Page 28 of Fire Me Up (Front Range Motorcycle Collective #2)

Gael

S omething soft but insistent slapped against my cheek, dragging me from the depths of sleep.

I groaned and tried to burrow deeper into the warm cocoon of blankets and Dylan’s arms wrapped around my waist. The slapping continued, more determined now, a tiny paw batting at my face with increasing irritation.

I cracked one eye open to find Bacon’s orange face inches from mine, his pupils huge in the dim hotel room.

Another slap, this one with claws slightly extended—a warning shot.

“I’m up, I’m up,” I muttered, wincing as I shifted.

Every muscle in my body protested, deliciously sore from the wedding night’s activities.

My ass ached in ways that reminded me of exactly how many times Dylan had claimed me as his husband.

His husband. The thought still sent sparks of joy through my chest.

Bacon meowed loudly, his paw now insistently pushing at my nose.

“Fuck off, cat,” I grumbled without heat. “I’m trying to have a romantic morning after.”

Bacon was unmoved by my plea, his eyes narrowing as he prepared to escalate his attack.

With a sigh, I carefully extricated myself from Dylan’s arms. My naked body immediately prickled with goosebumps in the over-air-conditioned room.

I grabbed the first piece of clothing I found—Dylan’s discarded tank top from the night before—and pulled it on.

It barely covered my ass, but it would do for a quick cat-feeding mission.

I padded to the other side of the hotel room where we’d set up Bacon’s travel food and water dishes.

I opened several cans, whistling happily as I prepared Bacon’s bowl with his special mix, muttering curses as he weaved between my legs, nearly tripping me.

“You’d better be happy with duck and salmon, picky eater. ”

He narrowed his eyes at me.

“I’m not opening a third can! You’re ruining my morning-after glow,” I told him as he dived face-first into the food. “I should be waking up to soft kisses and whispered declarations of love, not your furry paw slapping me in the face.”

“What the fuck are you doing over there, cooking a full meal?” Dylan asked.

I turned to find him propped up on one elbow, hair sticking up in every direction, sheets pooled around his waist. The morning light filtering through the curtains caught on his new wedding ring, sending a small flash across the wall. My heart squeezed painfully at the sight.

“He likes a specific blend,” I said. “You may as well learn about this now, because he’s quite demanding, and he’s about to be the boss of you.”

“He’s getting dry kibble from me.”

I gasped. “I can’t believe I married you! Dry kibble? Bacon would never!”

“Uh huh. Anyway, let’s get started on those kisses,” Dylan licked his teeth and frowned. “But maybe after we brush our teeth?”

“Sure thing, husband,” I said, loving how the word felt in my mouth.

Dylan’s face split into a grin so bright it rivaled the Vegas sun. “Husband. Holy shit, we actually did it.”

“We did.” I crossed back to the bed, crawling in beside him, not caring that the movement made Bacon look up from his food in judgment. “And now that I’ve fed our demanding overlord, I’m ready for married sex.”

“After teeth brushing,” Dylan reminded me, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. “Morning breath plus tequila residue is not sexy.”

I watched him unlock his phone, expecting him to put it back down, but his expression suddenly shifted from sleepy contentment to confusion. He blinked at the screen, then looked up at me with wide eyes.

“Gael,” he said slowly. “Do you remember anything weird happening with Lucas and Nox last night?”

I frowned, trying to recall. The night had been a blur of dancing, drinks, and sneaking off to make out with my new husband in dark corners of the club. “Not really? They were hanging out at the bar last time I saw them. Why?”

Dylan sat up fully, his eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline as he scrolled through what looked like a series of texts.

“Because Lucas just texted me asking if I remember him getting married. Apparently he woke up in Nox’s bed with a ring on his finger and no memory of how it happened. He’s in the bathroom hyperventilating.”

I stared at him for a long, silent moment. Then laughter burst from me, so sudden and violent I nearly fell off the bed. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.” Dylan turned his phone so I could see the string of increasingly panicked texts. “Look.”

I grabbed the phone, reading through the panicked messages from Lucas.

Each one sent me into fresh peals of laughter until tears streamed down my face.

“Holy shit. That’s a weird match. Nox’s himbo tendencies drove your brother crazy during the motorcycle maintenance class.

” I went into a fake Lucas voice. “Actually, research shows…”

“It’s not a match, they were drunk,” Dylan interrupted torn between horror and amusement. “I don’t remember them even seeming that into each other. Do you?”

