Page 3 of Single Mom for the Bikers

Even with the gun safely locked away, searching him feels risky. Do I dare? Yes, because not doing it feels even riskier.

There’s a lump in his right side pocket that could be a slim wallet or a phone. Slowly and carefully, like in a deadly game of Jenga, I ease my fingers in to get it. For once, I wish men’s jeans had those stupid half-pockets that women’s do, because whatever is down here seems like it’s halfway to his knee.

My fingertips touch what must be a cell phone, and in my excitement I move a little faster. Something long and hard presses against the side of my hand. Another gun?

No, wait…

Holy crap.

The biker makes a noise that very much doesn’t sound like pain, and I realize I’m practically palming a stranger’s, um, hot rod. His very long, firm hot rod that twitches under my hand.

What's wrong with me that I don’t immediately yank my hand back? This man is injured and probably a criminal. I’d bet money he didn’t just have a random accident while out riding. It doesn't matter how sexy he is or how… gifted he is. His being here could put Mia in danger. That's what I have to keep in mind. Not his…

Nope. Not going there again. I pinch the corner of his phone and wiggle it out of his pocket as carefully as possible, very pointedly not looking at the long lump that’s definitely not just a fold in the fabric.

All my worry about waking him up was for nothing. His breathing stays slow and steady, and from what I can tell, he’s still out cold. There’s a crack on his screen, but it’s still working from what I can tell. It’s locked, though, and he doesn’t have fingerprint or face id active. I check the medical id, but he doesn’t have it set up. Disappointed, I put it on the coffee table. No way I’m going to try to put it back into his pocket, so hopefully he won’t remember whether he pulled it out himself or not.

I brush my hand through the blood stiffened hair on his temple. Asleep, he doesn’t look nearly as frightening as he did when he was awake and hurting. “Don’t die on me out here, okay? And don’t make me regret letting you stay.”

His promise not to cause trouble had a ring of sincerity to it. Hopefully, all that happens is that he wakes up and gets the heck out of here, and then we can all get back to our lives and he'll be nothing but a weird memory. Someone to think about when I'm alone, dreaming about the what-could’ve-beens.

Jeez, pull it together.

I leave him a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers, then go get the sandwiches. Mia’s not happy about the changes to her usual schedule, but when she finds out it means a night in my room snuggling in the big bed and watching a movie together, she quickly forgets about the promised spaghetti and the passed out biker on my couch.

But I don’t.

2

PHOENIX

Fuck,my neck hurts. Not to mention my head, which is pounding like a fucking jackhammer. What the fuck did I drink last night?

My eyes pop open, and I find myself looking up at a white-painted ceiling.

“Hey, you. You’ve got to get out of here,” a soft feminine voice whispers in my ear.

Where the fuck am I?

Fuck, I ache everywhere, like I got the shit kicked outta me last night, but all evidence points to maybe it was a different kind of night. I look over to see a gorgeous brunette with golden flecks in her dark eyes and big, full lips. She looks worried.

“Why? Is your boyfriend gonna come home?” I tease, and when her eyes go wide and her mouth falls open, I slide a hand into her thick hair and pull her close.

She resists for a second, but when our lips meet, she lets out a shy little gasp that sends blood straight to my cock. I’ve alwaysbeen a sucker for the sweet ones, the girls next door that can’t resist taking a walk on the wild side at least once. And this one is so fucking sweet, I can’t believe I don’t remember what happened last night. I must’ve really tied one on.

My tongue slips between her lips and hers reaches out tentatively when part of my memory comes back in a rush. I jerk back and grab my head. “Ow, fuck!”

I was out riding, enjoying the hint of summer on the spring breeze when my bike launched out from under me. I remember the crash, and the smell of grass, dirt and blood. Motor oil. I remember crawling, and feeling like every bone in my whole goddamn body was crushed. And then everything goes black.

Which doesn’t make any fucking sense because I'm still breathing. I take a quick stock of myself. Still dressed, my phone's on the table, my iron… is missing. Fuck.

I’m in someone's living room. The house feels taken care of but old, in a way that’s just on the wrong side of shabby. The old fashioned flowery wallpaper is peeling in a couple places, and the furniture is a jumble of yard sale treasures. Lots of pictures on the wall, mostly of a woman and a little girl. The woman I just kissed. The one who’s looking at me with panic in her eyes.

The pictures don't do her justice.

She's sexy as fuck, so it’s no surprise I jumped to the conclusion that I went home with her last night. Her thick brown hair is free and wild, framing her pretty face. She's wearing sweatpants and a hoodie that do their best to hide her curvy shape, but completely fail at it.

“You kissed me!” she fires off like a murder charge.

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