Chuckling, he steps back again and staggers against the side of the bike. I grab the handlebars to keep them both from falling over.

“Oh my God! Will you please stop it?”

I haven’t dealt with an intoxicated person in a long time. I’ve forgotten how frustrating it can be to reason with them.

“Are you still sticking to your ‘not drunk’ story?” I ask. “Because you’re not very convincing. You can barely stand up without swaying.”

He squeezes two fingers almost together.

“Maybe a teensy, weensy bit drunk,” he admits.

“Well, that’s a start on the road to recovery,” I say. “Where were you tonight anyway?”

“The clubhouse.”

“And your biker friends let you leave in this shape?”

“No,” he says. “I was the last one there. Except for the Sweet Butts.”

Oh yes. The infamous Sweet Butts.

I know all about the group of women who hang around the Steel Infidels clubhouse. Most, if not all of them, are willing to do anything the bikers want to keep their position within the club. Sex, blowjobs, nothing is off limits. The women are passed around among the members and shared like club property. It disgusts me to think about it. It also ticks me off that they let Sam drive when he’s clearly wasted. He could hurt someone.

“Why didn’t you stay there with them until you sobered up?”

“I wanted to see you,” he says simply. “And you weren’t there, so I had to come here.” He points to the house then reaches out unsteadily to gently touch the side of my face.

I look up at his bloodshot eyes and let out a long sigh. Looks like I’ve got a drunk for the night whether I want him or not. On the bright side, this might be a golden opportunity for me to pry some information out of him about the Steel Infidel’s business dealings.

I decide to switch tactics since strong-arming him clearly isn’t working. Taking his hand in mine, I tug him away from the bike. Thankfully he moves with me this time instead of jerking away.

“Let’s go inside where we can talk. If you came all this way to see me, you can’t just leave. Come on.”

To my relief, he allows me to lead him up the steps to the front porch. I open the door and he suddenly stops. Turning around, he tries to pull me back down the stairs.

“You want to go skinny-dipping?” he asks, waving a hand toward the black lake behind the house. “It’s hot out here.”

This man is driving me batshit crazy.