Page 6 of Hard Knox

“Okay,” Birdie sang. “Let’s talk about the pros.”

“Knox is gorgeous,” I said, laughing. “And he gives me butterflies.”

“That’s it. Butterflies. I would kill for butterflies, Eliza. Fuck. Is this middle school? Butterflies, for real? Give that biker a chance but on your terms. Text him back, set up another date. Maybe something simple, like lunch? Keep track of those butterflies, girl.”

I stared at my usual, boring, safe, tuna sandwich on gluten-free bread. Her words, as always, bolstered my spirits. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe a lunch, in public, under my control.”

“Exactly. Keep it in your court and see where it goes from there. You’ve got this,” she encouraged.

Fortified by Birdie’s pep talk, I picked up my phone after the call. My fingers hesitated above the screen for a moment before I tapped out a message to Knox, inviting him to lunch tomorrow, since it was Saturday.

Eliza: Hi, Knox. Eliza here.

How about lunch tomorrow?

My heart thudded with nerves and anticipation as I hit send.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of art projects and story times, but through it all, a part of me was keenly aware of my phone, silently urging it to buzz with his response. When it finally did, the rush of excitement was almost too much.

His text was enthusiastic, the words on the screen somehow reflecting his eager grin.

Knox: Lunch sounds perfect can’t wait to see you again Eliza

Then came another.

Knox: My place or yours?

Eliza: Public place, but you can choose.

I was curious about where he would pick. As I packed up my classroom at the end of the day, Emma’s bright chatter about her day at school filled the air around us. Her innocent joy and the unreserved love I felt for her reaffirmed my resolve. I would approach this new possibility with Knox cautiously, always mindful of the little world Emma and I had built together, a world that I would protect at all costs, even while exploring the potential of adding someone new to it.

After a few texts back and forth, Knox sent me the address of the place he picked for lunch. The small bistro was quaint, nestled between the vibrant shops lining the bustling streets of downtown. Just seeing his motorcycle parked outside as I cut off the engine of my used car gave me the same butterflies as before.

As I walked in, I spotted Knox immediately. He was impossible to miss. A badass biker in his leather, a complete contrast to the gentle décor of the café. His presence was like a bold stroke of black ink on a pastel canvas. And I couldn’t look away.

Knox sat in a relaxed pose that made him look as if he owned the place—or perhaps as if he belonged to a different place altogether. The first thing I noticed was his sheer size. The hunk was a large man, broad-shouldered and strapping, the kind that clearly didn’t spend his days behind a desk. Nothing like the male teachers who I worked with, not even Bobby, who taught gym and was Little League coach. Knox’s arms, visible beneath a tight, rolled-up sleeve shirt, were covered in an intricate wrapper of tattoos. The artwork ran down his arms, bold and dark, depicting what looked like Celtic knots, skulls, and other mysterious and intimidating symbols.

Framed by a thick, well-groomed beard, his face was more handsome than hot. Somehow, the fact only made him hotter. His dark hair was short but stylish, revealing a pair of small black earrings. He wore heavy boots that looked like they had seen a thousand miles, adding an aura to the man, making him look like someone who lived a life full of adventure and perhaps danger. Despite the rough exterior, there was a certain charm to his ruggedness, a magnetic charisma that was hard to ignore.

Raising his eyebrows, he stood as I approached, that trademark grin spreading across his face. Knox was everything my life wasn’t—unpredictable, raw, dangerously inviting. The allure of the forbidden called every time I met him. It was as if just the sight of him sketched a bit of his world in vibrant colors onto my mind.

Birdie had told me to keep track of the butterflies, and they’d started the moment he’d texted back. At present, the darn things had almost brought me to my knees. But my apprehension steeled my resolve. Here was a man who seemed about as sturdy and reliable as I was unpredictable. His presence overwhelmed me. I wondered how someone like him could possibly fit into my busy but safe life, a life filled with school schedules, early nights and a four-year-old.

Yet, as he pulled out a chair for me with a gentleness that contradicted his tough appearance, I couldn’t help but feel drawn to the paradox he presented. Could I really see myself with this biker who embodied a way of life that was so distinct from my own? As we began to talk, his melodious tone, a deep, soothing timbre, the question lingered in my mind, even as I found myself intrigued by every word he said.

“Eliza, you look beautiful,” he greeted, his voice a soft rumble that seemed to resonate just beneath my skin.

Because the weather still allowed it, I’d worn a sundress that hugged my curves in the best way. Feeling a flutter dancing recklessly in my chest, I smiled. “Thank you, Knox. This place is lovely.” He was staring at my bare legs, so I put my napkin over my lap.

“It reminded me of you,” he said and cleared his throat. “Frankly, I wasn’t sure they’d let me in.” He winked and about bowled me over.

Oh, damn. The butterflies flapped harder. Giving into a nervous tick, I tugged my hair behind my ear and combed it with my fingers. “Just like me? Afraid I won’t let you in?”

“Exactly?” He gave me a knowing look.

“In where?” I couldn’t resist asking as I rested my hands in my lap. Call him out. Since my divorce, I’d had my share of men looking for a booty call. I’d turned down every one of them. Did Knox just want in my pants?

Knox chuckled. “In your pussy,” he said right out loud.

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