Page 6 of Wild Curves
I tug on mine, wondering if she thought about me when she was describing this imaginary boyfriend. Nah, I wouldn’t be so lucky. Maggie is shy and determined. She’s career focused and doesn’t speak to anyone at the bar. In fact, she avoids me when she can. I’m dreaming if I think she thinks about me at all. But this is an opportunity I’m not going to miss.
“I’ve got a solution for you.”
She sits back and eyes me skeptically. “Tell Mom I’m into girls to get her off my back?” She’s funny when she’s not being shy. I like the banter.
“If it’s a fake girlfriend you want, then I can’t help. But if you want a fake boyfriend…”
I sit back and press my fingers to my chest then open my hands while raising my eyebrows.
She stares at me, and her mouth drops open.
“You?”
“Don’t look so horrified. I’ve got a beard, and I can charm anyone’s mother.”
I give her my best smile. I’m not a bar man for nothing. I love meeting people and can talk to anyone. That’s how I got my road name: Prince. It’s not because I’m royalty. It’s because I’m Prince fucking Charming.
3
MAGGIE
“What did you just say?”
I can’t have heard him right, because I think Arlo just said he’ll pretend to be my boyfriend. Arlo’s sitting with his arms out expansively and his eyebrows raised and a cheeky glint to his deep chocolate colored eyes. I’ve never noticed the amber flecks in them before, or the way they light up when he’s laughing.
My heart skips a beat at the thought of Arlo pretending to be my boyfriend. Will he pretend to kiss me? The thought sends a bolt of heat through my body, jarring my thighs together. And I have to lower my eyes in case he reads the lusty thoughts in them.
It’s ridiculous. He can’t pretend to be my boyfriend. I might like it too much. And I can’t let my mother loose on Arlo. That wouldn’t be fair.
“My mother would eat you alive.”
He smirks, all manly confidence. “I can handle it.”
He probably could too. Arlo is the friendliest person I know. He’ll talk to anyone, which is why he makes a good barman. Which is why he’s offering to help me out. It’s not because he wants to helpme.It’s because he would helpanyone.
“Are you working this weekend?” I ask.
I can’t believe I’m even considering this harebrained scheme, but the other option is an unknown bearded man on the other end of an app that’s no longer on my phone.
Better the devil you know and all that…
“I can swap my shifts.”
“Don’t do that,” I say quickly.
If he’s working, then that’s better. My parents can come in to eat at the restaurant, because they’re dying to see where I work. At least that’s what Mom says, but I know she just wants to check out what the HQ of a motorcycle club looks like. She’ll be disappointed if she’s looking for a drug den and loose women. The Wild Riders MC aren’t like that. They’re a group of military veterans who love bikes and want to do good in the community.
The bar is decked out with motorbike memorabilia and there’s always an impressive array of bikes parked out front, but other than that it’s a classy place.
The brewery out back makes craft beer and the mechanic’s isn’t a front to launder money, at least not that I know of. I don’t think the Prez would stand for that.
I’ve only been here for three months and I’ve barely talked to any of the men apart from those that I work with, but I can tell the Prez doesn’t stand for any nonsense. He strides around with a set look and a sharp eye. He runs a legit business and doesn’t suffer fools.
Arlo is eyeing me with a look of amusement that makes him look freaking adorable. I sigh inwardly. If I was a bolder type of girl, I’d know how to flirt with him. I’d bat my eyelashes and let him know I’m interested. But I’m not. I’m a small, tubby girl who prefers the company of food rather than people.
Besides, as Mother has pointed out so many times, with my career choice it will be impossible to have a family. There’s a reason why most top chefs are men. Women drop out of the industry when they get to their child rearing years. I made my decision when I went to culinary school. If I have to choose between being a top pastry chef and having kids, I choose being a chef.
But when I look at Arlo, there’s a pang of regret. I shake the feeling away. No point getting sentimental for a man who couldn’t possibly be interested anyway.
