Page 42 of Heartbeats & Highways

“We were only a part for a few hours,” I said with a laugh.

“Yeah, and I couldn’t stop fantasizing about your mouth and your legs.” He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Specifically your legs wrapped around me, and you pressing yourself against me.”

My heart thundered in my chest.

I pulled back and smiled at him. “We should go.”

He nodded and handed me a helmet.

We climbed onto his motorcycle and zoomed out of the parking lot.

Spurs was a cowboy bar and restaurant. It wasn’t overly crowded, and the Jackson brothers had already grabbed a table near one of the pool tables.

“We already put an order in for wings and nachos,” Roman said as we joined them.

Homer glanced at me, an annoyed expression on his face.

Did he not want me here?

A waitress came by to take our drink order. Savage grabbed my chair and scooted it closer to him and then placed his arm around my shoulder.

Virgil smirked at Savage’s demonstrative show of physical attention.

“So,” Virgil said. “What kind of tattoo are you getting, Evie?”

I frowned. “A tattoo?”

Roman nodded. “You work at a tattoo parlor. Your tattoos are on the house.”

“Oh.” I nibbled my lip. “That’s nice of you. But I don’t want a tattoo.”

“How can you not want a tattoo?” Virgil demanded. “Everyone wants a tattoo.”

I grinned at his astonishment. “Not me.”

Our waitress returned with our drinks and passed them out around the table. “Food should be up shortly.”

She left and Roman continued the conversation. “Well, if you ever change your mind, let us know.”

“Yeah, and hypothetically, who would you choose to ink you?” Virgil asked.

“Not you,” Savage piped up, taking a pint. “I’ve seen the way you look at her ass.”

“Easy, man,” Virgil stated. “She’s got hearts in her eyes, but only for you.”

Savage looked at me. “Is that true?”

I smiled at him but said nothing.

“You wanna throw some darts before the food comes?” he asked.

I nodded.

He stood back and took my hand, helping me up from my chair. The dart board we walked to was on the other side of the bar, far enough away from our table that the Jackson brothers couldn’t hear our conversation.

“He’s hit on you already, hasn’t he?” Savage asked.

“Who? Virgil?”

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