“Glad to hear it,” I reply.
“You know, it’s those true crime podcasts I listen to.They taught me to ask those kinds of important questions before leaving bars with handsome strangers.”
“Smart woman.”
Then I grin.
“You think I’m handsome?”
“You know you’re handsome,” she replies with a snort.Fuck, she’s cute.“Also, for the record, I don't normally leave bars with giant bikers who punch people.”
“That's very reassuring, Honey.Glad you're making an exception for me.”
“You’re welcome.Oh, I’m Daria Woods.So, what’s your name?”
“Rand Jameson.I’m forty-two years old.I live in Maccon City—born and raised.And I own Jameson Customs.It’s a motorcycle shop,” I tell her.“Anything else you want to know?”
“Yeah.Are you ready to go Rand Jameson?”
“I’m ready, Honey.”
“Honey?”
“It’s your eyes.They are the exact color of my favorite whiskey,Honey Bite.It's made by a local artisan distillery.”
“I think I’ve heard ofBite.I’ve never been one to garner nicknames, but I think I like it.”
“Good,” I murmur, and I take her hand in mine.
Electricity zips between us and my Wolf purrs.
Daria is sweet, soft, and feisty—everything I like in a woman.Only she’s better because this particular woman happens to be my mate.
Outside, the summer air wraps around us.
Maccon City is alive tonight.
Tourists.
Music.
The scent of the ocean.
Boardwalk lights glowing in the distance.
And parked at the curb—my Harley.
Daria stops.
“Oh.”
I grin.
“Ohgood orohbad?”
“Ohvery, very good.”
Her eyes light up.
