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Why couldn’t I make myself like him?

The bell above the door jingled, and the answer to that very question strolled in behind my brother.

Nightmare was the newest prospect for the Bastard Saints.

Sighing, I took him in. Six-foot-three of solid muscle in a black tee that hugged his biceps perfectly, a prospect cut, and a headful of thick black hair shoved under a backward Cardinals hat. And tattoos. My god, the man had tons of tattoos—on his hands, his arms, his neck. I could only imagine he had them in places I couldn’t see.

Heat crawled up my neck.

He was beautiful.

He was also the reason I couldn’t picture myself with another man, which was insane because I promised myself a long time ago that I’d never get involved with a biker.

Following my gaze, Dr. Walker glanced over his shoulder. “Someone you know?”

I yanked my attention back to him and cleared my throat. “Uh, yeah. That’s my brother.” I forced a smile. “So. What can I get you today, Doc?”

Before he could answer, Drew cut the line, stepping in front of him.

“Seriously?” I sighed. “I love you to pieces, but you have to wait just like everyone else.” I motioned to the line of frowning faces behind him.

Denali’s lips twitched. “I don’t think so.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course you don’t.”

My big brother shrugged. I knew he didn’t care. He was a biker, and like the rest of them, he did whatever the hell he wanted; rules be damned. “Need to talk to you when you got a minute, doll,” he rumbled, side-eyeing the good doctor who’d moved around him.

“I’m working.” I glanced from my brother to Nightmare, then back.

“That’s why I said when you got a minute.” That was biker speak for ‘you need to make a minute.’

“Fine.”

Denali grunted, then jerked his chin to the corner table where Zeus was seated. “We’ll be over there.”

I waved my hand for him to scram, then turned my attention back to my customer. “Sorry about that, Doc. What can I get you?”

“No problem.” Proving further that he was a good man, he didn’t seem bothered in the least. “Give me a large black coffee and a box of donuts.”

“Any specific kind?” I arched my brow.

He glanced down into the glass case, and his eyes flared. There were a lot of options to choose from.

Three shelves, lit up from the inside, packed to the gills. Variety was the spice of life, right? Especially when it came to my baked goods.

“Surprise me,” he said with a smirk.

My lips turned up at the corners. It really was a shame I didn’t feel anything for the man. He was a catch and would make some woman very, very happy.

Just not me.

“My pleasure,” I finally said.

Grabbing a large pink box off the counter, I slid open the display case and started filling his order. A few glazed donuts, a couple of blueberry cake donuts, two chocolate-covered maple bars, a couple of raspberry jam-filled pastries that were still warm, a few cinnamon rolls the size of my hand, and three bear claws.

For shits and giggles I added a mixed berry muffin, because I remembered that it was his favorite. He ordered it the first few times he came in, but hadn’t gotten one since. He mostly focused on treats for the people who worked for him.

See?