Dirty Little Midlife Disaster: A Motorcycle Hottie Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 4)

by Lilian Monroe

  That isn’t unusual in itself—Jen isn’t much of a talker—but there’s something about the hunch of her shoulders that doesn’t sit right with me.

  “You okay, hun?” I round the counter and grab an apron off a hook on the wall, tying it around my waist as Jen places the croissants in the overflowing display cabinet. “Did you stay up all night baking all this?”

  “Yeah,” she replies. “Figured out my chocolate cake recipe and needed to take some anger out on baking for a little bit longer.”

  My eyes run over the hundreds of new baked goods littered all over the place. I bite my lip. “Looks like you succeeded.”

  Jen snorts.

  I tilt my head. “Want to share what made you so angry?”

  The door opens, and Fallon strides through with a face full of thunder.

  I glance at Jen, whose eyes have narrowed to slits. The air in the café is so thick, it feels like soup. Welp. There’s my answer.

  “I gotta go,” Jen mumbles, then drops her empty tray in the kitchen and leaves out the back door.

  Fallon watches her go, jaw set in a grim line, then starts wordlessly helping me take chairs down from tables and open the café up for business.

  “Everything okay?” I ask.

  “Peachy.” A chair bangs onto the floor, then Fallon stomps to the kitchen with long, angry strides.

  Okay, then.

  Thankfully, Sven, our barista, arrives wearing his usual pink T-shirt with a glittery Heart’s Cove Hottie written across the chest, sleeves ripped off to reveal his tattoos and a carefree grin tugging at his lips. At least someone is in a good mood.

  I open the café and get swept up in the usual hubbub of early risers needing their daily dose of the black stuff. It’s not until ten o’clock in the morning or so that Grant, my soon-to-be husband, walks in looking good enough to eat.

  Pushing a strand of hair off my forehead, I let my lips slide into a smile. I love that man. I love the way his broad body moves so gracefully. I love how he has eyes only for me, and even though I’m sweaty and frazzled from the morning rush, he still looks at me like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

  His thick, corded arms wrap around me as his lips dip down to kiss the soft skin below my ear. “I enjoyed this morning,” he growls softly.

  My cheeks warm, and a curl of heat knots in my stomach. I woke up before Grant this morning and decided to use an—ahem—creative tactic to wake him up which involved my mouth…and not for talking, if you know what I mean.

  “Me too,” I tell him.

  “Do you have time for me to return the favor?” Grant asks, pulling away slightly before dropping a kiss on my lips. “I can’t focus on work when I’m like this.”

  “Get a room, you guys!” Simone, my fiery-hearted and fiery-haired best friend, calls out as she enters. “We get it. You’re in love.” She rolls her eyes but gives me a sly wink. “Morning!”

  “Morning,” I say, giving Grant a quick squeeze before pulling away. A squeeze that says, Later.

  Simone grins, then takes in the explosion of baked goods behind me with a raised eyebrow. “Jen’s been busy.”

  A man enters the café, and I don’t have time to answer Simone because I’m slipping behind the counter to take his order. With a receding hairline and long, lanky limbs, he looks like any other middle-aged man in need of caffeine. But there’s something in the way he glances around the café, like he’s looking for someone but he’s not supposed to be here.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Uh…” He glances at the chalkboard menu behind me, then at the multitude of grinders and coffee carafes on the counter at my back. “Black coffee?”

  “Comin’ right up.” I smile brightly, glancing briefly at Grant, who still looks ready to throw me over his shoulder and take me away. Blushing, I pour a black drip coffee for this customer and try to wrap my head around the fact that I’m getting married again.

  It scares me, obviously. My first marriage was such a disaster, such a slow stripping of my confidence and sense of self that committing to a man again makes the primal part of my brain blare in fear. But Grant leans a big boulder shoulder against the wall, his full lips teasing into a smile as he scrubs his scruffy jaw with a wide palm, and the fear subsides.

  He loves me. I love him. His daughter loves us. Our little family is more than I could have ever hoped for.

  The man takes his coffee and drops it at a table before putting his jacket on the back of a chair, then wanders past Grant—giving him a quick glance and a wide berth, probably because Grant has about fifty pounds more muscle than he does—and ducks to the bathrooms.

