He cracked a smile. “Probably a good idea.” He’d been staring too.
I went into the back and grabbed the bouquet of carefully painted roses that I’d put on a separate shelf. I’d never spent so much time and effort on one bouquet. They looked absolutely beautiful, if a bit gothic, and I hoped dearly that he would like them.
His expression when I came out still betrayed nothing. It wasn’t that his face was a blank slate—even that could say something. It was just that the expressions he made seemed not to compute in my brainbox. He was smiling at me now, his eyes immediately landing on the flowers. His smile grew.
“I love them,” he said as I placed them on the counter in front of him.
“I’m glad!” I was more than just glad. I was downright pleased as punch. If he had hated them, we’d have trouble. Especially since I’d spent longer on them than I had any business doing.
His wallet in hand, he asked for the price. We exchanged money and receipt without really taking our eyes off each other. Inside, I was panicking a little. Now that he had his flowers, did that mean I wouldn’t ever get to see him again? It seemed such an odd thing to think that someone I’d spent the whole day practically obsessing over would just be gone from my life in a flash like that. If he didn’t ask for my number, should I ask for his? What if he was just being nice to me, but he thought I was a complete bobble head from all the staring? What if he thought I was nice and hot but he had a girlfriend at home? It was so difficult to tell!
“Do you live here?” I blurted out. My third fear: what if he was just a tourist?
His lips twitched at the edges, but he kept a relatively neutral expression. “Yes. Not in the quarter, but fairly close by.”
I nodded. “But you haven’t lived here all your life?” I pondered.
He shook his head. “Neither have you.”
Both of us had the wrong accents. His had no southern twang. It was practically movie star Californian. Mine, I’d been told, was a little bit lilted from growing up on the East coast.
“I grew up in Maine,” I explained. “My mom moved here for work a few years ago, and I came along to study at the university.”
“My story’s a bit similar, though not quite.” He cocked his head to the side. “What are you doing tonight?”
Jolted, I blinked. “You mean when I finally get home after being held up at my shop by a late customer?” I asked cheekily. “Just working on my dissertation.”
“An intellectual,” he observes, his voice smoky and sensual. “And what’s your dissertation on?”
I had a hard time containing my excitement anytime the topic of my research came up. My eyes brightened. “I intend to prove that Neanderthals were horrified by violence, as opposed to the almost animalistic acceptance of it that they are so often charged with.”
“Interesting,” he said. And I didn’t get the feeling he was lying. “I would have pegged you as more of a psych girl than an anthropology one.”
I smiled. “There’s room enough for both of them in my life as far as I’m concerned. And in my treatise.”
“Well I’d hate to get in the way of your research,” he said, eyes glinting, “but I think I’m going to have to.”
My heart beat an erratic tattoo on the back of my ribs, which was more or less what it had been doing anytime I thought about this moment throughout the day. I hadn’t expected him to ask me out tonight, though. I had work to do. My paper wasn’t going to write itself.
That being said...I decided I would at least find out what he had in mind.
“And what do you mean by that?”
The room was suddenly at least five degrees hotter. I wondered if his stare actually gave off heat or if it just felt like it did. In my mind he was Clark Kent, trying out his laser beams on me. Melting through my defenses. In real life, he didn’t even need a superpower to do so.
“You’re too hot to be alone tonight. Come for a ride with me.”
It wasn’t a question. There was no inflection in his voice. It was a command, plain and simple.
Now, I wasn’t the type that liked to be told what to do. By anyone. It wasn’t something that often happened since most people knew me well enough to know that I both hated it and wouldn’t listen anyway. If someone told me to do something that I thought was a good idea I might go along with it, but if I had a better idea it wouldn’t have mattered if the President himself told me to do something—I’d just skirt around what he asked for and do my own thing. Not stubborn, necessarily, but self-assured. Okay, maybe a little stubborn.
But something about Zane’s command didn’t hit me in the way that others had in the past. I wasn’t put off by it. On the contrary, I was put on. Turned on. All kinds of on. It was like I was a hallway and somebody had just run down it and flipped on the dozens of light switches lining my walls. Did that make sense? I couldn’t tell. My mind was mush.
“I can’t.” In the interest of ignoring the malfunctioning of one of my most common personality traits, I decided to act as if his command had been unfavorable. “I have way too much to do.”
God, he was so hot. And I could tell he wasn’t going to give up. My words hadn’t so much as chipped a tiny crack in his confident and easy smile. “Can’t or won’t?”
This too, oddly enough, wasn’t quite asked like a question. He already seemed to know the answer. It was neither. I could, and I would go with him. He had already decided for me. Oh God, I was in trouble. I should have hated that. I should have immediately tossed something at him and told him to get out. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Because he brought something alive in me that I couldn’t ignore, and I didn’t think it was one-sided, either. I hoped not, at least.
