“I came up with this utterly ridiculous pen name when I was drunk one night. A crazy story deserved a crazy pen name, so I settled on…”
I pause for dramatic effect, and Miles rolls his hand out in front of him, encouraging me to continue.
“Mercedes Lee Loveletter.”
I shrug and giggle, enjoying the stunned look in his eyes right before he asks, “What’s your real last name then?”
I pause and bite my lip, quickly trying to decide how far I want to take this. It’s a quick internal debate, though, because I know without a doubt that I love being Mercedes with Miles ten times more than I’ve ever loved being Kate, especially with men like Dryston. “It’s Smith,” I reply honestly because it’s not like he’ll find me on Facebook or something. I removed my personal account a long time ago because it was too much to monitor that profile as well as my pen name.
“Smith,” he repeats with a nod, the corners of his mouth turning down with a concealed smile. “So why Loveletter then?”
“Well, because that was how the BDSM performance all started. This giant dominatrix removed a ball gag from her slave’s mouth so he could read a love letter he’d written to his mistress. It was really sweet actually. He even cried.”
Miles shakes his head. “That’s how your journey began then?”
“Yep,” I reply with an audible pop. “I self-published the story and didn’t even know it hit the New York Times until an agent emailed me to ask if I had representation.”
“Holy shit!” Miles exclaims, clearly impressed. “That’s an incredible story.”
“Book-worthy,” I correct with a grin. This is fun. It’s been forever since I’ve thought back through the whole saga, and Miles is lapping it up like a dog. “And it clearly gave me the itch to write because once I started, I couldn’t stop.”
“Until your slump with this book.”
“Until Tire Depot saved me.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “And you said this book is the last in the series?”
I nod my head. “Yep.”
“And then on to the next book.”
“It’s like an itch I can’t stop scratching.”
I exhale heavily and watch Miles’s face morph into a warm, affectionate smile as he stares down at me. He’s mesmerizing when he looks at me like that, all sweet and masculine. It’s also totally frickin’ obvious that he’s thinking of a hell of a lot more than just the story I told him.
Damn it, men are confusing. How the hell can he look at me like that and not want to kiss me? The level of my urge to kiss him is at an all-time high.
I decide to smash the tender moment into pieces using the giant elephant in the room. “So does this mean we don’t have to be awkward?”
He chuckles, those crinkles in his eyes framing the steely blue of his irises. “I thought you telling me the story of you and your ex waltzing into a BDSM bed and breakfast pretty much confirmed that fact.”
“Fair enough.” I nod in confirmation. “So we’re friends, then?”
“Friends,” he approves with a panty-melting smile.
I pack up my computer and toss my bag over my shoulder. “Good, because, as a friend, I was wondering if you might help me with some research for my next book.”
His brows raise. “What did you have in mind?”
Smiling broadly, Mercedes looks like she could burst with excitement when I hand her a black helmet. “Okay, you’re going to throw your leg over but don’t let your ankles touch this area here.” I gesture down at the exhaust pipes on the side of my motorcycle. “These will burn you and hurt like hell.”
She nods, looking very serious as she frees the top knot on her head and shakes her hair out, sending a riot of red waves cascading over her shoulders. She pushes the helmet onto her head and shoves the strands over her shoulder so they run down her back.
I swallow slowly as I glance down at her skimpy attire. She’s wearing a pair of loose, colorful shorts with a white, flowing tank top. She looks girlie and super vulnerable, and it bothers me. I considered making her go home and put on some jeans but figured I was being overprotective as usual, and I’m really trying to work on that. Especially since we’re just friends and nothing more.
After a second’s hesitation, I do the only thing that doesn’t make me look like a total control freak and shake off my leather jacket. “This won’t save your legs from road rash if we crash, but I’ll feel better if you wear it.”
She nods and grasps the heavy coat out of my hand and slips into it. It covers her shorts and hangs so far down her arms that you can’t even see the tips of her fingers. She pushes the sleeves up so she can buckle the chin strap of the helmet.
“Let’s maybe not crash, though,” she chirps, her voice muffled inside the helmet.
I chuckle and reach out to grab the front of my jacket, pulling her close so I can zip it all the way. Her blue eyes are staring at me intently when I look at her and reply, “I’m not planning on it.”
She gives me a small smile, and I swear I see her nose tuck into the jacket and inhale deeply as the zipper reaches the top. She suddenly shakes her head and steps back for inspection.
“You’re swimming in that, but it’s better than nothing.” I slide the eye shield down over her baby blues and tell her to climb aboard.
Mercedes widens her legs before even putting a foot on the peg next to my boot. I try not to laugh because I guess I’m just glad she’s being careful. Resting her hands on my shoulders, she throws her leg over and sinks down on the seat behind me. Her warm center is snug against my backside, and I have to fight the urge to reach back and touch her bare legs.
I don’t fight hard enough. My hand reaches back and strokes her bare thigh as I turn my head toward her and ask, “Do you have anywhere you need to be later?”
She shakes her head, and her voice is muffled when she says, “Nope, I’m totally free.”
“Cool,” I reply, pulling my aviators out of the storage pouch on the center console of my bike. “There’s a really great mountain that I love to ride out to, and we should be able to get there just in time for sunset.”
Mercedes gives me an enthusiastic thumbs up as I slide my glasses on and turn on the power switch. Standing up on one foot, I press my foot down on the kick start. My bike roars to life, and I rev the throttle a few times to warm it up.
Her hands move from my shoulders to snake around my waist, her fingers digging into my abs in a tight squeeze as she squeals her excitement.
“You ready?” I yell over the motor, the vibrations warming my thighs as we idle.
“Ready!” she shouts back and gives me an excited hoot. Then we’re on our way out of the Tire Depot parking lot and off to chase the sunset.
We cruise southwest of Boulder for about thirty minutes out to Twin Sisters Peak, a place Sam and I frequently go hiking when we’re in the mood for something quick and not too challenging. We call it our hangover hike because we can do it no matter how shitty we feel.
No roads allow access to cruise all the way up on a motorcycle, but at the top of a hill is one lookout point where hikers pull in to park, and it boasts stunning views of the Colorado sunset.
I love Colorado in general. After Jocelyn and I broke up, my mom urged me to consider moving back to Utah, but I just didn’t feel it. Boulder had become my home. I had recently purchased a house, I liked my job and the new friends I’d made.
I had already lost the woman I thought was the love of my life, so I didn’t want to stack another big change on top of that. Jocelyn slowly migrated her way out of my life for good, and I was okay with that. I just threw myself into fixing up my house and doing a good job for Sam’s uncle at Tire Depot.
Mercedes’s grip tightens around my waist as I pull off onto the small lookout point. Behind us you can see the Gross Reservoir, to the left are the Aspen Meadows, and to the right is the beginning of the Twin Sisters Peak. This entire area is chock full of enormous pine trees, animals, and unblemished nature.
As I cut the engine and drop the kickstand down, Mercedes presses down on the top of my shoulders and lifts her leg up over the seat. I instantly miss her warmth and realize that was not one of the many descriptions Mercedes gave me when she described the warmth of a woman at the Walrus Saloon.