Page 12 of The Biker’s Guilty Pleasur

It must have belonged to one of the new admits, being a mix of personal effects. Most women leaving an abusive relationship grab photo albums or other important papers while leaving everything else behind.

Reaper froze with a photo of a young boy in his hand. She felt the mood in the room change. He was quiet, reflective.

“My mom used to hide me in closets.” He almost whispered the words as if they shouldn’t have been spoken.

Her heart went out to him. She realized this big, muscled biker carried scars no one could see.

He put the photo into the box with the others, then stood up. His demeanor switched back in an instant, the brief vulnerability gone. Reaper put the flashlight back into the kitchen and they got to the front doors again. They hadn’t said two more words to each other.

“Hopefully, I can lock up now,” she said as they both stepped out under the awning. It was still raining, but not quite as hard.

“You know the diner across the street closes in thirty minutes,” he said.

She punched in the security code, then looked at him.

“I’m not going on a date with a biker.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I was just offering you pie.”

She rolled her eyes, but followed him across the street, holding her coat over her head. There weren’t too many cars at this time of night. The shelter was just on the outskirts of the city but still on the bus route.

When they entered the diner, the little bells chimed against the glass doors. The people inside all turned and stared at Reaper. It was almost comical. She wondered if it was like that everywhere he went. Grace had to admit she felt safe being with him at this hour.

They got a booth by the glass wall, sitting opposite each other. The waitress came over quickly and they both ordered pie. She got coconut cream and he got pumpkin.

“I’m guessing you’ve been here before,” she said.

“Couple times.”

“You know, I noticed a lot of people staring when we came in. Does it bother you?”

He leaned closer to her on his forearms as if he was about to tell her a secret. “Everyone’s afraid of me. You were too,” he said, then pulled back slightly.

She realized she’d stereotyped him just like everyone else and felt ashamed of herself.

“I wasn’t afraid.”

“Was it just raw hate, then?” He gave her that smirk again and she briefly saw a dimple on his left cheek. She instinctively reached out to touch it with her fingertip. Grace wasn’t expecting the power that would come from that brief touch. She pulled back right away and tried her best to hide how much it affected her.

“You have a dimple,” she said.

“Do I?”

“You do.” She was staring at the table, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.

“So, Grace, are you ever going to tell me why you hate bikers so much?”

She definitely didn’t want to go down that road tonight or ever. Grace looked at her watch. “We have like fifteen minutes. That would take a lot longer.”

The waitress came and set their pies down in front of them, along with the bill.

“Enjoy.”

“I love whipped cream,” she said, trailing her fork through the topping. “Do you think she left the bill because she wants us out of here asap?”

“Definitely.”

They both laughed.