Page 46 of The Girlfriend's Guide to Dating a Biker
Note to self: Two days of radio silence from your hot biker neighbour will apparently melt half your brain cells. Which explains why I walked into the lobby this morning braless, caffeine-deprived, and basically gift-wrapped for disaster in a clingy tank top.
Me
Still no word from him.
Megan
Nothing since the other night?
Me
Radio silence.
Me
And I definitely didn’t hear his bike come home last night.
Megan
Maybe it’s club stuff?
Me
Or maybe he’s with the blonde who can’t keep her hands to herself.
Megan
You don’t know that.
Me
I know nothing apparently.
But let me back up.
I was attempting to adult this morning, waiting in the lobby at 6:45 a.m. for my new mechanical keyboard delivery (because coding half the night is easier when your keyboard makes satisfying clicky sounds). In my defence, I truly thought I’d be the only person awake at that ungodly hour. That’s why I didn’t bother with a bra under my favourite sleep tank, the soft grey one that’s almost a size too small for me.
The universe, naturally, had other plans.
I’d just signed for my package when I heard bikes pulling up outside. My heart tripped over itself in the way it does when Jake’s nearby, and while I was still deciding whether to sprint back upstairs or not, the door opened.
Jake walked in first, followed by three other club members. He stopped dead when he saw me, his gaze dragging down my body with desire, lingering in places that made heat rush low.
“Morning, darlin’,” he said, his voice husky in a way that definitely wasn’t just early morning rasp.
I clutched my package closer, painfully aware of how much this tank top left to the imagination (spoiler alert: nothing). “Hi.”
I noticed the way his jaw tightened when his friends’ gazes landed on me, his whole demeanour shifting to something lethal when one of them let out a low whistle.
“Boys,” Jake’s voice carried an edge that made the temperature in the lobby drop several degrees, “give us a minute.”
They filed out without a word, but not before I caught their knowing grins.
The moment the door closed behind them, Jake closed the distance between us. “Two days without seeing you,” he murmured, his fingers trailing down my arm, “and you’re trying to kill me, wearing this.”
“I didn’t exactly plan this,” I defended weakly. “I was just getting my package.”
“Wearing this?” His thumb hooked under the strap of my tank top.
