Page 6 of Never Distract a Biker

My hand closes around the duster handle I chose with this outfit. It's solid and real. Unlike the phantom pull towards a man who should be nothing more than a paycheck.

"Did he even feel the pull between us?" The question slips out, a whisper meant for no one, not even me.

I shake my head and laugh at my silliness. This isn't a fairytale; no hunky knight in a tailored suit is coming to my rescue. There's just me with a mother to save and no time for distractions.

"Go get them girl," I encourage my reflection, but it's a battle cry disguised as encouragement.

The door swings open, and I step out, back into the fray. Back to the dance and the dollars that'll keep Mom's heart beating. But as I walk, I can't help but search the crowd, looking for those come fuck me eyes I know aren't there.

"Survive," I whisper. And with that, I let the music carry me away. Swaying my hips and bare bum as I imagine certain hard eyes in the crowd.

3

Scarlett

The early morning chill nips at my exposed skin as I hurry through the dark parking lot, my coat barely covering the lace and satin costume I still have on. The night’s adrenaline has finally worn off, leaving me bone-tired and eager for the sanctuary of my bed. My car is only a few more steps away.

I dig into my purse for my keys, the clinking of metal faint but reassuring against my palm. Then, a shadow moves. A figure steps out from the darkness, blocking my path. My heart lurches into my throat.

"Shh," he hisses, and before I can react, a hand clamps over my mouth, muffling my startled gasp. Panic floods me, sharp and icy. I didn’t even see him coming. His other arm wraps around me, steel bands that pin me against his chest, firm.

"Stop struggling. I'm not going to hurt you." His voice is low and gruff, a command wrapped in velvet.

I freeze, every muscle in my body taut with fear. Slowly, he uncovers my mouth, his movements deliberate, as if he’s afraid of spooking me.

The instant I’m free, I spin around, glaring up at him. Words of anger and fear are ready to tumble out, but they die on my tongue.

It’s him.

The man who has refused to leave my thoughts. The one with piercing blue eyes who sat cloaked in shadows while I danced two nights ago. Standing this close, his features are even more striking, his presence dominating the space between us. He’s shrouded in mystery, an air of danger clinging to him like a second skin.

"Sorry for scaring you," he murmurs, his intense gaze never wavering.

I can see tattoos peeking out from underneath his black t-shirt and I can’t help but wonder what else I’ll find under his clothes.

"What the hell are you doing?" My voice is sharper than I intended, my words rushing out to cover the fact that my pulse is still racing—and not entirely from fear.

"I was about to leave when I saw you and decided to say hello." His tone is casual, but his eyes betray something deeper.

"Well, hello." I turn to leave, hoping to shake off the unnerving effect he has on me.

Before I can take another step, his hand closes gently around my wrist. The contact sends an electric jolt up my arm, freezing me in place.

"Wait," he says, his voice softer now, almost coaxing.

I glance back at him, my guard still up. "What do you want?"

"Just curious about you," he replies, his tone flippant but his eyes probing. The air between us is thick with unspoken tension, an unnameable charge that makes it hard to breathe.

"Curious about why I’m a stripper?" I ask, tilting my head. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

He smirks, a hint of mischief curling his lips. "Exactly. You don’t fit the mold."

I laugh, short and humorless. "Is there supposed to be a type?"

"Isn’t there?" His voice is husky, his gaze unwavering.

"Maybe," I admit, shrugging. "But we all have our reasons."

---