by Chiah Wilder
“No. When I was young, I wished I did, and then I met Felicia. We’ve known each other since grade school. We’re like sisters.” Lena looked off toward the water. The waves hitting the white sand before receding back into the ocean were hypnotizing. “There’s something about you,” she murmured.
“What do you mean?” Leaning forward across the table, a small smile curled his lips. “You can’t leave me hanging with a comment like that.”
“You heard that?” Damn.
“Tell me.”
Lena inhaled a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Okay. I’m not used to being in the now—the moment. My head’s always jumping around to the next thing I have to do, and it usually involves my business. But being with you kind of slows things down, and I like it.”
Once the words were out of her mouth, she immediately regretted putting herself in such a vulnerable position. Silence—untamed, and full of tension—slipped its way between them. She looked down at her lap, wondering if what Felicia said about taking this guy seriously had influenced her, so she’d let her guard down. A couple of cocktails, a romantic view, and a hot as hell kiss, and I go to mush.
She waved her hand and looked back toward the ocean. “Forget what I said. It’s been a long week at work, and I know I’m not making much sense. I don’t normally act this way.”
“Don’t worry about it. It was sweet.” His tone was reassuring, but she couldn’t look at him.
“Yeah, maybe if we were in seventh grade.” She nibbled on her index finger before moving to the cuticle on her pinkie, then quickly crossed her arms. “Tell me more about you. Let’s take the glaring spotlight off of me.”
Her attention shifted back to him when he readjusted in his chair.
“What? You’re the one who was dying to have this dinner, so do your part and put in the work. You said you were hard-working.” She teased. “Tell me more about you and your family. I want to know the rest of the story.”
“So you don’t want to leave anything on the table for the second date?” He brought the beer to his lips and took a long pull.
She smiled. “Who said you’ll get that lucky?”
“Fuck, you’re a ballbuster.” Shifting again in his chair, he shot her a look that said he was enjoying it. “I like nothing better than a bourbon neat and cranking up my bike for a ride along the coast and inland roads.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s where the bad boy vibe comes from. Let me guess, you have a Harley.”
“Fuck yeah, woman. Harleys are the only motorcycles to have.”
Images of her on his bike, plastered against his firm back, rushed through her mind. “How long have you been riding?”
“Since I was in high school. I worked my ass off my sophomore and junior year to buy a used Harley from this old dude I met on the beach. I didn’t have enough money, but my mom made up the difference. That bike was my first. It was always there for me, ready for adventure anytime. My mom gave me the world with that bike.” She could see the tenderness in his eyes when he spoke of her.
“It sounds like you’re close to your mother.”
He nodded, running his fingers up and down the glass. “My mom worked her ass off to keep a roof over our heads after my dad split, right after my younger brother was born. She never had a fancy education. She worked two, sometimes three jobs to make sure we were fed and clothed. I started helping as soon as I could work. My first job was stacking boxes at Riley’s Liquor Store.” He chuckled. “No one had a clue I was only thirteen. Anyway, I helped a lot because my mom didn’t have anyone else.”
She thought that was an interesting choice of phrase when he clearly had a younger brother who could help out, but it seemed better to let it go than to push on the subject.
“Over the years, I’ve worked a lot of odd jobs and picked up whatever I could to help pay the bills until I bought my own business.” Tank winked at her. “It’s a little different from going to Paris for culinary school.”
“Yeah.” Lena hesitated. “My life was a little different.” Her chest tightened, and she took a deep breath, clutching her fists in her lap.
“Where did you grow up?”
“San Francisco. My parents and I used to come here on vacation. We’d rent a bungalow on the beach for a month or so.” Memories of her father building sand castles flitted through her mind. “It was fun times.”
“Are both your parents still together?”
“Were. Past tense.”
A moment of silence enveloped them, and Tank shifted in his chair. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
She looked at their mostly finished food and noticed the empty tables and chairs as the remaining night staff started bussing and cleaning up the place. There wasn’t another customer in sight. Their waitress was inside, leaning up against the bar, apparently flirting with another server, her phone out in her hand.
“I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.” A weak laugh escaped her lips. “I know my staff and I hate it when we’re dead tired and want to go home, but customers keep sticking around.” She checked the time on her phone. “I really didn’t think we were talking for that long.”
“Me neither. I rarely talk this much.” Tank rose from his chair and pulled hers out, offering his hand. “I’ll get the check, and then we can take a walk on the beach.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
As she rested her palm in his, she was struck by the sizzle of physical awareness that jolted through her from the simple contact.
Squeezing her hand, he walked over to their server to pay the bill. As much as her feminist side hated to admit it, she liked it when Tank took charge.
“And what if I wanted to pay my half?” she asked as he walked back across the deck toward her, stuffing his wallet into his pocket.
“I wouldn’t have let you.”
And that was the end of that.
Tank’s intense gaze pinned her to the spot. Easing his hand behind her head, he cupped her neck and took her lips.
Tank
When Tank pulled away, they were both panting. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made out like that. Probably not since he was under the bleachers in junior high school.
