Page 20 of The Biker and the Gamer
Giggle!What the what?
In an attempt to recover from that giggle, I give him a tough-girl shrug and a chin-jerk. “There you go. Black doesn’t lie.”
We spend the entirety of my lunch hour at the show. Even Alec became mesmerized at one point when we came across a futuristic drone-style motorbike. A concept. Not practical and would never be street legal, so I’m not impressed. But Alec is, and I quite literally have to drag him away from the thing.
“Thank you,” I say once we’re back at The Metal House. I leave the engine running and jump out of the door-less Jeep.
Setting the camcorder down on the seat, he swings out of the vehicle and rounds it toward me.
My heart shifts in my chest when his naked gaze hits mine. For the last hour, I’ve been avoiding looking into his eyes, looking only into the camera. It had been a safe shield from that intense gaze of his that scares the crap out of me in the most delicious way possible. Somehow, he’s found a weak spot I never knew I had and I’m defenseless and breathless when those eyes are on me.
Without thinking, I reach up and tousle his hair. “Your hair’s shorter.”
“Just clipped off a few inches.” He fingers my bangs in return. “These need clipping, too. They’re getting in your eyes.”
“I know,” I say with a tired sigh. “Just haven’t had the time.”
“You owe me another hour,” he points out.
“The team usually comes back at four for that hour.”
“I’ll give it to you. Use it to get your bangs clipped.”
“Hmm,” I hum, smiling up at him. “That’s surprisingly nice of you.”
He jerks back with mock shock on his face. “Sur-sur-surprisingly?”
With a roll of my eyes and a shake of my head, I laugh and walk off. “Bye, gamer boy. Gotta get back to work.”
“Same time tomorrow, biker girl,” he calls after me.
I get to my office and find Judge, my boss, propped up on my desk with his muscled, tattooed arms crossed over his chest. Watching the security monitors.
Technically, it’s his office and his desk, but he’s never here, so I’ve long since made it mine.
“Yo,” he booms, and his graying red beard jerks with the word.
Judge is a rather dominant male presence not just in my life, but Grunt and Scratch’s. He’s tender—deep,deep—on the inside and cares more than he lets on. His entire life is spent giving young, hopeful people a break, forever helping someone out.
Maybe it’s to make up for all the felonious crap he’s done with his club. Heck, evenI‘vespent a weekend in jail just for being around the wrong people at the wrong place at the wrong time—that is, the club. But what’s it worth to talk about the bad and never mention the good?
Judge, president of the Den of Heathens MC, is the most macho, respected, feared, kind-hearted man I’ve ever known. His appearance is no doubt frightening, what with his tattooed bald head, imposing height and hard, uninviting features. But to me, he’s just Judge.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask, leaning against the doorjamb.
He scratches his jaw. “Been hearing some things.”
“Like?”
Looking away from the security monitors, he stares at me intensely. “You leavin’ us?”
“Fake news.”
He uncrosses his arms and plants them to the desk on either side of him. “Those kids you’ve been running around with, heard they’re paying you big.”
Aside from Grunt and Toni, I’ve told no one else about my deal with Vaughn and Drake, and I know neither of them would ever talk about it without my permission. If I were to guess, Cookie, Judge’s sister and Toni’s best friend and business partner, found out somehow—becausenothingmisses her—and ran her mouth to Judge.
Nonchalant, I shrug. “Rumors.”
