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I snort with laughter. “This isn’t the movies, sweetheart. You could get all that loose fabric caught in the rear wheel.” The smile slides off my face. “Knew a couple who thought it’d be fun to ride off into the sunset on their wedding day. Dress tangled, bike crashed, neither of them made it.”
Her jaw drops and she stares up at me. “Well. Aren’t you full of cheerful tales.”
Thatwasa bit much. Why’d I have to bring up something so awful?
“Can’t help it.” I tap the road captain patch stitched onto my cut. “Safety first.”
“Good to know.” Her eyes stray to the car again. “What if I swap the dress for pants?”
“Are you Superwoman? Ready to change into your cape in an emergency?” I was aiming for a teasing tone to make up for the wedding horror story but my words come out more accusatory than amusing.
“Hardly.” She frowns, then rolls her eyes. “I work in a lab. I keep extra clothes in my car in case I get chemicals or something on me.”
“Smart.”
“Thanks.” Sarcasm creeps into her words.
“I didn’t mean it—”
“It’s fine.” She holds up her hand. “Promise not to look.”
“At what?”
“Me. While I change.” She hurries to the car and pulls a bag from the back seat. “Although, could you come stand here and maybe give me some cover? I think it’d be rude if I flashed my butt to all the dead folks.”
“I doubt they’ll mind.” But I walk over and stand between the two open car doors, doing my best to form a fourth wall for her makeshift changing room.
“You have such nice, broad shoulders,” she murmurs behind me.
I resist the urge to turn around. “Uh, thank you.”
Her elbow pokes into my back and she mutters an apology. Fabric rustles. A stronger whiff of warm vanilla tickles my nose. Her dress hits my arm, then flops over the car door. I turn slightly. In the side mirror, I catch a flicker of bare skin hidden under black lace.
Fuck.
I tear my gaze away and aim it at the trees in front of me. I manage a strip joint, for fuck’s sake. Naked skin doesn’t hold much interest for me anymore. No need to creep on a friend of the club when I can go to work and see all the lace-covered tits my heart desires.
She bumps into me again.
“You’re awfully violent when you get dressed,” I say over my shoulder.
“Nah, I just have a big butt. Gets away from me sometimes.”
I smother the urge to tell her everything looks good to me. Besides, it’s her quick wit and razor-sharp tongue that interests me even more than her curvy body.
“Ta-da. All done,” she announces.
I back away from the car and turn, taking in her jeans and sweatshirt imprinted withwander with purpose,the words scrawled around an image of a compass. A sense of déjà vu washes over me.
“That’s my symbol.” I tap the compass patch stitched onto my cut. “And a very Lost Kings kind of saying.”
She glances down at her shirt and a wry smile twists her lips. “Well, it’s full of shit because I haven’t had much chance to wander. With purpose or without.” Her expression softens. “But I like the sentiment.” She lifts her head and stares at my patches. “I thought your club’s symbol was the skull and crown?”
“It is. But we each have our own patch.” I’m not in the mood to give more details to a civilian.
“Ah, right.” She nods as if things are clicking into place for her. “Grayson’s symbol is the lock and key.”
“Right.” I pull out my phone. After a few attempts, I manage to get a signal and send a text. “I’m having a friend tow your car—”
