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I walked toward it and snatched it up from the bed, feeling something ugly cross over me at the sight of the name ‘Tate’ that rolled across the screen.
“Who is it?” she asked.
I didn’t want to answer, but I did anyway because I knew I wouldn’t win her over with my jealousy. “Someone named Tate.”
“Oh.” She twirled around and caught it up. “That’s the guy I asked if I could borrow his bike sidecar thing.”
I instantly felt like an ass.
She didn’t make me feel bad for it, though, when she answered and shot me a smile.
I walked toward her dresser and started opening drawers looking for a pair of pants for her to wear as I listened to her conversation.
She groaned, then perked up and said, “That’s so awesome. Thank you so much!”
She tossed the phone onto the dresser as I handed her a pair of jeans.
“That’s my ‘too small’ drawer.” She shook her head.
I grinned. “As in too small that they won’t button? Or too small that they’re really tight?”
“Tight,” she answered.
I grinned. “Put them on anyway.”
She rolled her eyes and did as I said as she explained what I’d heard.
“That was Tate. Dude with the sidecar. He said that he had someone borrow it. But he found me another man named Dixie Normus that… oh, my god. I just now understand the reference to that name.”
I laughed at her as I watched her pull the tight jeans up over her heel and work them into place up her calf, one inch at a time.
“Anyway.” She rolled her eyes and then did this wiggle hop as she pulled them up to her waist. “He said this Dixie dude volunteered to take the kid with him. Dixie apparently has a shit ton of grandchildren, and it’s already equipped for children. So Jase should be comfortable in it. And they’re staying in a hotel not far from us, so it’ll be even better to get him. Convenient.”
“What’s the club name that he’s affiliated with?” I wondered, protective of this kid that I barely even knew.
“Dixie Wardens?” She paused. “Do you think this Dixie guy helped form their club?”
I’d heard of The Dixie Wardens MC. They were a fierce motorcycle club filled with a lot of firefighters and police officers. Straitlaced, mostly.
She flopped down on the bed, did one more jumping hop while she lay down, and then sucked in her small belly and buttoned her jeans.
I watched with amusement as she finally got them buttoned, then flopped down onto the bed like she’d just done an exhausting workout.
“I sure do hope that these don’t kill me,” she grumbled. “And I only put them on for the ride there. When we get there, I’m taking them off.”
“Or you could leave them on, I could fuck you in the bathroom when we get there, and then you could change,” I teased.
She scoffed. “If you get these off after riding in them for an hour, I’m not sure how easily they’ll go back on, to be honest. And this is a kid’s soccer game. Where kids are. We can’t fuck in a bathroom that might have kids in it.”
She had a point. Unfortunately.
“Anyway, you need to call and set this up with Jase and his parents. Get that all ready to go. They said that they’d pick him up tomorrow around nine for the first ride of the day,” she sighed and sat up. “Any preferences on what shirt I wear?”
I shook my head. “No, because I have a leather jacket you’ll wear over the top of whatever you wear on top.”
She grumbled under her breath, then made the mistake of walking past me.
I slapped her ass almost as hard as she slapped mine.
She squawked, but then started laughing. “Guess I deserved that.”
She fuckin’ did.
I probably still had her handprint on my ass to prove it.
After making my phone calls and getting plans in order, I headed out to my bike to make sure we would have everything we would need for a longer trip.
Normally, I had that crap already in my saddlebags, but we’d done quite a few long rides over the last week, and I’d used some of my stock.
By the time that Coreline came out to join me, I had everything ready.
“Hey, have you seen my helmet?” Coreline asked as she walked up, eyeing me with annoyance.
God, I’d never get over seeing that look on her face.
The woman, even when she was scowling, sent shivers down my spine.
I was fuckin’ gone over her.
“Actually.” I bent down and picked it up off the ground, handing it to her. “I got you a new sticker for your helmet.”
She eyed me skeptically, then looked at the helmet, only to roll her eyes. Hard.
“I don’t understand why you insist on calling me ‘Elvis,’” she grumbled. “Or why you insisted on putting it on my helmet for everyone to see. Elvis is a boy name.”
