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He shrugs his broad shoulders and my belly tingles, tightening strangely.
“Some people in this town don’t necessarily care for the MC. It’s no big deal.”
A sliver of unease runs through me. I’ve heard about motorcycle clubs and it’s rarely good things. Debauched parties with women and drugs. Nobody talks about charitable MC’s.
“I see.”
He grimaces. “I don’t think you do. I moved here awhile ago to start over fresh. I did and saw a lot in the old club I was in. We were at war with another club and it got ugly. A lot of shit went down. I needed to get away. I’m still in touch with some of the guys. But I just needed some space and something fresh.”
“Why did you join an MC?” I ask, dipping my fry into ketchup and almost moaning out loud at the salty, crispy hot goodness.
“I don’t really want to talk about that.” His craggy face takes on a shuttered look and I can’t read a single emotion on it. It’s actually kind of impressive. If it wasn’t so scary. I can picture him wearing that same look on his face when he did something unpleasant for his old buddies.
“Okay,” I mutter, looking down at my plate of fries and the remnants of demolished burger.
“I’m sorry, half-pint. That’s a memory that fucks me up and I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Sounds like you should try therapy.”
“Humph!” He snorts. “I’m no pussy. I can take care of my own shit.”
“Wow! You’re a typical man. Good to know.”
“Alright, fine. Just eat your food,” he grumbles. “And ignore the busybodies.”
I finish eating and he throws a wad of cash down on the table, picking up my to-go container for my second dinner that I intend to have later.
He pushes himself out of the cracked, dark-red vinyl booth and casually drops a hand down to help me out. I eye it uncertainly, chewing on my lip.
“I don’t bite, half-pint. Not unless you ask me to,” he snarks and that blooming warmth hits my belly again, twisting it into a little knot of anxiety and heat.
Without a word, I reach my hand out and take his, my eyes widening and flying up to his when a spark hits my fingers, zinging down my arm and straight to my lower belly.
He lifts me up so fast that I totter on my feet when he lets go and jerks his hand back. “Static electricity,” he mutters under his breath.
“Let’s go home, half-pint.”
I follow after him, uneasy with the way my body responds to this man. I’m only nineteen and I’m guessing he’s at least ten years older than me. I’m inexperienced. He’s hot and I’m guessing he’s well-versed in how to please a woman.
Those thoughts don’t do a damn thing to cool the fire streaming through my body.
It’s a short walk to the shop and neither of us say a word until we hit the door. I stop outside.
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay here?” I shuffle my feet and pluck at my backpack straps. I can feel his hot gaze on me. I flick my eyes up and almost melt into a puddle at the way his green gaze is watching me. He looks almost…adorable. Like a cute little puppy.
He cocks his head and grins. “I said it was, didn’t I? Come on in. Let’s get you settle and cleaned up.”
Immediately, dirty thoughts of showering with this big, hulking brute pop into my head and I flush, chewing on my lip again. I should just tell him that I appreciate the offer but I’ll be fine and keep on walking.
I should. But instead I follow him out back and up a set of stairs that lead into a wide-open room upstairs. My jaw drops. High ceilings, open rafters with an industrial feel from bare pipes and hanging caged bulbs. It’s the most incredible space I’ve ever seen and I can’t look away, my eyes eating it all up.
Until I realize that I’m all alone with a man I barely know. I don’t even know his real name. I turn to run and Petrol reaches out and catches my arm.
“Relax, half-pint. You’re safe here.”
I glance away, face flushing. Something about his tone makes my belly clench in the strangest way.
“The guest room is that way. I might sleep out on the couch out here. Nobody is going to do a damn thing to you with me here. You’re safe.”
