by Nina Park
“Fair enough. And smart, too.” The biker assessed her, those green eyes sucking her in. “I guess I’ll have to get to know you then.”
“What a chore that would be, though.” Kit let a haughty laugh. “Haven’t you heard? We live in the digital age. You can swipe left whenever you’re ready to move on.”
He watched for a few seconds, a smile teasing up the corners of his lips. “What’s your name?”
“I don’t give that out to strange men, either.”
He deflated a little, then sat up straight. He offered his hand. “I’m Bastard.”
She took his hand hesitantly, more to see if his skin felt as rough and warm as she imagined. “Oh, come on. Really?”
His hand swallowed hers, his face not betraying an ounce of the electricity that jolted through her at his touch. He nodded. “That’s my name. And what’s yours?”
She swallowed hard, allowing the handshake to linger a few more moments. Because it felt nice. Because it felt…safe, somehow. “Kit.”
“Oh, come on. Really?”
“Don’t mock me. It’s a nickname. As I sure hope yours is, too.”
“Not a nickname. Just the truth.” Bastard wiggled his eyebrows at her as he drained the rest of his drink.
“You may be the most honest man I’ve met in my life, then.” She fingered the rim of her water glass. “You in a biker gang or something?”
“It’s not a gang,” Bastard shot back.
“So you are, then.” She peered around to the back of his cut. “Damned Devils, huh? You’ll have to clue me in on all this stuff. You guys just ride around and jerk off to pictures of motorcycle parts or what?”
Bastard cocked a smile. “Sorry. I don’t give out that information to strange women.”
“Man, you love parroting back my own words, huh?” She hefted with a laugh, trying not to appear as amused as she really was. Most nights, she’d come to the bar after her set and fend off the fans, suffering through half-interesting conversations about her amazing beauty and all the things she deserved. But Bastard—like that could even be his name—was a breath of fresh air in the stagnant nightlife of Olympia.
“You’ve got some good words. They bear repeating.”
She watched him for a few moments, gobbling up the cut lines of his face. The square jaw and pretty eyes lent a boyish charm to his roughness. Tiny lines near his eyes revealed another side of him, but what side? A life full of laughter? Or maybe a life full of stress. What did these guys in the biker clubs even do?
“So at least tell me if you’ve ever jacked off to motorcycle parts,” she cracked, sipping at her water. “You don’t have to admit it’s part of the gang protocol or anything.”
He sighed. “If I admit that I’ve been turned on by an exhaust pipe, is that good enough?”
Kat giggled, ducking her head. “Yeah, that’ll do.” A strange churn jolted her stomach and she blinked a few times, focusing on her drink. Weird. Pre-show jitters were common, but was this a post-show anxiety? A strange wooziness clawed at her, urging her to go lay down somewhere, but she ignored it. She wasn’t tired, there was no way she could be. She normally didn’t roll into bed until three a.m., and at barely one, she was just starting to get into her groove with this Biker Bastard.
Besides, she wanted to see where this guy led. He was the only one to pique her interest in a long time. And as far as she could tell, he deserved a closer inspection.
And if she had any luck, that inspection would go down to his bare skin.
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