Page 53 of Property of Kevlar

There were a slew of people inside that phone that she could text and fill her time while she enjoyed her meal. She’d feel less alone in public if she were chatting.

Picking it up, she considered who she should text.

Not him.

What would she even say?

Maybe ask him about his favorite band. Color. Last name. She snorted at herself. Was she really any better than Carrie? Definitely. She wasn’t sitting there dreaming of the big white dress she’d wear on her and Kev’s wedding day.

Tapping the screen, she scanned her contacts.

Anyone would do. Though most were probably busy. Wasn’t that why she was out alone? She should’ve gotten takeout for home. Or there was always the possibility that she could cook a meal within her apartment.

Except all she had in her refrigerator were ingredients. She wasn’t in the mood for that.

Her finger lingered on a contact.

He’d told her to use it if she saw Pete again.

Kelsey glanced around the café.

No leather. No motorcycles. No Pete.

That meant no reason to call.

Another tap and she opened a text message box.

He’d said nothing about that.

Would he want to hear from her?

Only one way to find out.

29

Kevlar

Not every day of a biker’s life was wrapped up in criminal enterprises, spying on their enemies, or slinging back beers. Every now and then, he had to do some work. Graciously, Remi allowed him and Kid to use her body shop, the tools and resources within it, to tinker on their bikes to keep them well maintained. In exchange, they offered to help her. They did a job here and there on a few cars.

Standing beneath a Honda Civic, Kevlar watched the thick oil drain from the engine. Whoever this car belonged to had waited too long to get to the shop. Why did people put off something as simple as an oil change? Having that kind of sludge running through the system was awful for the engine.

Shaking his head in silent judgment, he sighed.

Vrr. Vrr.

Within his back pocket, his phone vibrated. Kid was off scouting tattoo shops. Kevlar already had his check-in with Jameson. Glancing across the shop, he spotted Remi with her head in the front of a Nissan, cursing at a timing belt.

Harper? Why would Harper want to talk to him?

Peeling the glove off his hand, he tucked it into his pocket before pulling out his phone.

He furrowed his brows. This wasn’t a number he knew. A telemarketer, perhaps. Did they text now?

But when he read the message, everything clicked, and he smiled.

Hey, it’s Kelsey. No cause for alarm; I just saw a motorcycle drive by. Are you following me?

Letters on a screen carried no tone. They shouldn’t impact him. However, his pulse quickened. He interpreted the blond bombshell’s words as flirting with him. No one could convince him otherwise. How cute.