Page 14 of Brazen Being It

That stops me. I blink. “Never?”

She shakes her head, eyes falling to the napkin she’s folding and unfolding in her lap. “Don’t have the best situation at home to be paying attention to boys.”

I run my thumb along the edge of the table. “And me?”

She looks up again, straight at me. “You showed up randomly. Figured fate wants me to see what you’re about. Plus, you’re safe.”

I give a half smirk, “safe? You do realize I’m a biker, right? How can you find that to be safe?”

“Bikers don’t scare me. And you, well, you saw a girl picking up change in a parking lot and decided to show up and lie that I lost a dollar. You and I both know I didn’t lose a dollar. You saw me, saw a situation, and decided to wade in. You aren’t here to hurt me. I’m not sure what your motives are or what the end goal is, but you aren’t out to hurt me.”

I chuckle. “That’s a polite way of saying you don’t trust me.”

“Should I?”

I don’t answer right away. A waitress swings by, asks for our orders, and we both go with the lasagna. Cambria glances at me with a little smirk, like she’s trying it out just to see what is underneath me.

When we’re alone again, I lean in a little. “You don’t have to trust me yet. But I won’t lie to you. Not my style.”

She nods slowly, considering. “Why me?” she asks.

Simple question. Loaded answer. I think about the night I saw her—really saw her—for the first time. It was two trips ago. Same hotel. She was trying to get in the hotel room door. When she realized it was locked, she slid down the door and sat there alone for over an hour. The door finally opened and a man walks out, a dirty man. The kind of man that never needs to be near a woman like her. Only after he gives her a sneer, a once over, does he walk away and she’s able to retreat into the room.

Whoever was inside the room, never emerges.

The second time we came to Arkansas, same hotel, I find her picking up change in the parking lot as if her next meal depended on it.

Now, this trip, we were here for a couple of days to blend in and make sure we have our route down pat. When taking on a new client, Rex likes for us to spend a few trips getting familiar. In two weeks, I’ll come back with the transport for the Saint’s Outlaws MC. Granted, she doesn’t know this isn’t the first trip or the first time I’ve seen her.

“You looked like you were dreaming with your eyes open,” I say. “And I wanted to know what you saw.”

She blinks. Her lips part just slightly. “Wow. That’s…”

“Too much?”

“No.” She smiles again, fuller this time. “Just—unexpected.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “That makes two of us.”

The food comes. It smells amazing, and for a few minutes we fall into a comfortable silence. I watch her steal a bite too soon, watch her eyes widen as the heat hits her tongue. “Hot,” she gasps, fanning her mouth.

“Told you.” I pass her water without thinking. She takes it, drinks, and her fingers graze mine.

That little touch hits harder than it should. I flex my hand under the table.

She sets the glass down and looks at me differently now. “You’re not what I thought.”

“What’d you think?”

She shrugs. “Loud. Rough. Dangerous.”

I smirk. “Two out of three ain’t bad.”

She laughs again, and this time there’s nothing shy about it. It fills the space between us like music.

For the rest of the meal, we talk about nothing and everything—her plans for college, my shop, the way she likes her coffee (more creamer than coffee), the stray cat she feeds even though her mom says it’s bad luck. She tells me about her sketchbook, and I ask if she ever draws people. She looks away and says only the ones she’s scared to forget.

I don’t ask if I’ll end up in there one day. I don’t want to know.

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