I wiped tears from my eyes, trying to recall any interaction between the two. “They were talking at the chapel. And maybe dancing together at the club? But I was pretty focused on my new husband, so...”

“Same.” Dylan took the phone back, scrolling through more texts. “Lucas says the last thing he clearly remembers is doing shots with Nox after we left. Then everything gets fuzzy. He woke up with the ring and a marriage certificate on the nightstand.”

I collapsed back against the pillows, fresh laughter bubbling up. “Best. Wedding. Ever. We get married and accidentally inspire your brother to do the same with a guy he finds irritating.”

“This isn’t funny,” Dylan protested, but his lips twitched upward. “Lucas is freaking out. He’s never been impulsive in his life. He color-codes his research notes, for fuck’s sake.”

“Maybe it’s genetic.” I pulled him down for a quick kiss. “Kim men falling hard and fast. Must run in the family.”

Dylan softened against me for a moment before pulling back. “I should call him. Make sure he’s okay.”

“In a minute.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, keeping him close. “First, tell me you don’t regret last night. That marrying me in an Elvis chapel while I wore booty shorts and a veil was everything you ever wanted.”

Dylan’s expression melted into something so tender it made my chest ache. “It was perfect. You were perfect.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “Even if it inspired whatever chaos is happening with Lucas and Nox.”

“That’s just life around the FRMC, right?” I said, smiling against his lips. “Never boring.”

“Never boring,” Dylan agreed, then pulled back with a grimace. “But seriously, teeth brushing before we do anything else. I can taste the tequila from here.”

I laughed and released him, watching as he slid out of bed and padded to the bathroom.

The morning sun caught on the curve of his ass, the lean muscles of his back, the ring on his finger as he reached for the light switch.

My husband. Mine to wake up with every morning, to laugh with over unexpected Vegas weddings, to brush teeth with before morning sex.

Bacon jumped onto the bed, settling in the warm spot Dylan had vacated, and looked at me with what I could swear was smugness.

“Yeah, yeah,” I told him, scratching behind his ears. “You’re right. I got lucky.”

From the bathroom, Dylan called, “Coming to brush, husband? I’ve got plans for that body.”

I grinned, nudging Bacon aside as I got up. “Life’s never going to be boring with him, is it, buddy?”

Bacon’s only response was to curl up in the middle of the bed, claiming it for himself now that we were both up. Some things would never change. I leaned over and scratched his chin.

Dylan peeked in from the bathroom. “This shower’s big enough for two. Stop petting that cat and come pet your husband.”

Bacon narrowed his eyes at Dylan.

“I swear he didn’t mean that,” I whispered, shifting my weight so Bacon could make a proper nest in the middle of the king-sized bed.

“You’re still my morning priority. But, since you’re a confirmed shower-hater, I might as well give the human some attention for once.

Besides, we both know he’s obsessed with you. Remember who bought you the cat tree.”

We both looked over at the oversized cat tree sitting in the corner of the hotel room, which Dylan had insisted was “only practical” and arranged for Marcus to haul back to the loft in Denver in his truck.

Bacon meowed, like he was confirming that he was in charge, then licked his paw and started in on his morning ablutions.

“I promise I’ll never stop petting you, even if Dylan demands regular attention. You’re my number one, okay? But I love him too, very much, and sometimes he wants to do grown up things with me.”

Bacon blinked at me, then gave me a pointed look over my shoulder at the bathroom door, like he thought I was an idiot. I followed his gaze and my mouth went dry.

Dylan was waiting at the door, towel around his waist, muscles glinting in the morning sun. He looked so goddamn good it hurt. His wedding ring caught the light, a flash of gold on tanned skin, and my heart did a weird somersault, and I stood, drawn to him like gravity.

“You done with your number one priority, husband?” he said, smirking.

“I mean, you’re a close second. It’s not my fault Bacon is just a smidge cuter than you.”

“Just a smidge.” Laughing, he reached for my hand, tugging me into the bathroom, and the towel slipped just enough to make me forget every clever thing I’d planned to say.

I blushed, because of course I did, but Dylan just grinned wider and pulled me in for a kiss, wet and minty and full of promise.

“Brush your teeth, then get your ass in the shower,” he said, slapping my ass. “I’ll join you. I want to fuck my husband under that big rainfall shower head.”

I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in years, and stepped into the bathroom after him, leaving the door cracked in case Bacon got separation anxiety.

***