It was a strange and wonderful opportunity that I wouldn’t likely get again anytime soon. There were a few grad students that I chatted to on campus who had made it clear they’d be interested in dating me. None had gotten the nerve up yet, but that was for the best. I respected the passion that guys like Daniel and Brad had for their work. It was the same passion that I had. But I needed something different from someone else. I needed something new. Otherwise, it would be just like going out with myself.
“What exactly does going on a ride with you entail?” I asked cockily, angling my hip to the side and resting my hand on it. I wanted to embody attitude. I’d seen it a million times—emulating it wasn’t difficult. I wasn’t feeling very cocky inside, though. I was a big pile of melted ice cream. Vanilla, most likely.
He leaned ever so slightly toward me, a tell. He wasn’t leaving here without me. The knowledge sent a thrill through me. Being wanted by a man so goddamn beautiful was something that I wasn’t used to. It made me arch my back a little, drawing his attention to my chest. I was enjoying this little game we were playing. I wished I got to play it more often.
“Depends on what you want, flower girl.”
So I had some choice in the matter. “I want to go home and write my thesis.” It was a test. I wanted to see how far his cockiness extended. How far he was willing to drive me. How well he could see through me.
“No, you don’t.” He could see me very well, apparently.
I shrugged and laughed. “Worth a try.”
He grinned back. “I promise I don’t bite. You have nothing to be afraid of.”
Oh, I had everything to be afraid of, but I wasn’t feeling fear. I was more scared at the idea of getting on a motorbike—which was presumably the ride he was offering—than I was of anything he would do. I was most afraid of what I might do.
“Well scoot out for a minute while I get locked up,” I finally said, waving a hand toward the front door.
He obliged, his large frame exiting the shop and finally giving me time to breathe. I went to the door and closed it, sliding the lock into place and watching as he lit a cigarette while he leaned on the opposite alley wall. He smiled at me through the orange glow, and I immediately turned back to the cash register, my heart pounding.
Jeez, when
was the last time I got laid? Was that happening tonight? Was that what I’d just agreed to? I pulled out my phone and dialed my mom, leaving it on speaker on the counter as I bagged up the change and bills and did my final balancing for the evening.
“Hey honey,” she answered. “Everything okay?”
I chuckled. “Yeah, Mom, all’s well.” I cleared my throat. “I, uh, won’t be home right away. I’ve got a date tonight.”
“A date?” Her voice nearly squealed with excitement. “I didn’t know you had a boy in your life! Who is he? Is he from school?
Cringing, I said, “No, he’s a customer.” I wasn’t really sure how my mom would react to me going out with a guy like Zane. I was twenty-six, a grown woman, but I couldn’t help feeling like I was asking to break curfew on a school night. I was only living with my mom because it made sense financially for school, but sometimes I still expected them to police me like I was there against my will.
“Well, that’s nice. What are you going to do?”
I took a breath. “He’s going to take me for a ride on his bike,” I said. “I don’t really know what else.”
My mother never ceased to surprise me. “Oh! A biker! How wonderful! You’ll have to tell me everything when you get home.” Her voice turned dreamy. “I dated a biker once upon a time. They don’t make very good boyfriends, but it was a lot of fun.”
I stifled a laugh with a cough. “I hope you told Dad that.”
She chuckled in reply. “No, I didn’t. Though he wouldn’t have minded. He knew that he was the only one for me.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially as if he was around. “But between you and me, honey, I sometimes wish he’d bought a motorcycle. Would have spiced things up a bit if you know—”
“Mom!” I interrupted. “Please don’t make me feel sick before I go on my date.”
She snickered. “Well, just be safe. Are you wearing jeans?”
“Yes. And I’ve got a hoodie.”
“You wore jeans and a hoodie to work? Very chic, darling. They’ll be writing features on you in fashion magazines soon enough.” Her dry ribbing of my wardrobe was something I was used to. She often lamented how it was a shame that I had such a nice body and “hid” it with comfortable clothes, while she had the body of an old woman and could only wish to wear the kinds of things I could get away with if I wanted to.
“Thanks for the support, Mom. I’ll see you later.”
“I love you, honey!” The brightness returned to her tone, and I rolled my eyes.
“Love you too, Mom.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Zane
I was surprised that it took so long to convince Sasha to come with me. She needed no winning over and yet all of it. It was like she’d made up her mind but wanted the friction anyway. Strangely enough, I enjoyed it.
I waited outside her store, sucking on my smoke like it was a lifeline. Our little battle of wills had put me more on edge than she should know right now. I didn’t want to scare her off with how much my battle-hardened soul urged me to claim her as my winnings and take her straight to my bed.
Maybe I was still on edge about Asa too. I had texted one of my guys as soon as I left the store to come pick up the flowers and send them to Graham’s family for me. I was in no mood to deal with seeing Asa again, not since she’d acted like her goddamn boyfriend hadn’t just died. Poor Graham. If only he knew what the woman he loved would get up to after his death.
