In front of Capone’s kennel, I jump up and down, shaking out my hands. He watches silently, while the rest of the dogs go crazy. I make sure Capone is on his leash as I lead him into the room, where he meets Wes and Max. Max sits nicely, while Capone sniffs around before jumping up to sit on Wes’ lap.
“You guys look good together.” I smile at the image, reach into my back pocket, and grab my phone. I slide up the camera, taking a picture before I can think better of it. My head bends and I look at the photo, not quiet sure what the feeling in my stomach means.
“You wanna have dinner with me?”
My head flies up and my gaze collides with his. I have read a lot, and I do mean a lot of biker books, and not once has a biker taken a girl out to dinner. “Um…” I whisper.
“I know a great Mexican spot.”
“Mexican?” I repeat.
“Or if you want something else…” He shrugs.
“I like Mexican.” I clear my throat and look at Max and Capone.
I look at him again, and he has one hand on Capone and the other on Max, two guys I believed would be forced to live out the rest of their lives in cages. He’s saving them, so that tells me a lot more than knowing him for weeks could.
“Okay,” I agree, then move away from the bench when he stands. “Let’s get you guys out of here.”
It doesn’t take long to fill out the necessary paperwork, and when it’s done, I help him get both boys into his Escalade.
“I’ll see you tonight.”
“See you tonight,” I confirm, watching him.
He swings up into his truck and shuts the door, pulling on a pair of sunglasses. His head dips towards me and I wave. The truck fits him as much as his bike does. He looked hot getting behind the wheel.
I feel for my phone in my pocket, making sure it’s still where he put it after he programed his number into it. I go inside and come to a complete stop when Kayan looks at me and smiles.
“What?” I ask, and she presses her lips together—to keep from laughing, I’m sure.
“Shut up,” I say, walking back into my office and shutting the door.
I have a date. I have a date with a hot biker who just adopted two dogs. Yeah, I was right in my last assessment of him. I’m screwed.
I look at myself in the mirror and turn from side to side, checking myself out. I have on a kimono jacket, and I’ve paired it with a red tank and dark denim capris. I walk to my closet and pull out my beige wedges that wrap around my ankle and have a peep toe. I slip them on, tie them up and around my ankle, and then walk back to the bathroom. I apply some bronzer, a little blush, and a whole lot of mascara. I tease the top of my head and bend over, using some spray before flipping my head back over, pulling the bottom pieces down over the tops of my breasts.
I do not look like a biker’s girl, but I do look cute.
I head out to my Jeep and toss my bag across the seat. It takes ten minutes to get to the restaurant that Wes asked me to meet him at, and when I arrive, the parking lot is packed with cars and tons of bikes. It’s late spring, so the evenings are warm, and the whole outdoor patio is packed with diners wanting to eat outside under the stars. My phone starts to ring, and I answer it without checking who it is.
“Babe, the lot’s full.”
“I know; there’s no parking.”
“I’ll follow you home and you can ride back with me,” he says, but I don’t know if that’s smart. I’m not sure I will be able to be pressed close to him with my thighs around his, my hands on his body.
“I’ll follow you.” I turn around and see him straddling his bike with his cut over a plaid shirt in blues and blacks with the sleeves rolled up, the top buttons open enough to see the tank he has on under it, and a pair of jeans with his black boots.
“Okay,” I whisper, and pull around the parking lot then onto the main road. He follows me the few minutes to my house, and I park in my driveway, getting out quickly and meeting him at the back of my car.
“You wanna get your helmet?” he asks.
I look at my bag in my hand and realize that if I’m riding with him, I need to lighten my load. “Be right back,” I mutter, opening the door to my car and bending across the seat to press the button for the garage.
“Hmm?” I turn to look over my shoulder at him.
“You look good, baby.”
My stomach starts to turn, not with unease, but with excitement.
“Thanks.” I smile with a shake of my head and go into my garage, pulling the stuff I need out of my purse and shoving it into my bra and pockets before carrying my helmet back out to where he’s waiting.
“Your car good?” he asks, lifting his leg over the seat of his bike and taking my helmet from me.
“Yes,” I whisper as his smell surrounds me. His fingers tuck my hair behind my ears, and then he places the helmet over my head and hooks the button under my chin.
“That okay?” he asks, and I nod as he tosses his leg over the seat once more. I’ve ridden bikes since I was fifteen and begged my mom to teach me to ride. She and I both like riding sports bikes, but my uncles and cousins who ride like Harleys, so I know what I’m doing. But I have never been on the back of a bike with a man I’m attracted too. I slide on, and the moment my ass touches the seat, his hands go to the back of my calves, where he pulls me tighter against him.
“Hold me tight,” he instructs, looking at me over his shoulder. I place my hands on his waist and squeeze him a little tighter as the bike takes off, which is a huge mistake, because I feel hardness like I’ve never felt before right under my palms. I didn’t even know abs were something that actually exist in real life. I try to keep still, even though my hands itch to press into him to see if what I think I’m feeling is really real.
When we pull into the parking lot, I remove my hands quickly and get off the bike. I pull off my helmet and bend over, fluffing my hair before swinging my head back upright.
“You need to watch who’s around when you do shit like that,” Wes says taking ahold of my hip.
“That bending over, hair-flip shit you just did.” I look at him and see that his eyes are pointing toward the outdoor eating area, where there is a group of guys all watching us. I ignore his comment and start walking into the restaurant, or try to, but his finger hooks into the back of my jeans and he pulls me into step with him. Then he wraps his hand around my waist, his fingers curling into my side.