Page 27 of 23 Hours

“Like the Scotsman fromSOA?” Kit inquires, oblivious to the kid’s proximity. He’s a red-blooded male, and she’s hot. She smells good too—peaches and cream. Don’t act like he don’t know what he’s doin’. He’s a teenager. They know. They always know.

“Same one,” he agrees on a nod, and I come up empty, knowin’ nothing of which they speak.

Kit twists around to look up at me from her spot on the concrete pad, all smiles and beauty. Fuckin’ A. I damn near have to catch my breath. “Wasn’t he the club’s sergeant-at-arms, just like you?”

Good question.

Eyein’ my patch, I shrug. “I dunno. Never watched the show.”

“Wait…” Her scratching stalls under the Frenchie’s chin as that honey gaze sears straight through me, passing judgment. “You read… you know what, but you won’t watch a biker show?” Tilting her head to the side, she tries to figure me out. It’s cute and a damn waste of time, ’cause she’ll never figure shit out. Nobody has, apart from my brother. Not even Big.

“I don’t watch TV.” Apart from when Bink was little and the rare occasion with Janie and Dom, it’s not my thing. Not that I pay much attention. Television puts me to sleep. See, I’ve got nothin’ against biker shows, or any shows for that matter. I just don’t watch ‘em.

A pair of full lips round in shock, not enough I could fit my cock through them, but enough my brain went there.

Christ.

“Ever?” She gapes, shufflin’ her body enough to keep lookin’ up at me without getting a crick in her neck.

“No time.”

“Seriously?”

I don’t think she believes me. Guess that’s what happens when you’ve got better things to do than get lost in a fantasy world with actors and actresses. Running a club, for instance, or caring for people. There are also bikes to wash and wax, boots to shine, systems to hack, and money to be made. Leisure time doesn’t exist in my world. Apart from the quiet nights, when I’d rather be reading, fucking, or drinking.

I deliver a flat smile. “Seriously.”

“You’re saying you haven’t seen all theTerminatormovies then?” Chibs has grown impatient with Kit’s lack of attention. He rolls back over and shoves his nose into her palm. Deb’s son chuckles and gives the dog a final pat before standing to his full height—not much shorter than me.

I keep talking as he sees himself home across the grass and out of our personal space. It’s a relief to get her alone again without prying ears gettin’ in the middle of our business, even if it is a stupid discussion about my lack of movie knowledge. “Nope,” I respond to her Terminator question.

My answer is met with wider eyes and supple lips parted in a way that shouldn’t look hot yet turns my crank. A crease runs from the corner of her brow into her hairline. Her skin flushes a rosy color as she ties her hair into a low bun, staring, thinking, obviously confused. If it wouldn’t cause problems, I’d snap a picture of Kit’s expression, to savor it. It’s one you never wanna forget. Like the way the sun glistens off her purple hair, highlighting the flecks of white-gray that’s lost its color. How her pale skin reacts to the simplest things—expressing her innermost thoughts without words.

She inhales deeply.

It’s comfortable, the sound of air leaving her lips, her probing gaze that lands on every inch of me like the soft dance across skin.

The sound of motorcycles rumble in the background as my brothers do their thing. Dogs groan and sniff. Then there’s her, breathing, blinking, looking more beautiful than anyone I’ve met before. Brilliant colors dance up her forearms and across her hands. I watch it all, every movement, every tick, as she overthinks like women often do.

A solid minute, maybe two, passes before she breaks the silence. “No,John Wick?Iron Man?Avatar?Bloodsport?Resident Evil?Fast and the Furious?” she rattles off, still not buying my ignorance. I smile at her cute ramblings and step up to unlock Chibs’ cage before he licks her hand clean off.

Eager as a beaver, he dives headfirst into her lap, knocking Kit onto her ass. A sweet, melodious laugh rings through as I step off the slab into the grass, watchin’ him wiggle with joy. Kit doesn’t disappoint when she returns his enthusiasm with a carefree brand of her own. I smile wider, just watchin’ it unfold. It’s the best sight. Right there. Him and her, in their own world, doing what they want, how they want, with no worries. This is why real life is better than television.

Once the excitement has died and Chibs is content to cuddle in Kit’s lap, I return to our conversation. “No, I haven’t watched a single one.”

She whistles or tries to as she catches her breath. “Woo wee.” The back of her hand swipes across her brow. “Adam is gonna have a field day with you.”

Tucking my arms loosely across my chest, I square my stance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Head tilting, Kit grins up at me as her back rests against the thick pole that supports the overhanging roof. She stretches her legs out in front of her, not caring if her ass gets dirty. “He’s obsessed with movies, rock music, and riding his Honda. Those are his favorite things.Outside the stuff that always gets him into trouble.”

My kid has taste and a rebel heart. I don’t even know him, and I already like the guy.

“A Honda, movies, and rock music, huh?” I wink, lovin’ how her face lights up just talkin’ about him.

“Yes. He’d also love these dogs. He’s a huge animal lover.” Kit findsthe spoton Chibs’ belly and his hindquarter goes wild. I remove the barren sucker stick from my mouth and tuck it away to toss out later. I replace it with a fresh one—strawberry.

“Tell me more,” I insist as I offer her a Dum Dum from the inside pocket of my cut. She accepts it with a grateful nod. ’Cause I’m a nice guy, I remove the wrapper and lean down to press the sucker to her lips. With a shy smile, Kit opens and steals the gift with the snap of her teeth. Yet she doesn’t yank away. She just looks at me, the ball hidden in the depths of her mouth.

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