Kevin showed up a few minutes later. With as many guys as my club had, there was always someone close by. He clomped down the alley in the way that only Kevin could. He seemed determined to make as much noise as possible everywhere he went. I didn’t get it. Any kind of tactician would tell you that making less sound was preferable to making more. But Kevin walked like that to fights, to jobs, and even to the goddamn grocery store. He was on the leaner side, and shorter than most of the other guys, so maybe he thought if he had a big walk people would think he was a bigger man.
But he was trustworthy and loyal and a good employee to boot. And whatever he was doing seemed to work for him.
“Hey, boss.” I still hated being called that but never corrected the guys when they called me it because that would make me seem weak. “Heard you got a job for me.”
I nodded, stepping out of the shadows and turning to him. I thrust the bundle of black roses toward him. “I need you to take these to Graham’s family,” I explained. “They’re from the club.”
He nodded and took the roses without question. “Anything else?” Though I disliked leading the club most of the time, I had to admit that I liked how easy it was to get people to do things for me. There weren’t any favors being exchanged here, or rain checks. This was pure, unadulterated respect. If I wanted something, it was given to me. All because I was trusted to have the club’s best interests at heart, and did everything to protect our way of life. Oh, and I paid them handsomely.
“That’s it for now.” I dismissed him with a tight smile and a nod, and he beat a path out the way he came. I listened to his footfalls on the pavement until they blended into the noises of the night, smiling to myself the whole time. I wondered if Kevin had ever considered tap.
The jingling of a bell directed my attention to the door of Fancy Florals, and Sasha stepped out into the alley. She closed the door behind her and locked it, turning to me afterward with an open and cheerful face.
“Where are we going?”
I gestured up the alley that Kevin had come from, which also happened to be the direction my bike was in. She followed along, kicking at the stones on the pavement. “Who was that you just met up with?” she asked.
“A guy from my club. I was just getting him to bring the flowers to the deceased’s family.”
She nodded approvingly. “You didn’t know him well. You didn’t have to get black roses.”
I tilted my head to get a better look at her. “I didn’t, you’re right. I’m sure they would have been just as happy with regular roses, or some other kind of sympathy bouquet.” I shrugged noncommittally. “But I lead these guys. They have to know that I’m with them in life and in death. Even the ones I don’t know.”
“You’re a leader?” We exited the alley, and the light of the streetlamps splashed over her features. The soft lines of her face were more beautiful in the shadows of the lamplight.
“I run a motorcycle club,” I said. “Have done since my dad went away recently.”
“Ah.” She smiled. “You hate it.”
For someone who said she couldn’t get a good read on me, she sure seemed to get a lot of things right. I wondered if she’d eventually move her journey from flower arranging and Neanderthals to government interrogations or something.
“I hate it,” I confirmed. “But I’m good at it, and the guys need me.”
She laughed. “What happens if you leave? It’s not like they'll all fall apart.”
I considered that for a moment. Would they all fall apart? The complex machinations of the business would have to be passed on to someone, but even if I was able to do that who would assume leadership?
That was a consideration for later. Now I was taking a beautiful woman out for a good time. Just in time for this mental repacking, my bike came into view, bronze beneath one of the city’s less bright streetlights.
“I’ve never been on a motorcycle before,” Sasha admitted.
I looked down at her and smiled. Her gaze on my bike was, I’m sure, meant to look like she knew what she was getting into, but I could sense the wavering hesitancy that sifted through.
“I’m a good driver,” I assured her. “All you have to do is hang on.”
She let out a bark of laughter. “I’m sure that was meant to be comforting, but if you said that line about a hang glider, it would be utterly terrifying.” I quirked my eyebrow. Her face tinged pink. “Alright, alright. I’ll hang on and trust you.”
She slipped a gray University of Louisiana hoodie over her t-shirt as we left, and it hu
ng almost to her ass. It looked far from frumpy, though. Something about the way the sweater hung off of her, only inflated by the curve of her chest, made her look cute and small. She was small anyway. I was much taller than her, and probably twice as wide.
I passed my helmet to her and swung my leg over the seat, patting the space behind me to urge her on. She slipped the helmet on and then mounted. I had to keep telling her to get closer to me until she was right against my back. Her arms around my waist made my balls ache with need. She was so soft and gentle in her movements and in her person. I wondered if she was like that in bed too.
I drove us to Armand’s Billiards. It wasn’t that I wanted to avoid guys from my club—if I did I’d take her to one of the touristy bars—but I wanted a lesser chance of running into them. This girl had something going on that the girls I usually went for didn’t, and I was curious to see how it would play out in a more neutral environment.
Wrecked by the Bad Boy: The Sick MC Page 3
