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“Serena.” He sighs my name like a prayer. “I wanted to wake up with you. But I had something I needed to take care of.”
“Club business?” Lord knows I’ve heard that excuse many, many times.
“No. Something personal.”
“Please tell me you’re not married.” Not again. What is it with bikers who cheat on their wives? Thank God I didn’t screw him.
“I’m not married. Anymore.” He runs his hand over his chin and down his throat. “She divorced me while I was incarcerated.”
“Oh,” I whisper. It clearly bothers him to share such a painful detail. That he does it anyway melts some of my hesitation.
“Look, it’s been a while. I’m bad at this.” He steps closer. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” He strokes his knuckles over my cheek. “But I like you. And I want to know you better.”
“Why?”
“You need a reason why I like you?”
“You don’t even know me.”
The corner of his mouth hitches again. “Yeah, that’s where that whole ‘I want to know you better’ comes into play.”
“There seemed to be plenty of girls at the clubhouse the other night who wanted to know you better.”
“Maybe. But they weren’t you.”
My gaze lands on the clock behind him. “Shoot. I have another patient coming in half an hour.”
His fists clench at his sides, but he seems more angry with himself than me. “I didn’t mean to fuck up your whole day.”
“You didn’t.”
“What time are you finished?”
“Not until seven. It’s my late night.”
He scowls as if my schedule bothers him and gestures toward the window. “You’re running around in that parking lot out there by yourself after dark?”
I snort-laugh. “Well, I don’t fly home.”
He doesn’t crack a smile.
“There’s a security guard.” I don’t want to explain that I live in a seedy part of Empire. Walking through the parking lot is a breeze compared to the sprint to my apartment door.
“I’d like to take you to dinner.”
My lips curl up. “Are you asking me to dinner or just stating a fact?”
“Are you always this difficult?”
I almost blurt out, “You already know I’m easy.” Thank God, I catch myself.
“Will you have dinner with me tonight?” he asks.
“Sure. Where?”
He blows out a frustrated breath and rubs his hand over his cheek. “Unfortunately, I don’t know what’s around anymore. What’s your favorite place?”
I’m too embarrassed to reveal I don’t go out to dinner often. And if I do, it’s somewhere cheap and quick. “Taco Bell?”
He scowls. “Somewhere nicer than that.”
I fight off a smile. How can he be so gruff and kind at the same time? “Uh, the Stonewall Cafe is supposed to be nice. I haven’t been there in a while though.”
“That sounds good.”
“It’s not too far from here.” But it is someplace I know none of my co-workers would usually go.
“I’ll follow you, if you don’t want to leave your car here.”
“Okay. I, uh, have to work tomorrow.”
“I’ll have you home before midnight.” He steps closer, again raising his hand to gently cup my cheek. I’m already getting addicted to his touch. “That sound good?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I promise to do my homework and find a nice place next time.”
“Next time?” I raise my eyebrows. “What if I’m a terrible dinner date?”
“I doubt that. I’m the one who should be worried.” A slight frown creases his forehead. “I haven’t quite adjusted…yet.” The first note of doubt seems to chip at his confident exterior. It only makes my heart flutter faster.
“Seven, then?” he asks.
“Probably like seven-ten.”
His mouth pulls into a full grin. “Seven-ten it is.”
His gaze drops to my lips, lingering like a gentle caress. For the briefest second, I think he might kiss me. At his sides, his hands ball into fists, then he reaches for the door.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” My brain returns to normal function. “We didn’t even get to—”
“It’s not a problem.”
“Are you okay, though?”
A cocksure smile spreads over his face. “Better than okay, now.”
“Did you…did you…lie to Lucy just to see me?”
“Lie is such a strong word, Serena.”
He went to a lot of trouble to bring me my coat and ask me to dinner. Maybe he had a good reason for ditching me the other morning and genuinely wants to make it up to me.
Or maybe I’m an idiot for believing anything that comes out of a biker’s mouth.
Chapter Thirteen
Grinder
“Stand by the wall and take your shirt off.”
The powers that be will probably frown on me for stabbing my parole officer.
“Excuse me?”
“You get any new ink?” My parole officer lifts his hand in the air several times, as if that’ll encourage me to strip faster. I unbutton my shirt slowly as I step toward the plain white wall.
Prison already snatched my freedom and dignity away. Why should parole be any different?
“Yeah,” I answer slowly. Was I supposed to send him an announcement or something? He didn’t mention it the other day when he lazily went over the conditions of my parole. And I’m not about to volunteer information unless asked.
