Now I have a few negative traits in me, and I think my competitive streak is one of them. Not the worst one, but one of them nonetheless. I don’t like losing, and I never back down from a challenge.
“Prove it,” I push.
“I will, tonight, when I make you dinner,” he says, grinning to himself like he won.
“I walked into that one, didn’t I?” I mutter, running my cool hands on my warm shoulders. “I think I’m getting burned. Should we head back home soon?”
“Yeah, sounds good. I need to prepare to cook my masterpiece.”
And I need to prepare my mouth for a chili-eating contest.
When we get back to my house, Knuckles walks me to the door but then heads home to shower and change, which gives me some time to think. I obviously can say no to his coming over tonight, but I let it slide once again, and I don’t know why I keep doing it. I should have stuck to my guns. I pull out my phone and send Erin an SOS message.
Knuckles is cooking me dinner tonight. What the fuck am I doing?
Erin’s reply is swift and not what I needed to hear.
Hopefully letting someone in? He’s a great guy, Celina. But if you don’t like him just tell him so. There are plenty of other women lining up to have him.
That bitch.
She could have left the last line out.
I reply:
You’re a terrible person. Did you tell him to bring me food? Using food as a weapon is a very dirty move.
I might have mentioned we share a love and weakness for food. Love you! Just have fun. You deserve it.
I knew it.
I decide to text Akeira, to get her opinion, since I’m clearly getting nowhere with Erin.
Should I let a biker cook me Indian food tonight?
Men know how to cook? And he’s a biker? Why is this even a question? Shit, you should husband him. Trap him. Get pregnant, or something.
Well. Safe to say she’s of no help either.
I shower, then distract myself with some research on ideas for stories I’m considering writing next. I take the dogs for a long walk, and when I come home I have a mental freak-out.
Men always let you down.
My father did, coming in and out of my life as he pleased—he was never there for me when I needed it. My ex-boyfriend cheated on me, and it wasn’t a one-time thing. He began to date this other woman, take her with him to events, and even to meet his family, and I had no idea. I was going to work, coming home, and thinking everything was fine and that he was “the one.” Everyone knew what was going on except me, including our so-called friends. Every time I think of that period in my life, I feel so out of control. My pride took a hit, and my pride is such a big part of who I am. Another negative trait, I know, but it’s honest.
And I’m never ever going to let a man make me look stupid again.
8
He arrives at 6:00 p.m., and I open the door in track pants and a white tank top. I clearly haven’t made any effort, but he doesn’t seem to mind. My long dark hair is piled on top of my head in a topknot, the salt water all washed out. He smiles at me over his handful of groceries.
“You ready to be amazed?” he asks in greeting.
I step aside and let him in. “I’m just hoping this confidence isn’t just bravado.”
He chuckles and heads to the kitchen, and I close the door and follow behind him. I help him unpack the groceries while trying to check him out in his white T-shirt and jeans without his catching me.
He looks good in white.
But better shirtless.
His phone rings, and he looks at the number before answering.
“Hello?”
His brow furrows. “What’s wrong?” He looks to me and winces. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”
He flashes me an apologetic look and tells me, “I have to go pick up my girls, their mom isn’t feeling well. Do you want to come with me for a drive?”
“Ummm.”
I don’t know how I feel about this. I’m already confused about having him at my house and now I’m going to meet his children. This is really escalating.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand and leading me to the door. “They won’t bite, I promise.”
“Are you sure about this? We can reschedule—”
“No, it’ll be fine. It will only take ten minutes and then we can come back and I’ll start cooking while you sit and relax. I have a feeling this is my one chance with you and you’ll find a way out of rescheduling,” he continues in a gentle tone that has me amused, since he’s probably right.
I lock the door behind me and walk toward his car, where he opens the door for me once again and waits until I’m seated before he goes to his side and does the same.
“Your baby mama is sick?” I ask as he pulls out of my driveway.
“Said she has the flu and doesn’t want the girls to get it. I don’t mind taking them, of course, but tonight was meant to be my night to woo you,” he replies. “Guess my girls are going to do that for me though.”
“Woo me? Who even says that anymore?”
“Who wants to say shit that everyone else is saying?” he returns, quickly looking at me looking at the road. “Relax, Celina. You’re so tightly wound. I think you need a massage tonight after dinner.”
I put my window down, needing air. He’s going to cook for me—and his daughters—at my house, and then he’s going to give me a massage.
Also at my house.
I met him yesterday.
Yesterday.
Fucking hell, how is this my life?
“You smell good,” he says, breaking the silence.
I turn to face him with an unimpressed look. “Do many women meet your daughters so soon?”
“No woman I’ve been with has ever met my kids, actually.” He pauses and smirks. “Except Flora, but I don’t think she counts, considering she gave birth to them.”
“No one has ever met them before?” I ask again, eyes flaring. “But—”
“But what?” he interjects casually, eyes on the road.
“How long have you been single?” I decide to ask, because the Why me? that almost flew out of my mouth probably wasn’t the best response.