  That’s when the café doors open again, and Lottie, Trina, her kids, Candice, and Blake come barreling through. The kids are seven and nine, and they recovered from their illness this week and are now begging for a muffin from the overflowing basket by the till.

  Lottie corrals them to a table while Candice tilts her head up to Blake for a kiss, and Trina lets out a long sigh and leans against the counter. “We ran out of coffee. Do you do intravenous drips here, or no? I need it in my bloodstream like, now.”

  Grinning, I take her order as Sven gets to work.

  Then, I watch in slow-motion as the man in the bathroom returns to the main space. He spots Lottie first, and freezes. Lottie takes a step as if to shield Toby and Katie from him, a look so fierce on her face that I already know something is wrong.

  It’s him. It’s Kevin. It’s the asshole who shamed her for breastfeeding her own damn kid in her own damn house.

  Then Trina sees him, and she goes rock solid too.

  Then it’s Candice’s turn to freeze.

  Blake frowns, following her gaze to the balding man at the mouth of the bathroom hallway.

  “You’re not due until tomorrow,” Lottie growls.

  The man puts his hands up as if to placate her. “I had a day off. I thought I’d come down early.”

  His voice makes the two kids turn around, and Katie launches herself at him. “Daddy!” She wraps her little arms around his stomach and looks up at him with stars in her eyes. “You’re here! Are you staying? Toby and I got a cat! His name is Mr. Fuzzles and he likes catnip. Don’t worry, I change his litter box and everything.”

  The man frowns. “Why doesn’t an adult do that?” He finally lifts his gaze to Trina, who somehow goes even more immobile. “You let her handle a cat’s excrement? No wonder they got sick.”

  “They didn’t get sick from doing chores, Kevin.” Trina’s voice is flatter than I’ve ever heard it.

  “It’s okay, Daddy, I ate lots of soup and now I’m all better. Toby too.”

  My eyes flick to the little nine-year-old boy, who’s still sitting at the table, staring suspiciously at his father. He stands up, glances at Trina, then at Katie, as if he wants to go to his mother but doesn’t want to leave his sister behind. My heart spasms. What a beautiful, protective boy.

  I clear my throat, but Simone throws me a glance from the opposite side of the café, shaking her head.

  Trina takes a step forward. “You can’t have them until tomorrow.”

  “Not even for ice cream?” Kevin says, looking at his daughter.

  “Ice cream! Ice cream!” Katie screams, jumping up and down and turning to Trina. “Please, Mom?”

  “You haven’t even had breakfast, Katie.”

  “Are you not feeding them?” Kevin’s question is sharp enough to cut.

  Trina flinches.

  “Okay, that’s enough.” Lottie puts a finger up in Kevin’s face. “Not one more word. Toby, Katie—with me.” She snaps her fingers, and the two kids jump beside her. Lottie takes one of their hands in each of hers. “We’re going to walk back home and wait for Mommy and Daddy to have a conversation. Okay?”

  “Fine.” Katie drops her chin. “But can we have ice cream later?”

  “Maybe,” Lottie concedes. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “Good,” Toby grits out, mean-mugg
ing his own father. My heart squeezes at the sight of the anger in that little boy’s face. My divorce was painful, but seeing these two kids in the middle of Trina’s separation makes me grateful I never had little ones to go through it with me.

  Lottie starts walking with the kids, and when they’re outside, Kevin turns to his ex-wife. “Are you trying to keep me from seeing my own goddamn children, Katrina?”

  Katrina stiffens and opens her mouth, but before she can answer, a loud, rumbling noise starts growing outside. And growing. And growing…until half a dozen motorcycles appear outside the café windows, parking in a neat line against the curb. The first rider to dismount and remove his helmet is a very familiar, very sexy man who I last saw when I was slightly inebriated about a week ago.

  Mac Blair is sex on a bike. The man handles clay like he was born to do it—and apparently motorcycles too.

  He walks into the coffee shop like he owns the place, all leather and attitude, closing the distance between him and Trina in a few long strides. He wraps his arms around her shoulders and tugs her close, brushing his lips against her cheek in greeting.

