Page 4 of Love in Mission City: The Shorts

The sun glinted off the chrome, nearly blinding me.I squinted and, finally, spotted a human being.He knelt on some kind of mat, giving me the most wonderful view of his amazing ass.His jeans fit like a second skin, and his jean shirt did nothing to hide his broad expanse of back and muscled arms.

He pulled something, and as he shifted, he dropped the wrench.

“Fuck.”

I cleared my throat.

His body twisted as he reacted to my voice and he nearly knocked the bike over.He righted it.Then he righted himself as he rose.He turned and glared.“Don’t you know not to creep up on a guy?”

Creep up on?I pointed to the store.“I tried going in there first.”

The scowl didn’t lighten, but he did shrug.“Okay, what do you have?”

“Have?”

Oh.

I held out the coffee and Timbits.“Just welcoming you to the neighborhood.”

He hesitated.

Far too long.God, did he think I poisoned it or something?

Finally, at length, he wiped his brow with a rag and removed his sunglasses.

Wow.Just wow.Eyes the same dark brown as my ex-boyfriend’s.His hair was as dark as Sunshine’s, although with hints of light brown in the bright sunlight.He had a beard.Not a full beard, but a nice version of trimmed scruff.

I held up the coffee, and he finally accepted it.

“Uh, thank you.”

“My pleasure.”And it would be, if I got to look at this guy all the time.

He was my every fantasy come to life.

Chapter Two

Spike

With great reluctance, I took the offered coffee and the little box of Timbits.Yum, my favorites.But I wasn’t going to let this guy see that.I couldn’t put my finger on why, but my hackles rose at him.Something about his friendly greeting rang hollow.And with the fancy button-down shirt, pressed khaki slacks, and…oh my God, were those loafers?Even his glasses screamed geek.Now, I wasn’t one to pass judgement.Geeks owned motorcycles, too.Well, I’d known a couple.Um, yeah, one.Marvin—the accountant who did my taxes back in Surrey.Most of the guys I was used to dealing with were biker dudes.We’d operated in that part of town.

But here?In Mission City?I hoped to cater to a different clientele.Enthusiasts who rode for fun.

This guy?Discomfort radiated off of him.Probably thought the grease would magically leap from my hands to his pristine clothes.As I sipped the black coffee he brought—my favorite—I scrutinized his dirty-blond, close-cropped, slightly spikey hair and those dark-blue eyes virtually hidden behind the black, plastic-framed glasses.“Well, thank you for the welcome.”

He continued to watch me intently.

Heat rose in my cheeks and I tried to hold his stare.Something about this guy irked me, but what?His welcome to the neighborhood didn’t ring true.The coffee and Timbits were nice, but this didn’t feel like a genuine reception.“You haven’t told me your name.”

He fluttered his hand through his hair.

Ha, so not unaffected.

“Dickens.”

“Yeah, okay, but what’s your first name?”

“Dickens.”With a slight bite.

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