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CHAPTER ONE
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PSYCHO
OPHELIA
MILK.
Sugar-free hard candy.
Scratchers.
Cat food.
Repeating my list—though I’d likely still forget something—I added a mental groan to the mix as I pulled into the full parking lot.
I knew I should’ve stopped last night.
Saturday mornings were always packed, but the gorgeous spring weather meant even more people were out. I didn’t have time to duck and dodge the crowds of slow walkers and aisle blockers.
Circling around, I finally found a parking spot at the side of the building. I grabbed my purse and was climbing from my car when roaring engines stole my attention.
I may have been running short on time, but I still stopped to watch as three motorcycles pulled into spots in the next row. I knew nothing about bikes or bikers beyond what I’d seen on TV, but I did know I liked the way they looked—the bikes and the bikers. My attention turned rapt as one of the men climbed off his with badass gracefulness and removed his helmet.
Holy.
Biker.
Hotness.
He turned his head to talk with the driver of a large white van, giving me his profile. Dark hair covered his angular jaw—longer than stubble but not quite a beard. The hair on his head was the same dark brown and also appealingly overgrown.
He moved his arms, and my eyes dropped to check out the art that covered his visible forearms, though I couldn’t make out any details.
A door slammed and I jumped, nearly falling the rest of the way out of my car. Shaking my head at myself, I closed my door and walked toward the grocery store entrance.
Fortunately for my eyes—but unfortunate for my schedule—the three bikers and the van driver moved that way, too.
Nothing wrong with enjoying the scenery while I walk.
We were almost to the door when the youngest of the men—the one who’d been driving the van—suddenly turned.
I was tempted to throw myself behind a decorative display so I wasn’t caught staring at his friend. My pride and I breathed a sigh of relief when his eyes aimed over my head as he walked backward, lifting his key fob.
Learning my lesson, I looked away and feigned intense interest in the displays of seasonal flowers.
Well, I learned it for half a minute. Because once he turned back around, my focus returned to the other man with him—the heavily tattooed one. I wished I had the skill to stealthily take a picture because the girls at work would have a field day seeing them.
Actually, if I were making wishes, it would be that I was ballsy enough to go right up and ask for a ride on his bike.
Or a ride on something else.
Stepping into the store, I grabbed a basket and continued following them. Not creepily—or so I told myself—but because we happened to be going the same direction. When they turned down an aisle I didn’t need—and following them would’ve been straight up stalking—I grudgingly parted ways with the eye candy.
Speed walking to make up for lost time, I grabbed milk and cat food. I turned down the candy aisle only to see the bikers loading their arms with junk food. My steps slowed to a snail’s crawl so I could peek at them as I passed.
Well, mostly to peek at him—Tattooed Hottie.
