Page 3 of Edge
My smile turned crooked. “Wouldn’t worry about it, baby. Doubt anyone is gonna run off with your ride.”
A soft sigh escaped her pretty lips, and her shoulders drooped. It caused a burning in my chest that I didn’t like. I’d have to figure out a way to fix this shit for her.
Inside, The Drift Café wrapped itself around us: old wood floors scarred with years of boots and boardwalk sand, chalkboard menu scribbled in white, the hiss of the steamer and the soft chime of plates. A couple of customers lounged on stools at the counter. One of my brothers, Jax—broad-shouldered, tattooed, blond hair shoved under a backward ball cap, and black-rimmed glasses that somehow made him look more dangerous—lifted his chin when he clocked me, then did a double take at the girl at my side.
“We’ll sit over there.” I steered us toward a small two-top by the window, hooking a chair out with my boot and holding it for her. She hesitated, then sat, fingers smoothing her shirt as if her hands needed something to do or they might give away how rattled she was.
Too late, baby.My cock twitched at the sight of her pink cheeks and trembling fingers. I fucking loved knowing I was affecting her because she was certainly knocking me off my feet—metaphorically.
“What’s your poison?” I asked.
“Latte.” Then she added, “With cinnamon. And, uh…two sugars.”
“Simple,” I said, although nothing about her could be described that way. I went to the counter and ordered. Jax was studying me with a speculative eye, then he glanced past me and broke into a grin I ignored. Rea, the server, slid the drinks across the counter a minute later—mine black and mean, my girl’s crowned with foam dusted in cinnamon like the top of a snickerdoodle.
When I set it in front of her, she touched the warm mug and smiled. “Thank you. Although I suppose I should’ve been the one to pay.”
I waved off her comment as I dropped into the chair opposite and stretched my legs out until my boot brushed her sandal. I didn’t move it. “Tell me your name.”
She blinked, as though she’d forgotten I didn’t know it. “Callie.”
“Edge,” I returned.
“Is that your real name?” She tilted her head, eyes curious now, less wary.
“It’s the one that matters.” That was true for almost everyone, and since I didn’t know Callie, it should have been the same. But for some reason, telling her to call me by my MC road name didn’t sit well with me, and I wasn’t sure what that meant.
She considered that, then took a sip of her drink. Foam kissed her upper lip, and my hand twitched with the need to touch her. Then she swiped it clean with her tongue, and the urge got worse.
“So, Edge,” she said, with a small smile, “do you always shake down innocent cyclists for coffee after they…uh…murder your motorcycle with their bike?”
“My bike’s fine. Your tote got the worst of it. Paperback assault is a serious crime, though. We might have to take you in.”
Her eyebrows jumped. “To where?”
I let the grin tilt. “Jail’s full. I’ll have to make do with dinner sometime.”
Callie stared at me over the rim of her mug like she wasn’t sure whether I’d just made a joke or a promise. “You move fast.”
“Only when it counts.”
“What if I say I don’t go to dinner with strangers who could bench-press me?”
I winked. “Then we can skip dinner, and you can watch me bench-press you.”
Her mouth parted for a second, then a laugh broke free, surprised and bright. She tried to squelch it with a sip, but the sound stayed, humming between us like the afterglow from the rumble of a perfectly tuned engine. She set the mug down, tracing the handle with a fingertip.
“You're new to Crossbend.”
It wasn’t a question. She gave herself away with how she watched the room, as though the town was a puzzle she was learning to solve. Plus, there wasn’t anything that happened—or any people who moved into or even passed through this area—without the Redline Kings knowing about it.
“Yeah, I’ve only been here a couple of weeks,” she admitted. “I moved here to work with my aunt at Bookshell Cove. She owns it.”
I mentally grinned, thinking about the owner, Gloria Landry. She was in her fifties, half my size, and looked a fuck of a lot less intimidating. But from the moment she’d met my brother, Kane, and me she’d treated us like she’d raised us.
For a moment, I wondered if she’d object to her obviously innocent and sweet niece being pursued by me. However, the moment didn’t last because I was used to going after what I wanted, and I’d never had much of a conscience. Probably why I sometimes straddled the line between crazy and sane.
“Explains the paperbacks,” I teased. “The elbow grease too. Your palms okay?”