“About three years now. How about you?” he asks.
“A year,” I reply hesitantly, dragging the word out. In three years, he’s never met anyone he wanted to introduce to his kids, but he’s letting me after just meeting me yesterday. Or maybe it’s just because he happened to be with me when they needed him. Right place right time. Or wrong place, depending how you look at it.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I found out too late that he was a waste of space. What happened with Flora?” I ask him in return.
“We had heaps of issues,” he says, cringing. “Trust issues mainly. It’s not easy being with a man in the MC if you don’t trust him.”
That’s what I need.
Someone I can trust, someone who I know will be loyal to me, only have eyes for me, and someone who can be my best friend and my lover.
“Are you trustworthy?” I ask in a soft voice.
“Yes,” he replies without hesitation. “I’m a man of my word, I don’t lie or cheat, and I’m loyal. How about you? Are you trustworthy?”
“Yes, I am,” I answer, staring at his profile. “If I’m in, then I’m all in.”
“But it’s hard to get you ‘in,’ isn’t it?”
“I’m just being careful. I don’t want to give all of me to the wrong man.”
Again.
I won’t do it again.
My guard is high, my walls impenetrable.
I don’t date men with kids.
Yet here I am, on my way to pick up his kids and bring them back to my home, like we do this all the time.
He turns his face to me and smiles slowly, brown eyes full of warmth, before bringing them back to the road. I want him to look at me again, to feel that connection sizzling through my skin, but I sup
pose it’s best that we don’t crash.
Priorities.
We turn into the driveway of an older-style brick home, small and neat, with beautiful pink roses out front.
“Give me a second,” he says, reaching out and touching my hand.
I nod, and he studies me for a moment before walking up to the front door. He knocks a few times, and two beautiful young girls come pouring out, both of them jumping on him and hugging him tightly. He returns the favor, kissing them on the cheek and hugging them in turn.
Yep, definitely a good dad.
They all walk in a row to the car, with Knuckles in the middle, the girls’ long maxi dresses flowing all around them, and then they separate to get into the car, the oldest daughter sliding in behind my seat.
“Willow and Westley, this is Celina. Celina, these are my daughters,” Knuckles introduces us, watching me, then glancing behind at the girls.
“Hello,” I say with a little wave. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too,” Willow, the oldest, replies, pushing her bangs out of her brown eyes. She has thick, shoulder-length brown hair and very delicate features. “Dad says we’re having dinner at your mansion tonight.”
I throw a droll look in his direction before bringing my attention back to them. “It’s not a mansion, and yes, apparently your dad is cooking for us all.”
“Dad is a great cook,” Westley pipes up, her eyes twinkling, so much like her sister’s and father’s. She has a very sweet, adorable face with dimples that make me want to squeeze her cheeks a little. “And he said you have three dogs! Three! I’m so excited to meet them. What a time to be alive.”
I laugh at her overly enthusiastic response. “I’m sure they would love some extra attention. I’ve heard the two of you are big animal lovers.”
“We love dogs,” Westley explains, looking at her big sister. “We’ve always wanted one, but Mom says no.”
“Well now you can play with mine.”
“What are their names?” she asks, leaning between the front seats.
“Snape, Carlton, and Kobe,” I tell them. “Two of them are big dogs, but you don’t need to worry, they won’t hurt you. But they might lick you though.”
“You like Harry Potter, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, and basketball?” Willow asks, eyes going wide. “I love you. Dad, don’t mess this one up. She’s a keeper.”
I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in a long time, and when I stop it just comes out again. His kids are great, and I wasn’t sure how I’d be with them, but they’re making it so easy.
“She’s wise, that one,” I tell Knuckles.
“I’m trying,” he mutters under his breath, sighing like it’s a difficult task. “The good women are always difficult but worth it.”
I roll my eyes. “The good men are always bad for you.”
“That makes no sense,” he tells me. “And I wouldn’t classify myself as a good man.”
“You’re the best man I know,” Westley pipes up from behind.
My icy heart melts, just a little.
“I can see bringing the girls was a good idea,” he says, grinning to himself.
Another eye roll, and I look out the window.
He doesn’t need to know that he might be right.
9
“Your house is beautiful,” Westley exclaims, brown eyes wide. “And it’s so big.”
“Did you decorate it yourself?” Willow asks, doing a full circle as we walk into the kitchen.
“I did,” I say, walking over to the sliding door and letting the dogs inside. I grab Kobe by his collar before he can go over to the girls. “Be nice,” I tell him. “Or you’re going straight back outside.”
He ducks his head, all submissive, but I know what a hell-raiser he can be. The other two go up to the girls and sniff them, tails wagging, and neither jumps up on them, just like I’ve taught them.
“They are so cute!” Westley squeals, patting Snape affectionately. “And so gigantic!”
“They’re super friendly,” I tell them, not wanting either of them to be scared of the big dogs. “I’d trust both of them with my life.” I glance down at Kobe. “Now, this one, not so much.”
“He’s adorable though,” Willow adds, crouching down on her knees. “Hello, little one.”
