Then there had been the street artist who'd been a hopeless cheater, the tattoo artist who drank too much, and when he did, he shared intimate details of our sex life with complete strangers, completely humiliating me. I thought I'd shaped up after that, dating a sweet, shy gamer. Turned out he had a crippling gambling habit and stole two grand from me before I caught on.
When it came to men, I was the magnet all the bad choices were drawn to.
But, damnit, why did all the bad ones have to look so good?
I'd tried dating a good guy or two. They fucked like jackrabbits then got pissed when you didn't come.
The bad ones?
Oh, the bad ones fucked you like your whole-body orgasm was what they were living for; they'd die before they finished without giving that to you.
Huck, the arms-dealing biker with the jaw of steel, oh, yeah, I bet he was nothing like I'd ever experienced before.
"Keep looking at me like that, babe, and I'm gonna have to do something about it," he rumbled at me, voice low, deep, far too sexy given the circumstances.
But did I stop looking at him like that?
I was pretty sure I didn't.
And I knew that I wet my lips right before the words—the challenge—escaped them.
"Like what?"
A humming sound escaped him, something that was a cousin to an actual growl, vibrating through his chest as his gaze held mine for one long moment before his hand rose, grabbing the back of my neck, using it to drag me forward until my chest crushed to his.
There was no teasing, no second-guessing his actions.
One second, I was several feet away. The next, I was touching his body from shoulder to knee, and his lips were crashing down on mine.
The kiss, like the man himself, was hard, demanding. His lips bruised into mine. His teeth nipped my lower lip to the point of pain, taking advantage of my gasp, his tongue moving inside to claim mine.
I was needy, breathless.
My hands rose, going around the back of his neck, holding on even as his hands drifted down my back, sank into my ass, dragging me up onto my tippy toes as he ground my pelvis to his, making it abundantly clear he was every bit as lost in the moment as I was. His body was wholly on-board with yanking off my pants, lifting me up onto the counter, and fucking me until we both forgot about everything else that had happened already that day.
A throaty whimper escaped me as he deepened the kiss. My leg rose, moving to hook around his lower back, opening me up to him.
Huck wasted no time slamming me back against the kitchen cabinet, rocking his hips against me, his hardness grinding against my cleft, dragging another moan out of me.
It wasn't until one of my arms left his back to brace behind me, my hand landing in the sink with the still-running water, that I realized what an epic mistake this could become.
It was bad enough to sleep with bad news.
It was a complete other to sleep with the bad news next door.
God, what was wrong with me?
"No," I objected against his lips, hands moving between, pushing against his chest.
"No?" he asked, pulling back a few inches, looking down at me with heavy-lidded eyes, a cocky smirk pulling at his lips, like he was sure I was going to qualify the comment.
No, we can't do it in the kitchen.
No, we don't have protection.
Not just no.
Because it was obvious my body was saying—screaming—yes.
But just this once, I was trying to listen to my head instead.
"Yeah," I said, nodding, pushing harder against his rock-solid chest. "No," I clarified, curling away to turn off the tap, then moving several feet away, wrapping my arms across my chest because I didn't exactly trust myself not to reach out to him.
What was one more mistake, in the grand scheme of things?
Well, in this case, being connected to an outlaw biker with enemies who might see me as a target, for one.
"You're a fucking trip, Harmon," he decided, shaking his head, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.
"Call it a blinding moment of sanity," I said, shrugging. "Fucking my arms-dealing biker neighbor is pretty high up on the list of shit I don't need complicating my life."
"Don't know what kind of man you think I am, babe, but I'm not the sort to complicate your life."
"Sex is complicated."
"Sex is a fun way to spend a few hours. That's it."
"Regardless," I said, surprised how strong my voice came out when just about every cell in my body was begging me to cross the room and throw myself at him, beg him to deliver those few, blissful hours. "It's a bad idea. Thanks for saving me from almost drowning. And for the pain medicine. And the story I will be telling my grandchildren someday so they know I was a badass who survived a drive-by, then did battlefield surgery on a biker. My future generations thank you for making my life a little less lame for a night."
"Alright," Huck said, shaking his head like he didn't get it. "You sure you're good? With the whole seizure thing?"
"Yep. Used to that. I just need to clear my head and then get some rest. No big deal."
"Alright. If you say so. You got pen and paper?" he asked, not waiting for me to answer, just going over toward my fridge where I kept my grocery list, ripping off the page under it, and using the attached pen to scribble on the page. "Ayanna wanted me to give you her number," he clarified. "Mine is on there too. In case you need it. You know, for a cup of sugar. Or a couple good orgasms," he said, giving me a cocky smile as he pinned it to the fridge under an "As You Wish" magnet from The Princess Bride. "I gotta get going."
"Right. Drive-by guys to find. Biker things to do."
"Yeah," he agreed, moving to the door, turning back to give me that sexy smile one more time. "Something like that. Lock up, babe," he added.
And then he was gone.
And I was alone in my kitchen with desire ricocheting off every nerve ending, a lingering headache, and far too many thoughts racing through my head, tumbling all together, to make any single one out.
But I moved across the kitchen to lock the door, then did a tour of the rest of my house, paranoia making me check the windows, look inside closets and behind shower curtains.
There was nothing, no one to worry about. No one could have possibly known I had been over at the biker clubhouse, that I was in any way connected to them, save for living next door.
Making my way back into the kitchen, I brewed a pot of coffee while I looked at the note on my fridge, telling myself I was going to throw it out, that I was going to be done with the bikers. In one night, I'd had more excitement than I'd had in over a decade.
It could get me through another decade easily.
I didn't need that kind of crap in my daily life.
Walking over to the fridge, I pulled out the cream, then took the note out from under the magnet, taking a second to notice how unexpectedly neat his print was before tucking it inside my menu drawer, telling myself I was only keeping it in case I wanted to text Ayanna to thank her for not letting me die in the pool.
With that, I took my coffee into my spare room/game room/office /whatever you wanted to call it.
I remembered once making fun of a guy I'd been seeing for liking video games, back before my hands had ever even touched a controller. I'd made some comment about how it looked like all he did was walk around in the game, that it would do him more good if he just, y'know, took a walk himself.