Page 104 of Rogue's Path

“I dropped all my classes and switched majors. As a unit, my parents lost their minds. Can you imagine four people taking turns telling you about what a poor choice you made, and how if you pushed through, you’d be proud of yourself? It’s the strangest thing. I’m obsessed with death and dying, but the idea of going in everyday to take apart bodies was impossible for me to do.”

“What did you change your major to?” It’s definitely not in the business or finance field. She doesn’t have a shark-like attitude to make it in either.

“Creative writing.”

“Come again?” My practical Peaches went for a fluff degree. It has almost as much of a waste of money as a degree in Latin.

“That’s what my parents said.”

I hate being compared to them, but in this, they’re kind of right. “How did it work out for you?”

“I became an author.”

“You did?” Can I see Peaches sitting at a typewriter, poring over musty books, and pondering the difference between two words in order to create the next great American tale? No. Wait, her stalker letter talked about books…Why didn’t I make that connection?

“Sure did.”

“Have you published anything?”

“That’s what it means to be an author. You write words. You publish them. Then people give you money to read them.”

I love that little snarkiness in her voice. “Have I heard of any of them?” I sneak a peek at her, and she’s blushing again. “Don’t tell me you write romance?”

“No, but it’s still embarrassing to tell people my pen name. I’ve only told a few people outside of my writing group.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not people. I’m the man that you love.” The street splits ahead. I bear to the left.

“You probably haven’t heard about me. My pen name is Dylan DuPress.”

Heard of her? “Reach over the seat and grab my backpack.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

She takes her seatbelt off and has to fold herself over the seat to reach for my bag.

Why did my mother have to teach me manners? I keep my gaze firmly on the road ahead of me until her bottom is planted firmly back on the seat.

“You really want me to look in your bag?”

“I’ve got nothing to hide from you, Peaches.” But something I need you to see.

Slowly, she unzips it. Her eyes go wide, and she reaches in to take the book I’ve been reading at night before bed. Or reading when I’m not thinking about her before bed, which means I haven’t made much progress.

“My book. You’re reading my book. This is an early one.”

“Yeah, I found it in the club library—”

“Your motorcycle club has a library?”

Men on bikes can read. “We do. And every one of your books is in it. If you don’t want to be hounded by the guys with questions, especially Bear and Creed, I wouldn’t mention who you are. Those two are rabid fans. I haven’t gotten very far in your series, but I’m loving it.”

“You read my books.”

“Yeah, Peaches.”

“That’s another thing we have in common.”