Page 3 of August's Ride with Arrow

Something in my gut tells me if I don't take this chance, I will regret it, and it's not just about losing my V-card.

“I'm going to do it,” I say, taking a deep breath. Standing, I grab my empty drink glass. No sooner do I take my first step towards him than his other friend leaves to talk to some other people, so now he’s alone at the bar.

I can't believe my luck.

As I walk up, I get a good look at the patch on the back of his cut.

Mustang Mountain Riders.

When I stand at the bar, the bartender walks over, and I order another drink. That's when he turns to look at me, so I offer a smile and ask the first thing that comes to mind.

“So, where is Mustang Mountain?” I nod towards his back where I saw the patch.

Before answering me, he turns and fully faces me, and that's when I get a clear view of the scar on his face. It looks like an arrow, and I let my eyes trace over it. I shift my weight, trying to ease the tingling at my core at just the sight of it. Knowing that there's quite a story behind it, I wait for him to answer me.

“Western Montana, up by Whitefish and Glacier National Park,” he says in his rough voice. His tone sends a shiver down my spine.

I've never been happier that Penny and Bridget insisted on each of us having our own hotel room on this trip, because I am definitely going to have to relieve some tension once we get back.

“Oh, Glacier has been on my bucket list for years,” I smile, and my eyes go to his scar again, wanting desperately to know the story behind it.

“Your scar looks like an arrow. That's really cool. How did you get it?” I ask before thinking. I swear it must be the alcohol making me this outgoing. Right away, I see a trace of shock on his face before he hides it.

“My time in the military. The story isn't pretty, though,” he says, his gorgeous grey eyes with flicks of silver study me.

I like having his eyes on me, which is something I’ve never experienced before.

“Maybe you can take me for a ride on your bike and tell me.” I try to channel Penny and her flirting, which I've watched her do for years.

“What's your name?” he asks as his body turns towards me. He faces me full on now.

“Katherine, but everyone calls me Kat. What's yours?” Butterflies erupt in my stomach because it seems my flirting is working. At least he's not running scared.

“Well, they call me Arrow, and once your pussy touches my seat, Kitty Kat, it belongs to me,” he says brazenly.

There’s more than a hint of desire in his gravelly voice.

I let out a gasp because I'm shocked my flirting worked, and I'm even more stunned that he wants me. My brain races, and I want nothing more than to hit pause and run over to Penny and Bridget and ask them what I should do, but I can't do that.

While my mind is frantically trying to come up with something that one of them would say at this moment, I suddenly blurt out the one thing comes to mind. “Which one of those is your bike?” I ask with more confidence than I feel as I nod towards the bar door.

Without moving, he looks at me and studies me carefully. It’s as if he's trying to decide if I'm serious. Then, standing, he pays for his unfinished drink, and places his hand on my lower back.

“Do you need to let your friends know you're leaving?” he asks.

When I look over at them, both of them have wide eyes and big smiles on their faces. They give me a thumbs up, and Bridget holds up her phone and points to it.

I know what she means. If I need anything, I’ll call her. Before we got here, just in case something like this happened, we shared our locations.

“I think they're okay with me leaving with you,” I say and give them what I hope is a reassuring smile as Arrow guides me out the door.

The South Dakota heat hits me once outside, making me shade my eyes. Leading me over to his bike, he picks up the helmet and hands it to me.

“It'll be big. I hadn't planned on having anyone else on my bike while I’m here,” he says, placing the helmet over my head. Then he helps me tighten it as best he can.

I’m a little surprised when something possessive pops up in me, knowing that he didn’t plan to have anyone else on his bike. Then I remind myself I have no right to feel that way. He swings his leg over his bike before he turns to me and holds out his hand.

“Last chance to back out,” he says, and I hesitate for a moment before I take his hand.

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