes in the background.

"I know, sweetie. Mama's coming."

Alyssa sounds stressed, and instantly my blood pressure spikes.

"Where the f**k are the guys at?" I snap, already anxious at the thought of her juggling three kids on zero sleep by herself.

"Gray called an urgent meeting at the clubhouse," she explains, exhaling like she's been holding her breath all morning. "Hopefully they'll be back soon."

Oh. So that's where Gray is.

My jaw tightens before I can stop it. Here I am blowing up his phone like an i***t while he's been sitting in a room full of bikers all morning, probably sipping whiskey and growling about business like I don't even exist.

A text would've taken him like ten seconds. Busy, can't talk.

Something. Anything.

But nah. He didn't say s**t.

And now I'm here feeling some type of way, because at least Alyssa gets the courtesy of an explanation. Me? I'm just supposed to sit pretty in the dark until Prez decides he's got time for me again.

Well, f**k him.

I can disappear too.

I grab my jacket and my keys. "Don't worry, I'm coming over. Tell Zuri Auntie Ash is about to whip up some blueberry pancakes."

Alyssa chuckles, relief already slipping through the exhaustion in her voice. "Thanks, sis. I'd really appreciate that."

"Say less," I tell her, locking the front door behind me. "You hold it down 'til I get there. I'll bring coffee and donuts—the holy combo."

She laughs again, with more energy this time. "You're a lifesaver, Ash. And when you get here, we're going to talk about what's bothering you."

I roll my eyes, even though she can't see me. "Girl, please. Nothing's bothering me except my lack of carbs and missing my beautiful little nieces."

But the way she goes quiet for half a beat tells me she isn't buying it. Alyssa's got that mom radar now—she can smell bullshit through the phone.

"Mhmm," she hums, her tone smug as hell. "We'll talk when you get here."

I groan, but there's no stopping the little smile tugging at my lips. That's Alyssa for you. Even drowning in diapers and baby spit-up, she still finds time to make sure I'm straight.

And maybe... maybe that's what I need to get my mind off her brother.