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“That’s my baby,” I say.
“She doesn’t look so good,” she says.
“She’s dying,” I say. “But I think I can revive her. Just need the right parts. Here, come inside for a second. I won’t be long.”
She carefully follows me inside, acting as if one wrong move will make this whole place attack her somehow.
“I just have to take a quick shower. Help yourself to whatever you want. I have some cookies I made in the pantry if you want some.”
“You bake?” she asks, holding back her smile.
I stop and turn. “Hell yeah, I bake. A guy gets hungry when he works on his bike.”
“Okie-dokie,” she whispers to herself, almost condescendingly.
I run the shower and quickly clean myself off. The suds of soap turn black with grease and engine fluid.
I look down at the bite on my thigh. It’s a little raised, but it’s healing okay enough. Nothing to be worried about anymore.
When I dry myself off, I throw a towel around my waist and walk out to find her staring up at the only framed picture I’ve got out here.
“Who are these people?” she asks.
The picture is of my crew, the High Priests. We’re standing around our bikes, pistols in hand, and we’ve got our patches and vests showing proudly.
She turns, and I’m close to her now. She backs away slightly and notices I’m only wearing a towel.
The way she looks at me, I swear, she wants it to fall off my body. She breathes a bit deeper and immediately coughs a little.
> “Just some old friends,” I tell her. It’s not really a lie.
“Just some friends? Your friends carry guns?” she asks, looking at me like I’m some crazy person.
Her eyes trail down my tattoos. If she looks any further, she’ll be eyeing my cock.
“Welcome to the Southwest,” I laugh and adjust my towel.
She flinches a little. I glance down at her thighs, and for a second there, I wonder to myself what she would do if I was to just let this towel fall?
What would she do if I was to lay my hand across her stomach and fold it under her crotch?
I just want to slide my palm across her wetness. I want to feel her soft lips against my hand. I want to hear her voice quiver and see her chest rise when she feels the blow of her orgasm.
Instead, I shower quickly, walk back to my room, and put on a new pair of jeans.
Shit, Caroline couldn’t handle a guy like me. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself when she found out she’s fallen head over heels for my… well, you know.
I throw on a button-down shirt, leaving the top three buttons open. I enjoy the feeling of the wind when it hits my chest. It makes me feel like everything in the world is all right, like it’s steady.
She’s staring at that picture still. When she turns around, she sees something worse.
My Glock nine, lying flat on the kitchen table. She jumps back, nearly breaking the bottle of Jack on the counter.
“Whoa there,” I say. “Don’t worry. It ain’t gonna bite you.”
“What the hell, Rowan,” she says, startled. “Why do you keep a gun out? Are you some sort of criminal?”
I start laughing loudly because the way she says criminal is hilarious. She’s like a third grader when it comes to crime.
