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To be fair, the other three were nothing to scoff at. One was older and looked like the epitome of an old school biker. On the opposite end, the young guy who’d been driving the van looked around my age and was boyishly cute. There was a handsome man who was somehow even more handsome under the usually unflattering fluorescent lights.
And then there was Tattooed Hottie. From across the parking lot, he’d been… well, hot.
Up close, he was a broodingly gorgeous man who kinda scared me but mostly thrilled me.
Seeing his profile next to the handsome one, I was fairly certain they were related.
And good genes definitely ran in the family.
After adding too many bags of hard candy to my basket, I took one last appreciative look before going to pay. When I was done, I stopped at the lotto machines.
I was trying to decide which ones to get when the hairs at the back of my neck stood. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the bikers waiting in line, but none of them were looking my way.
Holy shit, maybe I have biker senses that tingle.
Not as useful as turning into Spiderman, but still fun.
I chose some random scratchers, put them in my bag, and started for my car. Rounding the corner, I dipped my head to look in my purse for my keys when I bumped into someone.
Hard.
My back slammed against rough brick, and I braced for my head to knock against the unforgiving building, but it landed on something soft.
An apology for not paying attention formed, as did outrage at them for not paying attention, either. What came out was a yelped, “Hey, sorry!”
It took me a moment to realize I hadn’t bounced off someone to hit the wall.
I’d been pushed.
And I knew that because the pusher was still standing close.
Way too close.
Close enough that I could see the skin near his light brown eyes crinkle. “‘Hey, sorry’? You gotta work on your shit-talk, princess.”
Tattooed Hottie.
He was even better looking up close, but when he had me against a wall, I wasn’t about to get lost in his interesting cream soda colored eyes. Or get distracted by the beautiful lines of his angular cheekbones and jaw.
I was too busy trying to figure out what the hell was happening. Then I needed to figure out how the hell to end it because his arms were caging me in, and I had no interest in finding out how easily those arms with their cut muscles could break me.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you,” I said with a forced smile, hoping if I acted like it’d been an accident, he’d roll with it and let me go.I tried to shift, but his body followed.
“You didn’t. I pushed you.”
“That was rude,” I shot back automatically.
“Your shit-talk game, princess,” he shook his head, “it’s shit.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll work on it. Why did you push me?” I peeked to the side, hoping to catch the eye of a random shopper, but it was nearly impossible to see around the broad biker. The limited view I had was of one of his friends.
This isn’t TV or the movies.
Not all bikers are criminals.
This one just has… boundary issues.
He dipped his head into my line of vision. “Why were you following us?”
