Page 12 of The Biker's Last Rodeo
Me: Domesticated with a motorcycle and a murderer’s stare, maybe.
Kera: A murder stare wrapped in whatever he’s making you for dinner? You're living dangerously. After the night I’ve had with my mom, I’m weirdly proud.
Me: It’s either a romance or the beginning of myDatelineepisode. TBD.
Kera: Just don’t fall for him so hard you forget how to run. Or text me. Oh, Nick stopped by this afternoon looking for you.
Me: He what?
Kera: Yup. I didn’t know what to tell him, so I said you were off living your dark cowboy fantasy. Maybe that’ll keep him away?
Me: Oh God! It’ll probably drive him toward me.
Kera: Sorry.
Me: I have no idea why he’s doing this. He was too busy for a kiss most days, and now he’s chasing me down? Men make no sense.
Kera: Or he really loves you, he feels bad, and he wants to make everything better again.
Me: If he loved me, he would’ve put work down a few times a day andtouched me,right?
Kera: I mean, kinda. Yeah.
Me: Exactly.
Kera: Well, keep me up to date with red flag guy. I’d tell you not to be stupid, but I feel like you’re desperate to be the spotlight in a true crime podcast so… have fun.
Me: LOL. Tell your mom I said I like the Navy Seal idea. You can’t be trusted on your own.
Kera: … Love you.
Me: Love you back.
I set my phone by the bathroom sink and step into the shower, trying to ignore the fact that Nick is still chasing me down. We broke up a couple months ago. I don’t know how else to tell him I’m not interested. Genuinely, I can’t believe he’s even stopped working this long to chase me.
Don’t get me wrong, hard work is sexy. Duke is a hardworking man, and it’s hot as fuck. It’s the way Nick worked, like every task came first, like everything was more important than grabbing me for a kiss, bending me over, or planning a romantic night. And when we did have time, his mind was always somewhere else. It was almost like he used work as a way to avoid his emotions.As a way to avoid me.
I lean back, letting the hot water spill down over my shoulders as I scrub uninspired smelling soap into every nook and cranny. I wish he had a razor in here. I could use a full body shave.
Not that anything is happening tonight. It’s not…clearly.
If he wanted to take me, he would’ve taken me down in the round pen, though I know he wanted to. I could feel it in every muscle of his body. I could see it in every lingering glance.
A chill runs down my spine at the thought of his big, calloused hands moving over me, his rough voice in my ear, the heat from his body emanating onto mine, the size of his cock as it went hard down the inside leg of his jeans.
Ugh! I need to get hold of myself.
When everything is properly scrubbed, I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a nearby towel, then holler downstairs once I realize I don’t have any clean clothes to wear.
Oh Lord, thisisturning into a romance novel. I find myself alone with a big, hot, brooding, morally gray man, and now I’m wearing his clothes.
Actually, one can only hope I know what’s coming next.
“Oh.” He clears his throat. “Top drawer, end of the hall.” Grease pops as he talks and I wonder what he’s making for dinner. It smells like fried chicken, but there’s no way this big, bad man is making fried chicken for dinner, right? That’d be like two puzzle pieces from different boxes. The man who kills for a living is certainly not a home cook too, right?
His bedroom is more organized than the rest of the house. It’s like he started the remodel up here, though the bathroom looked well renovated too with tile floors that matched the inside of the shower stall. They weren’t modern style tiles. They were vintage, as though he’s trying to keep the charm of the farmhouse.
I step onto the stained oak floors of his bedroom and glance around the room. Fresh paint, dark wood furniture, and a single picture frame sat on top of the dresser. An older couple in their seventies smiling bright and happy in front of a big gray barn. I wonder if they’re his parents. I lift the frame and study it closer, dragging the tip of my finger over their faces. He hashis father’s eyes and his mother’s nose. The glass is cool against my skin, but their warmth seeps through anyhow. They’re good people. You can feel it in the way their eyes soften when they smile.
