Page 17 of The Biker's Brother

“What!?!”

She slumped down in the seat and sighed.

“Well, that proved nothing. If you were him, that’s exactly what his reaction would be.”

“You’re a strange girl, Rose.”

“I’m a woman, Brandon.”

“Whatever you say.”

“I’m not the only person in the world who thinks females in their mid-twenties are past being ‘girls’.”

“Are you trying to start a fight?”

She thought about that for a minute. “Maybe.”

“Why?”

She thought about that for another minute.

“Maybe I think it’s safe to fight with you.”

“Safe?”

When she didn’t say more, Brand concluded that it had been a while since she’d felt like she could safely voice an opposing view. She was exercising the privilege. Taking it out for a run. With him.

“You want to talk about what happened?”

“Happened?”

“With him?”

She glanced at the clock and shook her head.

“Not at five freaking twenty in the morning.”

He shrugged. “Up to you. It’s my turn to pick the music.” He reached for the radio.

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, since we’re going to be stuck in a crate together for days, it’s a way to pass the time.” He smiled at her. “Who knows? You might give me a reason to be enthusiastic about guarding your body.”

“That pillow you threw at me this morning felt like you’re already pretty enthusiastic.”

Without another word he began scanning the radio signal. With his left hand on the wheel he went up and down the range of stations before settling on a mix of rock old and new. When the first song ended, the DJ announced that the system was going to be sitting on top of a forty thousand square mile area including parts of West Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee. She warned drivers to be safe in a voice far too sexy to sound alarming, but the message was received nonetheless. It was raining where they were and it was going to be raining where they were going, too.

Brand began happily drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel when the DJ’s admonition was replaced with a song byStink Fist.

After a few seconds, Cami reached over and turned off the radio.

“Okay. You win. No more torture. I’ll talk.”

“Stink Fistisn’t torture,” he said. “Wait until you hearSick Puppies.”

She stared. “That’s not a real band.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “It really is.”

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