Page 6 of Royally Twisted

Tymber looked up and down the block. “Home, to my place.”

“If I give you my number, are you going to call me if I don’t go home with you now?”

Ivy was aware she was taking a huge leap of faith. He was a virtual stranger. Hell, nobody even knew where she was or would even care, but she tossed her proverbial last fuck in the air and nodded. “Want some company?”

He gave a slight tug to her hair, reminding her he had control. “You sure?”

Her mouth had gone dry, but she nodded. “Very,” she agreed.

“Want to ride with me?” He pointed toward his bike.

She swallowed, noticing his ride. Just because he rode a bike didn’t mean he was part of an MC. She’d never seen him around the Royal clubhouse or around any of the guys. “I’ll follow you.” Her own bike was parked in the garage behind her apartment.

“Where’s your car?”

Ivy pointed to where her 1974 orange Ford Bronco sat. “Right there.”

“Dayum, girl. That’s a sweet ride. Is it a six speed?” he asked, walking over to peer inside.

“Yeah, but it’s been modified. I’ve pretty much replaced everything under the hood, so it’s all brand new, right down to the six point roll cage.”

Tymber whistled. “You did the work?”

Ivy rolled her eyes. Men couldn’t wrap their head around a female who liked to work on cars and trucks. She was that girl. The one who could and would take an engine apart and put it back together even better than it had been. Case in point, her Bronco. She and Luke had found it sitting in a junk yard up in Sacramento years ago. Slowly, but surely, she’d rebuilt and replaced everything until she had what sat on the road today. The fact she and Luke would never be putting anything back together almost brought her to a crying mess, again. “I had help,” was all she said.

His phone ringing had him stiffening. “I need to take this.”

She stared as he pulled the little phone out, his jeans hugging him in all the right places. No matter how hard she tried, tearing her eyes away from his back was near impossible. What kind of person does that make her, drooling over a man, thinking of going home with said man she’d met at a crisis center? For all she knew, he too was a suicide survivor. Would being with her cause him more grief?

“Carly, calm the fuck down. I’m sure it’s fine. Yeah, I’ll be right there.” Tymber ran his hand through his hair, turning to look at her over his shoulder. His heated stare conveying more than words could.

Was this the universe’s way to tell her she was crazy to go back to his place, with a man she didn’t know? Her mind caught up to what he’d said or rather didn’t say. She was sure they’d discussed significant others, but here he was promising some faceless woman named Carly he’d be right there. The flex and bunch of Tymber’s muscular ass when he pushed the cellphone back into his back pocket was truly enough for most red-blooded women to lose their mind. “I lost my mind years ago, no reason to question its lack of existence now, Ivy Girl,” she told herself. If he had a girlfriend, or whatever, she’d find out and walk away now, rather than later after she’d made another mistake.

“I don’t think you’ve lost anything, Ivy. Maybe you’ve forgotten or misplaced it somewhere along the way.”

Chapter Three

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