Page 6 of Outlaws' Single Mom
I meet him halfway, and he stumbles right into my arms, clinging like a baby monkey. I pull him into a tight hug, squeezing him like I haven't seen him in months. The strawberry scent of his favorite shampoo fills my lungs, and for the first time since I got Stiff’s call, I feel like I can breathe again.
I bury my face in his brown curls and let out the sob that’s been building since I got the call. “I was so worried about you!”
“I was scared, but the motorcycle men kept me safe, just like Auntie Georgia said.” Logan curls in a little on himself, hiding. “She’s not in trouble, right?” he asks guiltily.
Oh, Georgia. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. We always do, right, buddy?”
He nods against the breaking heart in my chest.
When Logan was a baby, I was sure my sister just needed a break. She’d done so well getting her life together before he was born, so I knew she’d do the right thing if I could give her a little time. I was careful to call myself Auntie Dakota, and when I talked about Georgia, I said that Mommy was sick and she had to go away for a while. He didn’t understand, but all he needed was safety, a full belly and allthe love I could give. I don’t even remember the exact day when he started calling me Mommy ‘Kota, or when it just turned to Mommy, and even Georgia agreed that it made life less complicated.
Am I doing the right thing by trying to give them as much of a relationship as she can handle?
It is. It has to be, right?
“You must be Dakota.” It’s the voice from the phone, Stiff, and the patch on his jacket over his left breast confirms his name.
“I don’t know what I could ever say or do to thank you for keeping him safe.”
He’s a striking man with a thatch of thick black hair that transitions into a short but full beard with an unruly swirl of silver in it under his chin where I spot a long healed, nasty scar stretching up from beneath his shirt collar. From under thick black brows, a pair of steel gray eyes watch me curiously, like he's not sure what to make of me yet. The feeling is mutual. He’s not traditionally handsome, but his features are strong, and his presence has a pull to it. In another world I could see him as a warrior in a suit of armor.
“I keep my promises.”
My fingers itch to take my hair down under his scrutiny, but it wouldn’t transform me into a supermodel like in the shampoo commercials. It would be a rat’s nest of bobby pins and hairspray. As it is, I’m not going to win any fair maiden awards, but it’s at least neat. “You did, thank you.”
“I can think of a few things you could do,” one of the others says with a low chuckle.
“That’s Lash. He’s nice,” Logan whispers. His breath smells like chocolate.
I bet he is.
It’s getting hard now that he’s bigger, but I stand up and hike Logan onto my hip. It helps that he’s still clinging to me like his life depends on it. “Do you have a suggestion?” I ask Lash innocently.
His mouth opens, snapping shut again quickly as his playful gaze darts to Logan. “A hug would be nice.”
“A hug?” I smother a laugh. Nobody who looks like him should be able to get away with boyish charm but he’s managing to pull it off.
Lash’s jacket's open, and the T-shirt under it is doing its best to keep him contained, but he’s seriously built. The sides of his head are shaved, leaving it short and dark on top. A black tattoo slithers up his neck behind his ear and onto the side of his head, of a thick snake that's flicking its tongue. At first his eyes look dark and colorless, but when he steps closer, I can see hints of mossy green. He opens his arms and wraps them around the both of us.
He’s so warm. I give myself permission to close my eyes for just a second and rest my head against his shirt, breathing in his comforting scent; a mix of leather, laundry and man. His hand falls casually to my lower back. I suck in a tiny breath. Most of what I know about bikers is secondhand, but I remember some of Georgia’s stories. This might be the most male attention I’ve had in a while, but I doubt groping a frumpy mom on the outside of her jacket is the highlight of his day. Logan starts to squirm and I pull away reluctantly.
“Thank you, really.”
“He’s a little young, but he’s not the first lost boy this club's taken in.” The third guy is the one that kept Logan from falling off the bike. His name is Jackal bythe patch on his jacket. He grins and wipes his hands off on a cloth that gets tucked into his back pocket.
Jackal is probably the most conventionally handsome of the three of them, with his blond hair and honey gold eyes that crinkle at the corners. But I saw the glimpse of a gun peeking out from under his jacket, and the sheer amount of ink and metal covering his skin makes it pretty clear he’s no angel.
Oh, I never really got the bad boy appeal before, but this ‘we’re just a bunch of lost boys looking for our Wendy’ look is making me understand, even if I barely have the energy to take care of one at the moment. Why couldn’t Logan have been found by a friendly grandmother? In a rom-com, this would’ve been a good setup for me to meet a cute single cafe owner who happens to be great with kids, but no, fate had to make his saviors as hot as they are completely inappropriate to consider exchanging numbers with.
“Look, I don’t mean to be telling you about your own life,” Jackal starts cautiously. “But I think you might need to reconsider who you have watching the kid. IfAuntie Georgiais your sister in law or something, you?—”
If only. “No, she’s my sister. I’m not… I’m not married. And don’t worry. I know. This wasn’t the plan.”
He raises his hands in apology. “Swear to God, no judgment here. Is Logan’s dad…”
“He’s, um, not part of the picture.” And if I have my way, he’ll never get close enough to touch a hair on Logan’s head. This little boy is the only good thing that man has ever done.
“He has a motorcycle, too!” Logan pipes up, beaming.
