Unlike his dick.
He never thought a woman who rode her own sled would turn him on. Guess he learned something new today.
“I was behind a dump truck a few miles back. I realized too late it was losing some of its load.” Her face twisted. “A load of stone that wasn’t covered, I’ll add. I didn’t see the large rock flying toward me until it was too late for me to swerve and miss it. It hit the front hard but I didn’t think it did much damage.” She shrugged. “I expected a dent on the front fender but I guess I was wrong and it did more damage than I thought. Or more than one rock hit us.”
Those little hairs on his neck perked up again and Whip quickly glanced around. “Us?” Fuck. Was someone hiding in the woods ready to take him down?
“Me and her,” she tipped her head toward the bike. “My riding partner, Agnes.”
Agnes?
One, who the fuck named their sled? And two, who the fuck named it Agnes? The woman standing before him, apparently that was who. That name reminded him of some old granny who sat in a plaid upholstered rocking chair handing out butterscotch candies, not that beautiful machine she rode.
“Lucky it didn’t hit you. Coulda taken you out or at least made you wreck.”
“Yes,” she said softly, sounding distracted as she stared down at her ride, her mouth tight and her shoulders now slumped slightly.
Disappointed, maybe even defeated.
But it could all be a damn act. He still wasn’t convinced yet that she wasn’t an undercover fed. “Beautiful sled.”
Her eyes lifted and her brow furrowed. “Sled?”
He got stuck for a second on how damn blue her sight balls were. Like the Caribbean, even though he never saw it in person, only in pictures. But damn… They could suck you in and drown you just like that vibrant sea. “Bike.”
When her brow dropped low, little creases appeared across her forehead. “I never heard it called that before. Is that a local thing?”
“It’s a biker thing.”
She digested that for a second as she inspected him from head to toe, then jerked her chin toward the Yamaha. “You don’t wear a helmet?”
“Don’t need a helmet in PA.”
“I know. Just because it’s legal to go without doesn’t mean you should.”
An automatic and sarcastic “Okay, Mom,” almost slipped from him but luckily he caught it in time. It was the same damn argument he had with his mother each and every damn time he pulled into her driveway.
“Just think what damage could’ve been done if I hadn’t been wearing one and one of those rocks hit me in the face.”
He studied that face. “Yeah, woulda been a real fuckin’ shame,” he murmured under his breath. She could have ended up just as toothless as the occupants of Hillbilly Hill. Or worse, dead.
His gaze flicked up the mountain. If she wasn’t a fed, where they were parked made them sitting ducks. But he wasn’t convinced yet that she wasn’t undercover and that the damage wasn’t fake.
He was damn sure the feds could set up some pretty realistic traps or undercover schemes. He just didn’t want to be the one caught in it.
Because of that, he casually walked around the bike like he was searching for more damage than an oil leak, and while he actually wanted to do that, he also wanted to check out her license plate on the rear.
His eyes flicked to the Illinois plate then back to the blonde still standing with her hands on her hips. She tilted her head to the side and watched him with those eyes that most likely did not miss a damn thing.
Fuck no, he had a feeling it would be hard to get anything past her.
“You could have asked.”
Did her lips actually twitch? He smothered his grin and shrugged one shoulder. “Was just curious since you ain’t from around here.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Yeah, since I woulda seen you around before. Manning Grove ain’t that big.”
She looked past him toward the direction he’d come from. “You mean that town I rode through earlier?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s… quaint.”
Among other things. “Certainly is that.”
He slid his sunglasses off his face and tucked them into the neckline of his coveralls. He then sidled up next to her and got down on his hands and knees in the dirt and gravel to give her Scout a better look.
There it was. A dent and small puncture in the oil pan that accounted for the leak. He got up, brushed his hands off on his coveralls, then moved around to the front, squatting down and giving it a good once-over. He found a small dent in the front fender, too.
That fucking sucked. Brand new bike and it was already damaged. He could replace the oil pan but he didn’t do body work. No one at Dutch’s Garage did.
Then he heard it. The slightest hiss.
He ran his calloused fingers along her front tire and found where that was leaking, too.
Christ. A fucked tire and a damaged oil pan. She wasn’t taking that sled anywhere except for repairs.
“You’re both stuck and fucked,” he got back to his feet to face her, once again wiping his hands across his chest on his coveralls, “‘cause you got a hole in your tire, too.”
She sighed and dragged fingers through her already messy hair making it look like she just had six orgasms and was ready to light a cigarette. Or change the batteries in her abused vibrator. Because he had a feeling this woman didn’t invite just anyone in her…
Bed.
He pursed his lips wondering what it took to snag that spot. She probably had way higher standards than someone like Whip. Just by her classy looks, he could tell she preferred older, successful suits that drove cages that cost more than most homes. Not mechanics in grease-stained coveralls with dirty fingernails who lived in a dorm-like room in a shared bunkhouse.
“Do you have any suggestions on what I can do about that around here?”
But maybe she’d be into doing a little test drive. He was young, pretty damn flexible and willing to take pointers if she was willing to give them.
Normally, he wasn’t into short hair even though Billie always kept hers super short. And while the blonde’s hair was also shorter than he normally liked, it fit her and didn’t look butch. Especially with the way it was cut at an angle to follow her jawline. It was still long enough for a man to get a good handful and pull.
Being in a helmet for hours upon hours had messed it up and the “just fucked” look made it look sexy as hell.
His dick decided now was a great time to remind him that he hadn’t taken advantage of the sweet butts in the last couple of days.
He needed to get on that.
It was much easier to find an available one now that the single brothers numbers were dwindling, even with the two prospects being patched over last December. After Liz left, five sweet butts remained, matching the same number of patched brothers available. Him, Easy, Dozer, Dutch and Woody.
And now Crystal was Stella and Trip’s house mouse to help take care of baby Rush and no longer considered a sweet butt.
Damn. Only five Fury members were left standing.
It would still be a few months before the three remaining prospects were patched over. If they even were. Castle and Bones would, Whip had no doubt.
Scar? That scary bastard was questionable.