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“So what was it?”
“Accounting.”
Now he really looked surprised. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“No, nothing,” he said. “I figured it would be Physical Therapy, maybe, or something sporty and active.”
“Oh, Accounting can be quite vigorous, I assure you.”
“Really?”
“No,” Piper said. “Not really. It’s super boring. It’s exactly as boring as you think it is.”
“How the hell did you end up tending bar here?”
“Just lucky, I guess.”
She needed to change the subject. The last thing she wanted right now was to get into a deep dive into her personal life. Besides, it was always best to stay at least a little mysterious to the guy you wanted to impress.
“What’s that scar?” Piper asked.
“Which scar?” Pony said.
“The one on your hand.”
“Oh,” Pony said, looking down at his left hand. “That one.”
Piper waited for more words to come out of him, and when they didn’t come, she said, “Is that the whole answer? That one?”
“Well, you know,” he said, staring down at the scar. “Indiscretions of youth.”
Once again, no more words came out, and Piper figured that was as much as she was going to get out of him on the subject.
It looked like she wasn’t the only one being mysterious. Piper was just trying to figure out how to wrestle more information out of her mysterious Army Ranger-become-outlaw biker when her phone buzzed insistently yet again.
She glanced at it. This text she couldn’t ignore.
“Your sister again?” Pony asked.
Definitely not. Piper read through the text more carefully, and then tucked away her phone and grabbed her purse from under the bar.
“I have to take off,” Piper said. “I’ve got a secret meeting to get to.”
Pony said, “Really?”
“No,” Piper said with a grin. “I’m meeting my dad. But secret meeting sounds more exciting.”
“Your dad, hunh?” Pony said. “Then I guess I don’t have to be jealous.”
Piper tried and failed to hide her grin at the obvious flirtation.Be cool, Piper, be cool, she kept telling herself as she collected her purse from beneath the bar.No grinning like an idiot in front of the cute guy.
“See you later,” she said, forcing herself to avoid sounding like a giddy little groupie as she left the noisy bar behind her and steeped out into the cool night air.
Once she was outside, she climbed on her motorcycle, a Yamaha YZF-R7. It was a street racing bike, nothing like the heavy Harley cruisers that all the MC brothers rode, and they never let her forget it. Every day, at least one of them would poke fun at her for zipping around her little crotch rocket speedster.
Whatever. She knew that, with as long as she’d been riding, she could probably take any of them in a race if it came to it. Harleys had their charm and their swagger, no doubt, but for sheer speed and maneuverability, her little street bike had them all beat.
