The Biker's Rules
“Oh, please,” she snorts, leaning in like she’s about to drop some gospel truth. “Can I tell you why she’s cozying up to Mr. Hot-as-hell over there instead of sitting here with your sorry ass?”
“Not interested,” I say fast, because I already know the answer, and I’m a coward when it comes to these things. “And he’s not THAT hot.”
Thalia cranes her neck for a better look, eyebrows raised so high they could compete with the Golden Gate Bridge.