Page 48 of The Belle and the Biker

She arches an eyebrow. "Kind of? Like, the Tar Heels are kind of lame?"

"Not a UNC fan?"

"Go, Blue Devils. My ex-husband went to UNC. And my daddy went to Duke." A brief look of sadness mists her beautiful blue eyes. I know she doesn't talk to her parents anymore. Aunt Hepzibah filled me in on it a bit, but I don't have all the details.

"Anyway." I grab a coffee cup from the small cupboard. "I'm not used to watching how I act or talk with anyone, but I know we'll be in close quarters together for the foreseeable future, and I'm not trying to make you miserable. I'll get Tank to give me a bedroll or a cot, and you can have the bed. I should have let you have it last night."

"Yes, you should have," she says huffily. "And it's hard for me to be anything but miserable when I'm stuck with you."

That stings. I could point out that I know she's still thinking about me, way more than she'd like to admit, based on how many times I've heard her moan my name in her sleep. But I suspect now isn't the best time.

"I just…" This is the time to admit how much I want her. Yep, I should definitely tell her that. "I'm not good with people. I'm sorry, Savannah. I'll try to be less of a jerk."

She leans on the kitchen counter and looks at me, waiting for more. She deserves more.

And I can't deliver. "Well. I should go check in with Tank, and he's lending me a cut so I can blend in with the club."

She nods and holds up her coffee as if toasting me. "Cheers." She manages a small smile. "Thank you for apologizing. I'm sure this assignment isn't your idea of a good time, either. I'm going to call Aunt Hepzibah and check-in."

I wish I could tell her what I'm really feeling. The pit of my stomach roils as I tromp off to find Tank.

While here, I'll be wearing leathers from the Skeleton Crew. Last night I talked to Tank and the chapter president Reaper in their office to affirm that I'll uphold their rules and bylaws while staying with them.

They're similar to the Iron Ride bylaws, which is why our clubs are affiliated. The club members are my brothers, and I would lay down my life for a brother. We do not tolerate insults to our chapter but don't seek trouble. We don't hurt the weak or the innocent. We defend and police our territory. We don't sell drugs or illegal weapons. Those who sell drugs or guns in our territory are our enemies, and we terminate enemies with extreme prejudice.

Wearing the Skeleton Crew patch is an honor I don't take lightly; they know that.

Tank has my cut waiting for me when I go to the club. He hands me my cut, a denim vest with a single Skeleton crew patch that indicates I'm a brand-new club member. It's different than my Iron Ride cut, which has multiple patches indicating my rank and accomplishments. He watches as I put it on. I thank him again before I return to the trailer.

"All right," I say to Savannah. "We need to go over our fake identities. I'm James, and you're Banshee."

"That's easy enough."

"I'll be working the door at Sparky's. You'll be waitressing. And you're my old lady."

She makes a face like she just sucked a lemon.

"Hey," I say, surprised by how much her expression of disgust stings me. "Some women wouldn't be too upset by that title."

"It's not the idea of dating you. It's the term 'old lady.' I'm twenty-five! And frankly, when I'm eighty, I'm still not going to want to be called 'old lady.'"

"You know it's just club lingo." I look at her with interest. "So. You're saying that the idea of dating me isn't completely horrifying? Tell me more."

"Tell you more about what?" She flutters her lashes. "I'll tell you what… I'd like some breakfast. Well, lunch, I guess." She stretches and yawns, arching her back, and heat rushes through my body.

I like how we are together when bantering rather than fighting. This feels good; it feels right. Note to self: a genuine apology goes a long way toward making life more pleasant.

I smile at her. "I'd like to take you to lunch. First, you need to change your clothes so your outfit doesn't scream 'Southern Belle hanging out with bikers!'."

"But I look adorable today," she says with a pout.

She's wearing a blouse with blue polka dots, a blue flared skirt, and prim little blue pumps. That's not going to fly. "You always look adorable. That's not the point. You will be dressing like a biker chick. You will be acting like one. You've worked around us long enough that you can pull it off. You won't be able to hide your accent, so if anyone asks where you're from, you can say North Carolina. If they try to push you further than that, just shrug and walk off so they get the point. They shouldn't pry too much, though. The club members are being told we're lying low because the cops are looking for us."

"Oh? What did we do?" Savannah cocks her head to the side, looking interested. "Nothing rude, I hope."

"Nothing rude?" I choke back a laugh. "Babe, we're bikers. On the run from the law."

She wrinkles her little nose. "I know; I just wouldn't want our new identities to involve bad manners."

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