Page 33 of The Belle and the Biker

I suppress a shudder. “Harold, we’re related. And eyes are up here.” I point at my face.

“Like ten generations back!” he protests, still talking to my rack.

“Not that far.” I wish. “I think we share a great uncle or something. I’m sorry, it’s too close for me. Also, you and Mimi have something beautiful going on there, and I wouldn’t dream of getting in the middle of it.”

“Aw, that’s nothing serious. I’d drop her like a hot potato for a sexy mama-jama like you.” Flakes of dandruff drift gently from his scalp, some settling on his shoulders.

“Urgh.” I grab the front door handle and yank it open. My breakfast is churning in my stomach, and I’ve got to get out of here before it makes a reappearance.

“Well, your loss.” He winks at me. “You know where to find me if you come to your senses.”

At the intersection of Hell-to-the-no Boulevard and Barf Street?

“Sure do.” I smile tightly.

I manage to make it all the way to the car before I’m accosted again, this time by Mimi. She’s out of breath and wobbling in her five-inch heels.

“Stay away from my Harold; you will not ruin this for me!” she hisses.

I stifle a snort of contempt. “No, you’ll do that all by yourself.”

“I’ll bitch slap you into next week, you whore!” She preens, flipping her hair back out of her face with her manicured talons. “And you can’t even defend yourself.”

I give her my best polite smile. “Now, what would make you think that?”

“Because you’re a better person now. You’ve turned over a new leaf. You’ve been telling everyone, which means you can’t hit back.”

“Where in the world did you get that idea? I’m dedicated to treating people better. Not being a doormat. I treat everyone nicely until they give me a reason not to.”

She swallows hard and takes a step back. “Oh.”

I take a step closer to her. “I live in New York City, and my roommate’s a crazy biker chick. She insists on giving me weekly self-defense lessons. Right before I came here, I learned to gouge someone’s eyes out with my bare hands.” I hold up my hand and wiggle my fingers.

It’s true. Tawny made me practice on a watermelon with a pair of grapes for eyes.

“Well, my goodness, look at me standing around out here jawing all day long! I don’t want to leave dear Harold all alone!” She turns and scampers off just as fast as she can in those teetering high heels.

CHAPTER12

Savannah

"Shut the front door.He did not!" Harper squeals.

I clasp my hand on my chest. "May lightning strike me dead if I'm lying."

We're the center of attention; no one's even trying to pretend they're not eavesdropping. Half a dozen customers stand there, arms piled high with clothing, shamelessly listening in.

"Lord have mercy, that little pimple is going to be rich. And he sent you flowers. And then hit on you while he was with Mimi. And he's your cousin." Harper's voice is rising higher and higher. She grabs a can of Cheerwine from the counter next to the cash register. "This is not strong enough for me to handle the images that puts in my mind." She tips the can back and drains it in one glug.

Tell me about it. At least she's not the object of Harold's affection. "Yes. To all of that. You don't design wedding dresses, do you? Because I can tell, this one's a keeper."

She makes a gagging sound. "I believe the appropriate style for anyone marrying Harold would be a straitjacket. Those are traditionally white, though, so there's that."

How could I never have noticed that Harper is hilarious? Because I was too blinded by my mother's snobbery, that's how.

Harper swivels around to look at her customers. Bobbi-Sue Darnell was so eager not to miss anything that she threw open the door to the changing room, and now she's standing there wearing nothing but her skivvies.

"Bobbi-Sue, you shut that door!" Harper squalls. "This is a family establishment, and I can see all your bits! And everyone else, you move along now. This is a private conversation!" Ha. That's why she carries on half the conversation at a volume that could shatter windows.

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