Listening to Brigitt's story makes me feel like acid is actually burning a hole through my throat. I'm trying not to show how I really feel, and I'm pretty sure I have an insane smile on my face. Like, I look like a truly crazy person.

Jealousy has risen inside me like a force I can't tame. The one thing I thought I had going for me was that Wulf liked me. Today in the office and tonight in the garage proved that I have no sway, no hold, on him. He took me, he doesn't care about me, and he is making that very clear. And that makes my heart feel painfully heavy. Like there's a knife in my chest instead of an organ.

The girls pass around a bottle of vodka that's flavored like pink lemonade. Flavored my ass. This shit tastes like nail polish remover. I shudder as I take a long drink then pass it to my right.

Bernie, who's probably about twenty years older than me, looks like she's impressed and then takes a drink too. She has long black hair that reminds me of Crystal's. I can smell the Aussie gel she's used to scrunch it with. Bernie's always got a black bandana on and she always wears leather boots. She smells like sweat and sunshine. In the Florida heat, I don't know how she dresses like this.

"Come on," she nudges me and we go to her husband's bike in the garage. Bernie pulls out a string bikini and I try not to blink wildly. All bodies are bikini bodies, but most women her size don't feel that way. She is confident in a way I hope to one day be.

Before I realize what's happening, she is stripping off her clothes and tugging on her red bikini. She takes a bottle of vodka, good vodka, out of the saddlebag and hands it to me.

"What are we doing?" I ask, taking a drink. It burns, but is way better than whatever we had earlier.

"Getting what you want," she says with a smirk. "Go put your bathing suit on," she nods to the house.

"I, uhh, I don't have one."

"Even better," her eyes flash as she grins. "Underwear will do. Show me whatcha got."

My cheeks are as red as her bikini. "Bernie- what?" I gasp.

"He fucked Brigitt, right?" she says, eyeing me.

Twisting my feet nervously I look down at the cold stone of the garage floor. "No," I say. He didn't fuck her per se.

She catches my meaning. "Same difference, sugar. These men around here- you've gotta show them who's boss. They need to think they're in charge. We know we're in charge."

I want to tell her that I feel like I don't know anything. But she's been with Sargent for like twenty years, and they've been a part of the club for eighteen. Clearly, she's seen a thing or two.

Wearing your underwear is no different than wearing a swimsuit, I tell myself. But as I walk across the lawn, hand in hand with Bernie I feel like it is very fucking different. All the same parts are covered, but I feel so much more exposed.

It's dark outside and the summer air is hot. The pool actually feels good. Cold, but good. It's illuminated a bright green by the underwater lights.

There are cheers as we get in the water. The pool isn't packed, but there's a lot of people in it. Since I'm short, I stay on the shallow end. My black lace bralette could pass as a swimsuit top. It's trendy and cute. I've never worried about wearing matching underwear, and tonight that feels regrettable. My top is fine, but the soft pink boyshorts don't exactly match. They feel heavy as the water soaks into them.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" Sargent comes to the edge of the pool and kicks off his boots. He's short and stocky, like a pitbull. Just like his wife, he always wears a bandana on his head. I think he's bald underneath it, probably why he keeps his beard so long.

He drops to the edge and Bernie wades over to him, rubbing his legs seductively. She's confident in every way. So confident that she doesn't care who sees or who watches them. I think she gets off on it actually.

She has a tattoo on her neck of the club's symbol. It's dark and worn, old, she's probably had it for ages. The way Sargent looks at her as they talk on the edge of the pool, it's like he only has eyes for her. There are a million prancing girls here tonight, but he doesn't even spare a glance around. He looks at Bernie like she's a mirage in the desert.

When she starts to unzip his pants, that's when I look away. They aren't afraid of public displays of affection and apparently they're feeling very affectionate. I understand why she brought me here- sort of.

Looking around, I realize there are a lot of eyes on me. It isn't uncomfortable though, because I feel in control. I stripped willingly, coming into the water with her where I knew, on some level, this is what we'd be doing. Watching the hungry stares, it actually starts to transform me. Between the vodka and the appreciative looks, I'm feeling confident.

A cub watches me from across the pool. That's what they call guys who have recently been patched in. I don't know him, but I've seen him around a few times. He's normally talking to Logo.

"Are you Boon?" I ask, wading into deeper waters.

"Yeah," he grins and reaches for his beer that's resting on the edge of the concrete.

Feeling flirty, I pull it from his hand and take a sip. Bud Light with Lime. It's not my drink of choice... actually, I don't have a drink of choice. When you grow up with an alcoholic, you normally have one of two reactions- becoming them or swearing off the stuff completely.

"What's your name?" he asks, letting me keep the beer.

"Silvie," I smile.

When we finally kiss, his lips are slim and taste like artificial lime. It isn't unpleasant. It just takes some getting used to. I've grown accustomed to Wulf's lips and that's something that needs to change. His fingers are long and slim and he holds them at my waist, pressing firmly to my skin.

He doesn't hold me like Wulf does. He isn't possessive. He doesn't act like he owns me.

We just enjoy what I think normal people would call making out. The water gently sways us and someone bumps me closer to him. I can feel his erection through his swim trunks. My fingers fumble with his waistband, the little drawstrings dance and float in the water.

"Mmm." He smiles against my lips and I realize I'm smiling too. It's like we're both drunk, not on the alcohol, but on the feeling of each other. His hands reach down and grip my ass, pulling me forward until my legs are on the outside of his.

He rests his head back as I dip my hand inside his shorts and grip his length. It's long and narrow, like a pole. His breath comes out in ragged bursts as I stroke him. Our eyes are heavy and hooded and we both watch each other's faces. White teeth bite down on his bottom lip and he groans.

His eyes widen and he hisses, "oh fuck." Straightening his back, effectively pulls him free of my grip. Water whooshes around me, lapping at the side.