Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Safety.
If they saw Maverick. They’d flip.
“Penny for your thoughts, darlin’.”
My head whips around to see Maverick leaning against the railing, arms and elbows over it, facing me. My cheeks flush and I stammer out, “I-I-I-I didn’t even hear you get closer.”
He chuckles. Then, like the night at the restaurant, he just launches his big body over the railing and lands on the deck, boots thumping against the wood. I locked my bedroom door, but that doesn’t stop me from looking over to make sure security isn’t busting in at the sound of the big biker landing on the wood.
Maverick strides over to the other chair beside me and sits down, looking over at me. A piece of dark hair falls over his forehead and those eyes make my insides feel funny things. He’s wearing his jacket over a tight black tee and a pair of old denim jeans and those sexy boots he doesn’t seem to like lacing up. My heart does a little flutter and I try to smile so he doesn’t see how nervous he’s suddenly made me.
“Fuckin’ great show tonight. Never tire of hearin’ that voice.”
My cheeks burn, and I smile. “Thank you. And thank you for coming. It’s grounding to see a familiar face in the sea of unfamiliar faces.”
“Any time. Nice spot you got here. No hotel tonight?”
I shake my head. “I’m tired of how sterile they are. They aren’t homely. Sometimes, being away from home, I like to break it up and stay in these kinds of places, just so I don’t feel so cold all the time, you know?”
He nods, pursing his lips for a second before looking over to me. “Feel you. I get sick of stayin’ in motel rooms myself.”
“How come you don’t go back to your club?”
I blurt the question out without thinking that maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it. After all, he doesn’t know me. His eyes flash with a familiar pain, the same one from last night, and he says, “Just bad memories. I needed a break.”
He doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t push. Instead, I change the subject and ask him, “Tell me about your club then. What’s it like being a biker?”
He chuckles and leans back, crossing his booted feet and crossing his big arms. “It’s always excitin’, I guess. But that isn’t why you’re part of it. It’s a brotherhood, a family, a bond unlike any you’ll find anywhere else.”
“But don’t you do illegal and dangerous things?”
Probably not the right question to ask him. But still, I’m curious. I’ve seen all the television shows and movies, like half the population of the world has, and in most of them they portray bikers are being these cold, scary killers. I know of course that isn’t real life, but part of it had to be created from some truth. Even if it is only a little.
“Can’t talk about club business with you, darlin’, but yeah it does get dangerous sometimes. That’s just part of this world. It’s also one of the best parts. It’s good knowin’ you have a group of people that’ll always have your back. And the freedom of not answerin’ to the rest of the world is pretty fuckin’ great.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, crossing my legs beneath me. “That would be nice.”
Maverick’s eyes go to my tanned legs and the short cotton pants I’m wearing and flash. His jaw tics and he meets my eyes again, and I swear I can feel the intensity burning in them.
“I’ve, ah, watched a few episodes of Son’s of Anarchy,” I admit, trying to stop my voice from shaking. “Is that what it’s like?”
He chuckles. “That’s a fictional version, but some parts, yeah I guess it’s similar.”
I frown. “Do you really call your girlfriends or wives ‘Old ladies’?”
His grin gets big. Dimples. Sigh. “Yeah, but it’s a term of endearment, believe it or not.”
I scrunch up my nose. “It is?”
“Yeah. They hold the highest respect. Nobody speaks down to or disrespects anyone’s Old Lady. Ever. Unless you want your face pushed in by her old fella’s boot.”
I nod, impressed, and smile a little at the thought. “Do you have an Old Lady?”
He raises his brows. “Darlin’, I’m no cheater. Wouldn’t be sittin’ here lookin’ at your legs and wonderin’ how they’d feel wrapped around my hips if I had an Old Lady.”
I flush and squirm, completely shocked by his words. “O-O-Oh,” I stammer. “Right. Well.” Shit, what do I say? “Have you ever had an Old Lady?”
Dumb question. Of course he hasn’t. Or he’d still have her.
His face drops, and a darkness clouds his eyes. A darkness that speaks of deep pain and regret.
Oh. My.
He has had an Old Lady, but from the pain in his face, he doesn’t any longer. My heart aches, and curiosity burns inside me. What happened to her? Is she dead? Is she alive? Did she leave him and break his heart? Does he have any kids? So many questions. So many I can’t ask because now is clearly not the time to push.