Page 15 of Spinner's Luck

He smirked, crossing his arms. “That a compliment?”

“Take it however you want,” I said, leaning back against the desk. “But I’ll admit, I didn’t expect this. The art, the Legos... It’s a side of you I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, his gaze meeting mine. “There’s a lot people don’t know about me.”

“Maybe I’ll stick around long enough to find out,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

He didn’t respond right away, but the look in his eyes made my heart skip.

“You’re welcome to hang around,” he said finally, his voice almost husky. “For as long as you want.”

I nodded, feeling his words settle deep in my chest. “Thanks, Spinner. Glad to know it’s an option.”

The silence stretched between us, both comfortable and charged. My eyes wandered back to the walls, at the drawings that seemed to whisper stories of pain and resilience. I wondered just how many of those stories belonged to him.

For the first time, Spinner felt like more than just a sexy guy with a bike. He was... something else. Something I wasn’t sure I could walk away from.

I FELT HEReyes on me like a caress as I unfoldedthe cot, the faint squeak of metal loud in the room. Lucy sat cross-legged on the edge of my bed, watching me with an amused glint in her eye, her duffel bag resting on the floor. She didn’t offer to help, of course, just leaned back on her hands like she was waiting for the next part of the show.

“You always this entertaining before bed?” she asked, smirking.

I shot her a look over my shoulder. “For a pretty guest like you, I could be a lot more entertainin’, but you’ve already warned me.”

Her laugh was soft, almost playful. It was a sound I didn’t hear enough from her, and it made me want to hear it again.

The cot clicked into place, and I grabbed a blanket from the small storage cabinet under the bed. “Ain’t the Ritz, but it’ll do,” I said, tossing the blanket over the cot.

She tilted her head, the smirk fading into something softer. “You really don’t have to sleep on that thing, you know. I can take it.”

I shook my head, standing up and folding my arms. “Not how it works, Lucy. You’re the guest, so you get the bed. Besides, I don’t mind.”

Her brow lifted. “Chivalry? From a biker? Now I’ve seen it all.”

I smirked. “Keep that to yourself, Luck. Can’t have my reputation taking a hit.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t push it further. Instead, she leaned forward, pulling her hair tie loose and shaking her hair out. The sight of it falling around her shoulders made my cock tighten, but I looked away, busying myself with straightening the blanket on the cot. It was bad enough she was only wearing a long t-shirt to sleep in.

One that tended to ride up past her thighs.

And that gave me a glimpse of the intricate tattoo spiraling up her right leg, a twisting mass of figures—men, women, and children—woven together in a haunting dance. The shading gave it depth, making the figures look almost alive, like spirits caught in an endless climb. I didn’t need to ask what it represented.

“Why do you do it?” she asked suddenly, her voice quieter now.

I glanced up at her, unsure what she meant. “Do what?”

“Be... nice to me,” she said, her lips quirking into a faint smile. “You go out of your way to make sure I’m comfortable. It doesn’t add up to the biker life I’ve come to know.”

I shrugged, sitting on the edge of the cot and leaning forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “You’ve been hangin’ out with the wrong bikers. Real men take care of their women.”

Her expression softened, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she stood, pulling the blanket back on the bed and sitting down again, her movements slow and deliberate. I was beginning to think she was trying to tempt me.

“You want to take care of me, huh?” she teased lightly, but her voice carried something deeper, like she was testing the waters.

I didn’t look away, holding her gaze. “Yeah. I do.”

The words hung between us, but I didn’t regret saying them. Lucy held my stare for a moment before breaking it, her fingers picking at the edge of the blanket.

“I’m not used to that,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

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