“What song is about a dog dying?” Dom argues, narrowing his eyes.
“I don’t know, one of them.”
“You’re wrong, and she’s coming to sing here, tonight. Don’t hurt me.”
He spins around and runs out, yelling out that he loves me.
God damned brothers.
God damn family.
This is my café, dammit.
It’s mine.
I’M LYING ON THE SIDEWALK after attempting to a morning jog, tripping over the curb, and falling flat on my back. In the main street. In front of everyone. So far, nobody has offered to help me up. I’m right outside my café, I work here, and still nobody is rushing to help me.
People really are rude.
I could get up, I should get up, but the shame that’ll befall me when I do is going to be something I’m not quite ready for yet. I wonder how many people are looking at me right now, laughing. Probably with their phones out. I’ll be a YouTube sensation by the end of the day.
I turn my head to the side with a groan and see an older lady, and my full-time enemy, walking past with her fluffy little dog. She walks past every single day and, every single day, she gives me the same look. Horror. Disgust. I’m not entirely sure what I’ve ever done to her, but she really doesn’t like me.
She has never liked me.
Not even for a second.
I tried, for a while, to be nice to her and she wouldn’t have it.
So, I got done.
Old cow.
“What are you looking at, Karen!” I call. “Move along.”
She scoffs, her old face scrunching up in utter horror. “My name is not Karen!”
“It should be,” I throw back with a scoff.
Mortified, she picks up her pace and disappears.
Thanks for the help, lady.
A shadow looms over me, blocking the sunlight, and I turn my head to see a very large, very good looking man staring down at me. He tips his head to the side and takes me in. For a moment, I just stare at him, wondering where the hell he came from and why he’s staring at me instead of helping me up.
“You abuse everybody while layin’ on the ground, on a sidewalk?” he asks.
He’s got a very masculine voice, all thick and husky.
Perhaps I hit my head harder than I thought.
I notice he’s wearing leather, jeans and, I’ll take a wild guess, boots. His hair is dark, long, and falling over his shoulders—it’s thick and incredibly nice. Why do men always get the nice hair? He has a beard that would make any woman wet and eyes as blue as the sky itself. He’s gorgeous, but what the hell is he wearing?
Who wears leather?
Nobody, that’s who.
“Are you going to a fancy dress party?” I ask, still lying on the ground, still throwing sass around like I’m actually in the position to.
The sidewalk is starting to burn my back.
You won’t see me complaining, though.
No, sir, not today.
He tilts his head again, to the other side this time. As if he’s studying some sort of wild animal he’s never seen before. “I’m thinkin’ you need to get up because the fall has clearly given you some sort of brain injury.”
He extends a hand.
I huff.
“No, thank you,” I say, rolling with zero grace to my side. I grunt and squirm but, finally, I get to my feet.
Not without looking like a complete fool.
Now that I’m standing, I can see him better. His jacket has some sort of patches on it, but one that stands out to me is ‘PRESIDENT’ in big, bold letters.
President of what?
A BDSM club?
They’re the only people I know who wear leather in this heat.
“You never seen a biker before, lady?” he asks, and my head snaps up.
“You’re a biker?”
He doesn’t look impressed.
“I mean, my mind was going somewhere completely different, but okay. I’ll take it.”
“You always this smart-mouthed or is it just my lucky day?”
I cross my arms. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“If I like you or not. So far, I don’t. I mean, who wears leather in the blistering sun?”
“I do.”
“Have you got some sort of skin condition?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“Fuck. No.”
“Then why?”
“Because I’m a fuckin’ biker.”
I give him a sarcastic eye roll and mock him, repeating the same sentence. “Because I’m a fuckin’ biker.”
He growls. “You’re somethin’ else. What’s your name?”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Fuck me. You’re insane.”
I grin. “Says the man wearing leather in the middle of summer.”
He leans in closer, so close I can see the speckles of green in his blue eyes. “You’ll get yourself into trouble with that mouth one day.”
God.
He smells incredible.
Yum.
“Can you move back a little?” I ask. “Your breath is quite offensive.”
His eyes harden.
He doesn’t move.
I go on. “Can I get you something for it? Mouthwash? A mint? Dental floss? A better personality?”
He steps back with a scowl that makes him look even more handsome. God, he’s good looking. Ridiculously so. Are all bikers this attractive? I might need to get on that scene.
“This your place?”
He nods to my café, the one I just fell over in front of, the one where none of my staff bothered to come out and help me. They know I can’t run, what sort of friends are they?
“Yes, actually, it is my place.”
He grins.
“Well then, it’s your lucky day.”
“I fail to see how ...”
“We’ll be runnin’ into each other a lot more.”
I shake my head, confused.
He turns and points to the large, empty, garage-style space beside mine. We share the same parking lot, but it has been empty for as long as I’ve owned my place. I’m happy to have it that way—I don’t want anything getting in the way of my business, and someone owning that place would certainly disrupt what I’ve got going on.
I mean, it would have to be some sort of garage and that means noise, and people I don’t want around.
Still grinning, he gives me a look that makes me a little nervous. “You better get used to me and my breath, lady, because I’m your new neighbor.”
Wait.
What?
Oh, god.
No.
He’s my neighbor? A biker? What in the ever-loving hell would he want with a garage? Don’t they ride bikes? This has to be some sort of accident.
“Is this a joke? Am I being pranked?”
I glance around.
“No joke. I bought the place last week, opening a custom motorbike shop with my clubhouse out the back.”
Clubhouse.
What does he mean ... clubhouse.
Isn’t that illegal?
“There is no house there,” I squeak, though I’m sure behind the garage, there is, indeed, a house. I haven’t really paid a great deal of attention.
“There is a house, a rather large house, one that I’ll be running my business out of.”