Lena did something to him, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what it was. The smell of her hair, the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin… it all seemed to have gotten inside of him, or into the air all around him. The connection he felt to her went deeper than just attraction. It was something intense—a strong pull to someone he didn’t know.
Her fingers curled into his biceps. “That was amazing,” she whispered against his lips, “but we should take it down a notch before we both wind up naked in public and hauled in on indecent exposure charges.”
“It’d be worth it,” he said, squeezing her tightly. More than once, he’d imagined her back arching as he slammed into her. She’d wrap those long, sexy legs around his waist, then he’d flip her over, smack her sweet ass, and pummel her while pulling her long, silky hair. Just the other night, he jerked off as he imagined himself tasting every single inch of her flesh with his mouth.
“Are you okay?” Lena asked. “You’re… growling.”
Clearing his throat, he abruptly dropped his hands from her waist. “Yeah. Never been better.” He held out his hand and pivoted. “Let’s go for that walk.”
She didn’t take it. “Actually, it’s getting late. I need to be at work early in the morning.”
She’s pulling away. Tank ran one hand over the side of his face. Lena affected him more than he liked or wanted to deal with. Fuck. What the hell’s going on with me? He wasn’t used to feeling anything but lust for a woman. After his ex-wife took off with another man, Tank’s heart hardened, and he shut himself off from caring. In his mind, women couldn’t be trusted, even the ones who swore they would never hurt him. Life had been just fine with the c
lub girls and the citizens he’d take to his bed— no strings attached, and no betrayals. Then she came along, and he didn’t know what the fuck was happening to him.
Lena laughed softly. “You look like you’re a million miles away.”
“No. Something got into my head just now.”
“I know how that goes. I hope you understand about me having to leave.”
“Yeah, sure. No problem.” He breathed out slowly. “I’ll drive you back to the bar.” He continued to hold out his hand, and this time, her fingers slid easily into his with little hesitation.
He led them toward the parking lot without a word. The whole time he could tell she was fighting with herself on whether or not to say anything else. She didn’t need to say a damn thing on his account. He could more than handle it. He was a big boy.
“Keys?”
She tossed them to him as he led her to the passenger side of the SUV.
“You didn’t even ask permission, you know,” She teased as she slid into the car, “to drive me back to the bar and to your mystery ride.”
“You would stop me if it made you uncomfortable.”
“How do you know that?”
“You’ve made your position very clear from the get-go, darlin’. At the engagement party, you took no prisoners.” He counted off on his fingers as he listed their various encounters. “When you saw me at the print shop. Tonight. We’re keeping this at a casual level. You’re nothing if not a wholesome dose of honesty, which I can appreciate. But, if it’ll make you feel better, is it okay if I drive your SUV?”
As if there was another option, she made him wait for it. While he leaned over her in the vehicle, she acted like she was thinking, taking her time.
“Any day now. It’s getting late.” He faked a yawn to make his point, and split into a grin when she hit him playfully in the side. “I might get too tired to do a damn thing, and then we’d be stuck here.”
“I’m still able-bodied, and I can still drive my own car. So no, we wouldn’t be stuck.”
“See? Calling me on my bullshit. Now let’s get going.”
Through the entire ride back to the bar, she didn’t take her hand back. But when he pulled into the back parking lot and cut the engine, she squeezed once and pulled away. No big deal. She was clearly wrestling with shit. And to be honest, so was he. He looked back at her again. She had her head down, her warm, chestnut eyes looking up at him through thick lashes. A small, shy smile curved her lips.
Fuck. It was like his heart stopped beating for a second.
His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. He sure as hell needed to say something, but there wasn’t a damn thing in his head. Instead, he eased back in the seat, slipped the keys out of the ignition, and dangled them across the console.
She took them from his hand, and he heard the small hitch in her breathing as their hands touched.
Lena coughed, clearing her throat. “Whatever this is, I need you to know that I’m not ready for anything else. I can’t handle” —she waved her hand between them— “this right now. Just so we’re clear.”
Considering he wasn’t comfortable with the crazy mix of emotions tearing through him, he was totally down with keeping things between them casual and friendly. The last thing he was looking for was a chick to grab hold of his balls and his heart, only to spit them out after the excitement and intensity of it all faded to ordinary. From his experiences with chicks—Trish in particular—they weren’t interested in everyday living. They wanted romance and excitement around the clock. But when reality burst that bubble, they looked to someone else for that high. Trish was already on husband number four, and she’d just turned thirty-one. So Lena wanted only friendship? No fuckin’ problem.
“Sure, I get it. No worries. You’ve got my number, and you know where I work. Keep in touch.”
She blinked, as if she’d expected him to try and convince her otherwise. With a quick nod, she opened the passenger side door and hopped out, which gave him ample opportunity to watch her ass and hips sway as she walked around the back and to the driver’s side. What could he say? Friends or not, he was a man who appreciated a woman’s body.
A small tap on the window made him pull the keys out of the ignition and look over at her.
Her face broke into a cheeky smile. “Time’s up. You’ve got to go, she said, her voice muffled by the window.”