  Trina looks shocked. Horrified. A little flustered—and I’d bet anything she’s more than a little turned on.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” Mac says loud enough for everyone to hear—probably because no one is moving a muscle as this little spectacle unfolds. “You want to go for a ride this morning?” His voice drops, but I don’t miss a word. “Been thinking about having those legs hooked over the seat of my bike all week.”

  Holy moly. I’m about to get married, and even I feel a little turned on. Eyes wide, I glance at Simone, who looks about ready to faint. Then I look at Kevin, who looks ready to explode. Then I glance at Grant, who has a little grin teasing over his lips when he watches the flush creep over my cheeks, as if he knows he’ll reap the rewards of anything that turns me on when we’re alone.

  Trina just opens and closes her mouth like a goldfish until her ex-husband, Kevin, now red-faced and flustered, takes a step toward them.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  12

  Mac

  Trina snaps out of her trance. “Kevin, watch your mouth.”

  “How about you don’t whore yourself out to a fucking biker gang, huh? How about that?”

  Trina flinches against me, and I feel about ready to rip this motherfucker’s head off. Tucking her behind my back, I turn to face the sniveling, sorry excuse for a man in front of me. “That’s not an appropriate way to speak to a lady.”

  The man scoffs. “Lady? That’s rich.”

  A hand on my shoulder makes me pause the slurry of insults about to spew out of my mouth. Trina appears by my side, taking a step sideways to put a bit of distance between us. I try not to let it sting.

  She crosses her arms. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow, Kevin.”

  I frown. She was expecting this shitstain?

  Trina glances at me. “Thank you for the offer, Mac, but I won’t be able to ride your motorcycle today. Unfortunately, something came up. Maybe another time.” Her spine is steel-straight, her chin held high. Admiration warms my chest at the sight of her, strong and proud in the presence of the man across the room who no doubt wants to cause her pain.

  “I’m going to tell my lawyer about this, Trina,” the shitstain says, his lips curling in disgust.

  “Last time I checked, motorcycles weren’t illegal, Kevin,” Trina snaps. “And last time I checked, you signed the divorce papers. Oh, and last time I checked, you definitely have no right to speak about my relationships. Or have you forgotten that you cheated on me for years?”

  Is it wrong that I’m kind of turned on by this? I glance at the door, where my father, brother, and Harold are standing near the entrance.

  Then the door opens with a loud bang, and the White-Haired Lady Crew comes rushing in.

  Dorothy greets my father with a loud kiss on the cheek. “Welcome! Oh my, what an entrance! We heard you all the way from the hotel and had to come say hello.” She waves another man in, a tall, grey-haired gentleman with a kind face and a shiny bald spot on his crown. He shakes my father’s hand.

  Then Margaret enters. My father clears his throat, tugging the ends of his motorcycle jacket before smoothing his hair down. When Margaret extends a hand, he takes it and presses his lips to her knuckles.

  A screw in my chest tightens, which makes guilt worm through my veins. I should be happy for my father. Any normal person would be delighted to see two people falling for each other.

  Margaret turns the same shade of blush pink as her tweed suit jacket. Meanwhile, Dorothy is calling out for coffees all around, Trina looks like she’s about to faint, and Shitstain Kevin has turned red with anger. His fists open and close, eyes darting to me every few seconds.

  Finally, the short, sharp-tongued woman with the helmet-like grey hair waddles in—Agnes, I think—sneering at Dorothy, who ignores her, and letting out a huff. “What’s this racket about? It should be illegal for you bikers to come roaring through a quiet town like this. I was having a quiet coffee in the bookstore, and you lot—”

  “Oh hush, you boring old hag,” Dorothy says with a smile on her face. “You wouldn’t know fun if it slapped you on the ass and called you Bonnie.”

  Agnes rolls her eyes. She’s the first one to spot Kevin across the room, and she walks toward him, stopping a few feet away before crossing her arms. “Who the hell are you?”

  He starts. “What?”