Kobe looks up at me, his eyes promising good behavior, and his tail starts to wag, so I let go of his collar. He runs up to Willow and jumps on her, no manners at all, licking her face.
“He likes me.”
“Just let him come to you, honey,” I tell Westley as she tries to pat him. She listens, removing her hand and waiting patiently until Kobe approaches her, sniffs, and licks her hand.
I move closer to Knuckles and say, “This Christmas. It’s happening.”
I am buying them a puppy.
He laughs deeply but doesn’t tell me no, so I’m going to take that as a win. And watching them, surrounded by my pack, how could anyone say no? It’s clear they love dogs, and they’re both being very gentle and loving every second of being around them.
“Okay, I’d better start cooking before all of you get hangry,” he says, moving toward the fridge.
I hover around him. “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing,” he replies, grabbing a few ingredients. “You’re going to sit back and relax. Maybe put on a movie or something. I’ve got this.”
I watch him get to work, realizing that no one has ever cooked in my kitchen before except for me. It’s weird having someone new in my space, and I keep fidgeting, not sure what to do. I can’t just sit down and do nothing while he cooks in my house. He should be the guest.
“I’ll watch a movie with you,” Westley says, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward my living area. “Have you seen High School Musical? It’s a classic, I think.”
“Uhh, no I haven’t,” I admit, looking back toward the kitchen, where Knuckles is wearing a smile too mischievous to make me think this was his daughter’s idea. I sit down with his girls, and Willow picks a movie on Netflix, which I watch for about twenty minutes before I get up to see what Knuckles is doing.
“You’re a much tidier cook than I ever will be,” I tell him, sitting down on a stool.
“My mom would kill me if I left the kitchen messy,” he explains, washing some rice in the sink. “My dad wasn’t in the picture; it was just me and her, so I started learning to cook to help her out. She was a nurse, so she worked all kinds of hours, and I kind of had to feed myself. I’d leave out food for her because I knew she’d be coming home tired.”
He’s talking about her in past tense, which makes me really sad for him. He obviously loved her very much.
“Destined to be surrounded by women, huh?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
“I sure as fuck hope so.” He grins, glancing up at me.
I roll my eyes and watch as he methodically follows a recipe from his phone, measuring out all the ingredients and expertly making use of my kitchen.
“I had no idea men like you exist,” I say after a few moments of comfortable silence. “You can cook, be chivalrous, kick someone’s ass, be a good father, and possibly do criminal activity all in the same day.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m not going to admit to the last one.”
“You don’t need to,” I reply, scoffing.
I’m many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. Yet here I am, attracted as hell to him, and considering everything, this isn’t a smart move. I reconsider my thought about not being stupid. I look at his two kids on my leather couch, both intently watching the movie, and ask myself how I let it get to this point. His girls are wonderful, and Knuckles is unlike any man I’ve ever met.
Warm hands touch my shoulders and start to massage. I close my eyes and softly moan.
“You’re so tense. What are you thinking about so much that has your cute little concentration face making an appearance?” he asks, lips near my ear, the word friend disappearing from my vocabu
lary as shivers run up my spine.
“Just . . . stuff,” I reply vaguely, relaxing as he continues to work magic on my shoulders. “I can’t shut my thoughts off sometimes, especially at night.”
“I know just the cure for that,” he says in a low tone. “You need to be tired out. Then you’ll fall straight asleep, and your overactive mind won’t be able to keep you up.”
My eyes open. Did he just say tire me out? He wants to fuck me to sleep? It’s been a long-ass time since anyone has done that, and I swallow hard at the thought of it. I squeeze my thighs together and shift, then clear my throat.
Fuck, he’s not playing fair.
“I bet you do,” I reply, trying to play off the reaction my body seems to have to him. “I’m sure you’re more than qualified in that field.”
He makes a humming sound. “I have experience, yeah, I guess, but it’s you who’s going to benefit from that,” he whispers, and then his hands disappear from my shoulders as he returns to the stove and continues to prepare our meal.
“I’m just going to go . . . back there,” I say, blinking furiously, and quickly return to the living room to pretend to watch the movie. I ignore the warm laughter I hear at my departure and turn my attention to the girls.
“Are you and my dad, like, dating?” Willow asks me quietly so Knuckles can’t hear.
“We’ve never met anyone he’s dated before,” Westley adds, tilting her head to the side in a thoughtful way. “I don’t think he’s dated anyone since Mom.”
I smile at her, knowing how far from the truth that must be. “I only just met your dad, so we’re friends for now.”
“Friends with benefits?” Willow asks, smirking.
My eyes widen. “How old are you again?”
She rolls her eyes and pushes her bangs out of her eyes. “I’m thirteen. I’m in middle school, and it’s very . . . educational.”
“Practical learning or theory?” I ask, a nervous laugh escaping me. I was still playing with dolls at thirteen, okay maybe not dolls, but I definitely wasn’t interested in boys. Boys still had cooties.
“Theory,” she says, laughing. “You should see your face right now.”
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