Page 11 of Misadventures of a Biker

“Well, Devin. I’m expecting a call this morning. Kurt McEvoy. If he calls, don’t put him through to voicemail. Have him call my cell.”

“I sure will,” I said, jotting the name onto a sticky note. “Is that all?”

She adjusted the strap of her purse, giving me an opportunity to catch another glimpse of her ample cleavage.

The instant I tore my eyes from her glorious mounds, she met my gaze with a curious look. “Do you know basic guy things?”

I had no idea what she was talking about, but I wasn’t about to let her walk away. Not yet, anyway.

I gave her a reassuring look. “I suppose.”

“The valet at Mercato door-dinged my SUV,” she explained. “Is it possible to fix it without damaging it further? It’s imperative that it looks like nothing ever happened. I’m anal about things, my vehicles included.”

There was one man who was capable of fixing damaged paint without leaving a trace of his existence. He was a biker and a businessman but looked like a barroom brawler. His attitude arrived ten minutes before he did. He wouldn’t have an ounce of patience for Teddi’s pretentious attitude—and would likely tell her about it. I crossed my fingers, hoping he didn’t disappoint me when it came time to put Teddi in her place.

“Ask for JR Nocera at Supreme Auto Collision,” I said, laughing to myself as I spoke. “They’re on Fourth, right off Tamiami. Tell him Bo”—I cleared my throat—“Devin sent you.”

She flipped her blond hair over her shoulder and turned toward the door without as much as a “thank you.” I rolled my chair to the edge of the desk and watched her walk all the way to her SUV. By the time she got into the vehicle, my dick was as stiff as stone.

Of the three women I’d been exposed to so far, two of them were completely safe. One of them wasn’t. Not at all. It was going to take some serious convincing for me to keep my hands off Teddi.

The majority of my morning was spent fielding phone calls and patching them through to Janine and Kate. Convinced the job was going to become mundane, I spent my idle time watching tutorials on YouTube.

While I watched a video on how to please an angry phone caller, Kate meandered across the foyer and leaned over the edge of my desk. She beamed with pride.

“What are you so damned happy about?” I asked.

“I ate an oyster this weekend,” she replied proudly. “Two, actually. Two different types, not two oysters.”

I swiveled my chair to face her. “Really?”

“I tried them raw, just so I could say I did. That was interesting. About like I expected, really. I didn’t like the texture. Then I decided to try them Rockefeller style.”

“And you liked them?”

“They were awesome. Really rich, but they tasted great,” she said. “I ate the entire order.”

“I’m proud of you.”

She curtsied. “Thank you.”

Kate was nothing short of adorable. Bubbly, energetic, and always smiling, it was impossible not to like her. I told myself being sexual with any of the women I was working with was a bad idea. As much as I hated the idea of it, I needed to keep things platonic between Kate and me.

“What did your date think?” I asked. “When you ate them?”

She made a pouty face. “I didn’t have one.”

“Why not?”

Her mood shifted from almost flirty playful to being outwardly uneasy in an instant. Although I didn’t intend to, I’d obviously hit a nerve.

“I’m just taking it slow,” she replied. “My last relationship ended poorly. I’m going to be careful about who I go out with.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I said what everyone else probably did upon hearing that news. “Sorry about your last relationship.”

“That’s okay.” She wrinkled her nose. “He was an asshole.”

“Why were you with him?”