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It bothered her that part of her reluctance was her own internal stereotype of bikers as untrustworthy, dangerous men who didn’t respect women. But going with them during the day should be safe enough. And they’d be in public, and she desperately wanted to taste what it was like—the motorcycle and them. “I’ll see what I can do, but you’d have to have me back at my place at whatever time I say.”
He broke out in a smile. “Of course. You call the shots. If you don’t like the spot I take you, we’ll go where you want, except a drive-through place. I hate fast food. And you’d be delivered to your door at the time you choose.”
“Then I’ll give you guys a call in the morning and let you know.”
“You can call me anytime from this moment on and I’ll be pumped to hear from you.”
Jett handed her a business card then too. “Call me first, darlin’.” He winked.
She flushed under the intensity of his raw look that seemed to strip her bare. Ronan was subtler and a little less certain, so he was slightly less intimidating. Jett was sex and confidence personified, and he made no attempt to hide his interest. It was flattering and daunting.
She watched them walk away, admiring their builds. She’d heard prison broke a man or made him worse. Ronan seemed unaffected. He couldn’t be totally unaffected by years behind bars, but he didn’t show any ill effects. Jett didn’t seem like much of anything had ever gotten him down, though she was sure he’d had his hard times too.
As the bark of the motorcycles told her they’d shifted gears (she’d learned that from Kayla) before they disappeared, she looked at the cards. The top one was for Ronan.
Ronan “Clutch” Vonn
Mechanic
The Road Kings MC
At the bottom was his phone number. She swapped cards and saw Jett’s was advertising his restoration business, but he also had a line indicating he was a member of the MC, though he didn’t have an official title. His number was printed on the last line as well.
She held the cards tightly, pressed between thumb and forefinger as if she expected them to slip away.
Turning to go into the classroom and get her things, she caught sight of Jimmy heading out. She stepped in front of him. “I’d like to know if your father read my note, Jimmy.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did he send me a note?”
“No.”
“Did he say anything when he read it?”
He nodded.
“What did he say?”
A pained look crossed his face. “I’ll get in trouble…”
“It’s just you and me, Jimmy. Please tell me what he said, and I promise that no one else will know.” She watched him struggle with her request. “It’s okay, Jimmy, no matter what he said.”
Jimmy nodded. “He said, ‘fuck that bitch.’” Then he stood stock still as if waiting for lightning to strike.
“Thanks for telling me, Jimmy. I guess you should go on home.”
He darted off without another word, leaving Tessa frustrated. On Monday, she would think the situation through from the top. There had to be some other way to get to the man and make him see what he was doing to his son.
Before then, however, she was going on her first motorcycle ride, unless she chickened out. The prospect frightened her a little, but at the same time it had her practically giggly. She tried to imagine being with either of them on their bikes, heading down the freeway on a sunny Saturday. There would be millions of people and cars on the road—there always were in LA. Of course, Murphy’s Law being what it was, she considered the odds of them riding past Donna Turnbull had to be extremely good. The idea made her laugh.
Things just worked out that way more often than people knew. Lateral synchronicity, it was called, and it worked for good and ill, but the more she thought about it, the better she liked the idea. She had no idea whether spooking Donna that way would be good or bad, but it sure as hell would be fun. She could only imagine her boss’s reaction if she saw Tessa riding with both men. She laughed as she walked back into the building to finish her classroom work before leaving for the day.
Late Saturday morning,under a startlingly clear California sky, a dream came true and Tessa felt as if she’d suddenly come alive, awakened from a coma. Every fiber of her being tingled with excitement. In this dream she found herself sitting on the back of a mechanical monster that throbbed with unbelievable power as it tore down the asphalt ribbon called the Pacific Coast Highway, following the coastline. It was a waking dream. Better than that, it was actually happening.
Dressed in blue jeans and a sweatshirt, she was on that bike with her arms wrapped around Ronan Vonn’s waist, her helmeted head against his hard back. She could see Jett on his bike ahead of them, and he’d already claimed her for the ride back. Off to the side she watched the ocean, the beach, and the entire world swirl into a maze of color. A warm wind brushed over her skin, the pulse of Ronan’s heart pounded loud in her ear, and she had been transported to some different world where everything was startlingly fresh and new.
At first, the abrupt shifting of their weight on the motorcycle as he turned or changed lanes alarmed her. She thought they’d fall over at any moment, but soon she realized his movements, those shifts, weren’t sudden at all. Exposed to the elements, with the road flying by inches below them, they felt that way, but everything she’d learned about Newton actually worked, and the big bike stayed upright.
