Page 23 of Her Dirty Biker
And when we finally pull apart, he doesn’t step away.
He murmurs, “You hungry?”
I blink. “What?”
“There’s not much, but I can make eggs. I need food after the way you blew my mind last night.”
I grin. “You mean blew your—?”
“Finish that sentence, and I swear to god I’ll bend you over that counter.”
A shiver runs through me. “Noted.”
He cooks and I eat. We don’t talk about what happens next.
But when he brushes a kiss over my temple before heading to the garage to “check in,” I realize something terrifying.
I trust him.
Chapter seven
Diesel
The garage smells like grease and hot metal when I roll in. Beckett’s under the hood of an old Chevelle, humming off-key. He glances up when I kill the engine.
“About damn time,” he says.
“You miss me that bad?”
“Nah. Just wanted to see if you were still alive.”
I grunt, ignoring the smile tugging at my mouth.
“She’s safe?”
“She’s fine,” I say. “Spooked but solid. Smarter than most.”
Beckett wipes his hands on a rag and leans back against the workbench. “You sure she doesn’t know more than she’s letting on?”
I meet his eyes. “She didn’t even know what she overheard meant.”
He whistles low. “She’s green.”
“She’s real,” I snap. “Not like the girls who hang around the bar looking for ink and trouble.”
“You saying she’s different?”
I don’t answer because he knows the answer. BecauseIknow the answer.
After checking in with Rock, I don’t go back to the safehouse right away.
Instead, I ride. Not aimlessly, nothing I do is without purpose, but I need to breathe. To stop picturing Willow in my bed, looking up at me like I’m important.
I end up at the overlook outside town. Pull off the highway, kill the engine, and climb out to sit on the hood of my truck.
The town sprawls below, quiet, sleepy, all its sins hidden away.
I lace my fingers together and stare out at it, trying to force my thoughts into a straight line.
