Page 25 of Last Mile

“You’re not as much of a mutt as I thought you were.”

“I guess not.” With a wink, she added, “Thanks for the compliment about being exotic- looking.”

“I just call it as I see it.”

“Well, I like the way you see it. No one has ever called me exotic before.”

I shifted on my feet as electricity seemed to pop and crackle all around us. For a moment, I questioned if it was because I truly wanted Samantha, or if it was more that I wanted what I knew I couldn’t have.

Waving my cue stick at Samantha, I said, “You’re up again.”

She once again effortlessly sank her ball. After lifting her gaze to the ceiling and appearing deep in thought, she asked, “If you could have one dream come true, what would it be?”

With a grunt, I replied, “Wow, that’s the fucking cheesiest question I’ve ever heard.”

She poked me in the shoulder with the end of the cue stick. “Oh no, you don’t get to judge the question. By the rules of your game, you have to answer it.”

I held up a hand. “Fine, then. I’ll answer your hokey little question.”

“I’m waiting,” she said while tapping the toe of her boots.

Damn, if it wasn’t both cute and sexy.

After fighting the urge to growl at her, I decided to answer her honestly. “The one dream I want to come true is to open my own motorcycle shop.”

Samantha blinked at me in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. What did you expect I would say? That I wanted a threesome with two Playboy models or to have a ten-inch dick?”

“Well, you can’t blame me for being surprised after your initial response to your first question.”

“That’s true.”

“And you mean you don’t have a ten- inch dick?” she questioned teasingly.

I laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She grinned. “I’ll admit that my curiosity is certainly piqued.”

“Let’s just say the size of my dick will stay a secret for now.”

“Such a pity,” Samantha replied, before winking at me.

Since I knew we needed to get off the subject of my dick, I leaned over the table and positioned my cue. “My turn again.”

“Wait a minute.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I questioned, “What?”

“I want to know more about the motorcycle shop you want to open.”

I shook my head. “I said we had to tell a secret, not go into a bunch of bullshit detail about the secret.”

“But you answered my questions about boxing. Why won’t you answer this one?” Stepping closer to me, she said, “Is the big, bad biker boy afraid to share?”

“I share myself just fine,” I countered with a smirk.

“Physically I bet you spread yourself around, but I’m talking about emotionally. Would it really kill you to explain to me why you want to open your own shop?”