Tank opened the door.
“I had a nice time tonight.” The smile grew wider and her nose crinkled.
Ruthless. The woman was utterly ruthless.
“It was a nice change of pace,” he admitted, sliding out of the vehicle. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“I did,” she replied, holding her hand out for him to shake.
Is she fuckin’ kidding?
“What the fuck? You almost sucked my face off a while ago, and now you want to shake hands?”
“We both got caught up in the moment. We drank a lot, and moonlight on the water is a major aphrodisiac.”
“Bullshit. If that’s the way you wanna play it, that’s cool with me. But just so you know, I’m not shakin’ your damn hand.” Gripping her arms, he kissed her hard and stepped back. “Goodnight, Lena. Drive safely.”
She stared at him wide-eyed and mumbled, “Goodnight. And thanks again,” before slipping into the SUV.
Their eyes locked. It took all his willpower to keep from yanking her out of the car and into his arms. But he took another step back and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“As I said, keep in touch, Lena.”
With a smile, he closed her door and strolled over to where he’d parked his bike. He could sense her eyes on him, but he didn’t look back. Swinging a leg over the motorcycle, he settled into the seat. When he heard the SUV start up, he looked over his shoulder to find her still watching him. Lifting his chin, he revved the engine and sped out of the parking lot.
Not wanting to go home, Tank headed to the Jagged Outlaws clubhouse, where he’d been a patched member for the past eleven years. When he and Trish had married, he was in his second year as a prospect. When he earned his full patch, she had been thrilled. She loved the excitement of the bike rallies and the family barbecues, but she’d hated being barred from going to the club’s parties. She couldn’t get past the idea that there were club girls at the parties and she—his old lady—couldn’t go.
After that, Trish was convinced that he was fucking around with the club girls, which he wasn’t—that wasn’t his style. Then she started making him choose between the club and her, and that’s when shit hit the fan. In the end, she ran off with another man, and that’s when Tank had found out she’d been cheating on him for most of their ill-fated marriage.
Tank drove into the clubhouse’s parking lot, killed the engine, and pulled out his cut from the saddlebag and slipped it on. Nomad was stitched on the bottom rocker of the patch since he’d gone nomad almost three years before. It had been an easy decision for him. One of the reasons he’d wanted to join the Jagged Outlaws was because of the president, Raptor. Tank had met the prez at a rally when he was a senior in high school, and the man took a shine to him. Raptor had just turned thirty when the presidential torch passed from his father’s hands to his. After a motorcycle accident, Skull, the old president, couldn’t handle the responsibility of running things. Growing up in the club, Raptor’s dad had groomed him for the position, so he’d stepped up to the plate. In Tank’s, and the other brothers’ opinion, Raptor had been doing a kick-ass job.
Then life delivered a crushing blow to the club’s president: his eight-year-old son had leukemia. So, for the past few years, Raptor’s attention had been on his Nick, not the Jagged Outlaws MC. Raptor’s absence, due to long stints at UCLA Cancer Center, left the leadership of the MC in the hands of the vice president—Hammer. The VP was a mean, greedy sonofabitch who wanted to bring the Jagged Outlaws back to the old way of doing things: turf wars, prostitution, hard drugs, and extortion. The club during Skull’s re
ign was rough and brutal, and Raptor had fought tooth and nail to get them on a better track since picking up the torch. Now that flame was dying out.
Taking advantage of Raptor’s family situation, Hammer was slowly slithering his way to the top, with the single goal of ousting the president.
To Tank, Hammer’s intentions were transparent, but when he’d bring it up to the members, they’d tell him he was imagining shit, but he knew better. Not liking the direction the club was going in, coupled with his mother’s failing health, were the reasons he’d made the tough choice to go nomad.
A dense cloud of cigarette smoke billowed out to greet Tank when he opened the clubhouse doors. Metal music played from speakers perched on tall shelves against the back wall. Men in leather and denim hovered around the bar, while women in barely there clothing and fuck-me heels meandered around the room, showing the men a good time when asked.
“Yo, buddy, did you come to bang some sweet butts, or are you staying for the party?” Maniac cocked his head in Tank’s direction before shooting a cue ball into the corner pocket. “You wanna see me kick some pussy ass and drain this motherfucker’s bank account dry?
Tank looked over at Chainsaw, who stood against the wall, looking calm, cool, and collected, with a joint pressed between his lips and the smoke streaming up his face. The guy was unflappable, and could hold his liquor better than anyone in the clubhouse, but that didn’t mean shit, because the dude was a crappy pool player and loved to gamble big. Around the club, he was known as a sure bet. If a brother needed some extra cash, they’d hit up Chainsaw in a game of pool, because no matter how often he lost, Chainsaw would continue to play.
Tank rolled his shoulders, leaned back against the pine bar, and crossed his legs. “For now, I’m just here to watch the slaughter.”
Maniac busted out laughing and turned to Chainsaw. “Did you hear that?”
“I heard it, but it doesn’t mean jack shit,” he huffed.
