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“Hey baby, wanna get lucky?” He asks the question like a man on the prowl.
“You got him in your back pocket? I just talked to him on your phone.”
“Aww shit. I left it at the shop again. You hungry? Wanna get some chow?” His hand is on his thigh, and the image he conjures up is total bad boy biker. But hot. As fuck.
I nod my head, sure that his smile, combined with his self-assuredness, works on every woman with a pulse. How do I know? It’s working on me right now. “I’d love to.”
“I know the best deli in all of California. You game?”
I’m hungry, and I love food, which is the only reason I’m considering getting back on that death trap with him. Yeah, okay, he smells good too. “Don’t think of trying anything funny. I’ll shoot you.”
He laughs again and motions to the back of his bike. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Hop on.”
I settle behind Diesel on the motorcycle and wrap my arms around his waist, ignoring the feel of his hard muscles that bunch and flex with every breath he takes. Today, I take advantage of my position and look around Angel Harbor.
We cruise along the edge of the harbor, where the air is thick with the scent of salt water and fish. The docks are a flurry of activity, with workers hustling mountains of crates, loading and unloading stacks of goods from around the world. Seagulls circle overhead, adding to the lively chaos of the place.
Eventually, we arrive at a sandwich shop that oozes New York deli charm. Diesel follows me in, receiving warm smiles and greetings from the staff. “Seems like you’re a celebrity here,” I tease.
He gives a nonchalant shrug, his smile playful. “Can’t resist a good sandwich. What about you?” His eyes linger on mine amoment longer before he scans the chalkboard menu. “So, how do you feel about pastrami?”
I lean in slightly, a mischievous glint in my eyes. “That depends. Are we talking rye or sourdough?”
Interest flickers in his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare swap corned beef for pastrami in a Reuben, would you?”
I nod slowly, a teasing smirk on my lips. “Absolutely. Pastrami is the unsung hero of deli meats.”
His smile is slow and hot, and when he smacks his hand on the counter, the spell is, thankfully, broken. “Rudy, two Diesel specials. And some onion rings.”
“You might not be completely terrible,” I tell him and grab a soda from the fridge at the end of the counter.
His laughter rings through the deli, rich and genuine. “I’d take offense from anyone else, but coming from you, that almost sounds like a compliment.”
He has me there. “I give good compliments, just not easily.” I scan the small deli and claim a table overlooking the sidewalk and the quaint little street. “Tell me about the leather vest,” I say, nodding to the Reckless Souls MC patch on his chest.
“That’s my MC, motorcycle club,” he clarifies. “I was at loose ends when my brother became part of the MC and introduced me. Between the brotherhood and fixing cars, it’s where I belong.” His words are sincere, and it’s clear he’s happy with his lot in life. “Lucky got with Aria and now helps her run the family business. Hence, Morgan International.”
I shake my head. “I’ll bet that’s a good story.”
“It is, and Lucky tells it much better than me.” His smile gets wider when the food arrives, smelling delicious and accompanied by the biggest onion rings I’ve ever seen. “And what about you, Cassidy? What’s your story?”
“My story?”
“How’d you end up hauling shit back and forth across the country. Not many female truckers, are there?”
“A lot more than you’d think,” I say. “But I spent most of my summers riding shotgun in my dad’s big rig, and seeing the country to me was like seeing the world. I knew from a young age that’s what I wanted and so far I’ve seen nearly every state.” I still haven’t checked off Hawaii and Alaska yet or Maine and Vermont.
“A daddy’s girl. Unexpected. Tell me, Cass, what was your favorite place to see when you grew up?”
I let the daddy’s girl comment slide because it turns out this good-looking biker is more than a pretty face, not that I’ve noticed his pretty face. Not much.
“Montana,” I finally answer.
Surprise brightens his eyes. “Montana? Not sunny California?”
I laugh. “Offended?”
“A bit, yeah.”