  Agnes drops her arms to the side, looks over her shoulder to meet Dorothy’s gaze, and rolls her eyes. I don’t understand the relationship between these women. They insult each other, but they also go drinking and are able to communicate with nothing more than a look. Agnes turns those admittedly slightly scary eyes back to Kevin and speaks slowly. “Who…the hell…are you?”

  “Agnes, this is my ex-husband, Kevin,” Trina cuts in. “It’s his weekend and he’s here a day early, and we were just figuring out our schedules for the next couple of days.”

  His weekend? Does Trina have kids? She hasn’t mentioned them. She mentioned her cat, but not her kids… But now that I think of it, I vaguely remember her mentioning some names when they were planning their night at my father’s bar. I frown, glancing at Trina.

  I only met the woman a couple of weeks ago. She has every right to keep her kids away from anyone she chooses. Still…I’d like her to trust me.

  I clear my throat, drawing everyone’s gaze.

  Dorothy squeezes the older man’s elbow and points at me. “Eli, that’s Mac. Isn’t he handsome? I told you he was handsome, didn’t I?”

  “He’s a looker,” Eli responds, and Dorothy’s lips curl into a smile.

  She claps. “Well, what are we waiting for? Hamish, you’re supposed to be offering to take us out on those mean machines out there.”

  “Is that so?” my father answers with a grin and a wink at Margaret.

  “Yes, that’s so. You can’t come roaring into town and not offer us a lap around the block on those things. Look! Marge is wearing pants. We’re all set.” Dorothy points at me. “You take Eli. I’ll go with Harold. Marge, you’re with Hamish. Agnes, you take that young stud over there—”

  “My son, Lee,” my father cuts in with a small smile tipping his lips.

  “Well, Hamish, you sure do know how to make ‘em pretty,” Dorothy says. “Lee, unfortunately you’re stuck with Agnes. I’d say she doesn’t bite, but I don’t like to lie.” Then she looks at Trina. “And you take care of yourself. Yeah?” Then Dorothy looks past my shoulder to the counter. “Get our coffees ready. We’ll be back in ten minutes. Coffee’s on me, boys!” She ushers everyone out, holding the door open as she glances back at me. “Yoohoo, Mr. Handsome! Come on, Eli isn’t going to ride himself around the block!”

  I can’t help the grin from tugging at my lips. Glancing at Trina, I lift my brows. “You okay?”

  The harsh lines of Trina’s face soften, and I wonder how often
she’s had to stand on her own without anyone checking on her. She nods. “I’m good. You okay? You don’t need to drive them around if you don’t want to.”

  “He’s fucking fine,” Shitstain Kevin cuts in. “What I want to know is why he thinks he has the right to fucking talk to you like that?” Aggression is written in every line of his face, carved into every muscle of his soft frame. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

  Before I can do anything, the old ladies move. Dorothy comes flying in the door, followed by Agnes and Margaret, already wearing their motorcycle helmets. They form a line between him and Trina, and Dorothy lifts a finger. “You watch your mouth, buddy. One more word, and you’ll be barred from every business in town.”

  Kevin splutters. “You can’t—”

  “Oh, would you look at that,” Margaret cuts in. “Unfortunately, we double-booked your room. You’ll have to find somewhere else to stay for the weekend.” She looks up from her phone, which I can see is just a blank screen. Out of the three of them, she’s the last one I’d expect to threaten someone.

  Fighting to hide my grin, I glance at my father.

  He’s standing in the doorway, looking as smitten as I’ve ever seen him, hand clutched to his heart.

  “Ladies, it’s fine,” Trina says, putting a hand on Margaret’s shoulder. “Go. Enjoy your motorcycle ride. I’ll be okay.”

  The ladies give Kevin one more nasty look, then shuffle out toward the waiting bikes. My father whispers something in Margaret’s ear, and I can’t help but notice the extra swish in her hips as she makes her way toward his bike.

  Trina glances at me and gives me a nod.

  Every part of me wants to stay, tuck her into my side, and protect her from whatever garbage will spew from Kevin’s mouth. I don’t want her to stand alone against him.

  But she didn’t even tell me she had kids. This isn’t my fight. We barely know each other, and she doesn’t want me here.

  Isn’t that for the best? Doesn’t that suit me just fine?