Page 19 of The Biker and the Loner
Taking umbrage to that, I shoot back, “Kendra is a good friend.”
“No, Kendra’s agreatfriend. But that Zac dude is not your friend,” he states matter-of-factly. “If he’s hanging around, it’s ‘cause he wants to fuck you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Babe, you know I’m right.”
Feeling hot all of a sudden, I gather up my hair and sweep it to one side of my neck, closing my eyes as I fan the other side with my hand. “Don’t call me that.”
“What's wrong with ‘babe’, babe?”
When I open my eyes,hisare molesting my neck. “It’s how you bikers address every woman you come in contact with. I hate it.”
“What would you rather me call you, then? Bae? Boo? Baby? Sugar? Peach? Browning? Yams?”
A small smile tugs at my lips as I dare to meet his wicked gaze. “Ley will do just fine.”
“Yeah, think I’ll call you ‘yams’.”
“Ley,” I stress.
“Sure, yams.”
Whatever. Makes no sense fighting with him, I’ll never win.
Hiking up on the other bar stool at the high table, I sweep my hair to the other side this time, fanning. “Jeez. Is it just me or has the temperature skyrocketed all of a sudden?”
“Nope. Just you,” he replies with a self-satisfied gleam. “Your body wants me, but you keep fighting it, so things are a little heated inside right now. Your desire for me and your restraint are dueling.”
“Seriously? Were you reading romance novels in Afghanistan or something?”
His face splits with a grin, and it’s like a scintillating starlight. “A shit ton. We read whatever books that were donated, and roughly eighty percent of those were romance novels.” A shrug. “You’d read a damn grocery list when you’re bored.”
“You getboredover there?”
He snorts. “Like you’d never believe. Got a lot of downtime when we didn’t have missions. The scale of military deployment goes between extreme boredom and extreme terror. It was kind of a struggle to find balance between the two.”
“Wow. That’s something I’ve never actually thought about.”
He studies me for a long beat, then, “Can I ask you something?”
I pause to think on this, not sure I want to say yes. Back when we used to talk a lot on the phone, he’d always start with that.Can I ask you something? And before I knew it, I’d be spilling my guts and catching feelings.I don’t want to catch feels for Scratch again. Not that the old ones have gone anywhere—they’re dull and abated now, under control. I can’t risk him breathing life back into them. It’s dangerous to feel anything for him.
His threat to beat down Isaac is proof that he’s still the same Scratch. And if he’s still the same Scratch, then he’s still a manslut.
I’m not about to get myself caught in that mess. Nope. Not happening.
Still, I reply, “Go ahead.”
“Your dad,” he begins, “did he have a crescent scar under his right eye?”
I go still. “How do you know that?”
Papà wasn’t a people person. He dedicated his life to his job and his family and didn't mix or mingle. Scratch couldn’t have known him...
He seems to be looking through me rather than at me when he says, “Not superstitious or anything, but I believe he came to me in a dream.”
Well,Ibelieve in superstitions, and Papà also believed in our loved ones visiting us in dreams. He told me that mom dreamt him all the time. “Are you serious? When? How? What did he say?” I ask anxiously, eagerly.
