AllFreeNovel
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“Wanna show you my bike.”
It was a project he had been working on for months. It may have not seemed to be anything special to some random woman, but it was important to him. And he wanted to share it with her.
She didn’t respond to him, but when he lifted the garage door, she walked in without prompting. He flicked on the lights, illuminating the old garage. His truck took up half, but his motorcycle covered the remainder. He’d been working on it for half the year. Scattered parts covered the workbench, with the frame of the bike set in the center of the floor.
“It doesn’t have wheels.”
He glanced over as she circled the frame. Her brows furrowed, giving an adorable, confused stare. She bent down and leaned closer. “Or an engine.”
He chuckled. “Working on it.”
“You’re making your own motorcycle, like from a kit?”
He scoffed, “Fuck, no. I’m rebuilding it.”
“Oh.” She glanced up at him. “Why? You already have a bike.”
“No such thing as too many bikes, Chey.”
She tightened her lips in a flat line and stood. “This is what you do in your spare time, like a hobby.”
He snorted, wondering if she was trying to insult him. Rebuilding a bike wasn’t a fucking hobby, it was a passion. Her tone was curious, which made him smile. He was sharing, and she was accepting it.
She nodded before he could answer. “I get it. I like to paint.”
He pursed his lips. He was trying to win her over, not start another brawl with her. He’d let it slide, her comparing painting to his bike.
“What do ya paint?” He smirked. “Fruit?”
She rolled her eyes and walked around his garage, scanning all his tools. She slid her hands across his wrench seated on the bench. “No, mostly people. I’m actually not good, though if you ask Macy, I’m the next Picasso.” She smiled, still looking at his tools. “But I enjoy it, kinda like volleyball.” She sighed and turned to face him.
The corner of his mouth curled. Like volleyball? What the fuck did painting and volleyball have in common? Her nose twitched, and he grinned. She was definitely different.
“Volleyball?” he asked, spiking up his brows.
Her lips puckered, shifting to the right. “Uh-huh. I suck at volleyball.” She smirked. “But I love it.”
“Good to know. Make sure I don’t pick ya for my team if we ever have a tournament.”
“Smart move on your part.” Her gaze wandered. “So, why am I here?’
“Wanted to show you my place.”
Trax had a firm rule of not bringing women to his house. He had a room at the clubhouse, which had served the purpose of fucking. Allowing a woman into his home, it was sacred and a rule he never broke. Until her.
“Why?”
’Cause you’ll be spending most of your nights here. He refrained from saying it out loud. If anything, it would get her running again. That would probably be it. He wanted her there. Not only in his bed but on his couch watching TV, in his kitchen eating dinner and, more importantly, breakfast. He just wanted her there. “Come on.”
She walked toward him and out the bay doors. Trax moved his motorcycle inside and then closed the doors. He walked through the yard and up the back steps with Cheyenne following. He’d expected more resistance, but she followed his lead. He’d love to know where her head was at.
He hadn’t planned on bringing her there, but after what had gone down, and Meg’s voice ringing in his head, he wanted to lay it out for her. His place wasn’t anything special, but it was his. He led her through the kitchen into the living room, flicking on the lights and settling into the couch. He stared up at her when she stood at the edge of the room, looking around.
“Not impressed?”
She jerked her gaze and furrowed her brows. “With what, your house?”
He nodded.
