Page 29 of Flash

“Like the Hells Angels?” Okay, so maybe I wasn’t that far off before.

He chuckles low in his throat.

“Not exactly.”

“What then? That’s pretty much the only point of reference I have. Oh, except for Sons of Anarchy. Do you hang out with hotties like Charlie Dunham?” I hum, putting on a dopey smile, and a growl comes from between Arrow’s clenched teeth. Fuck, why is that so hot? “Wait, I know, your club is full of badass but generally toxic hotties like in the gay romance books Rowan is so obsessed with.”

“None of the above,” he says. “Although, I haven’t read any gay romance. Sounds like something Jag would be into, I’ll have to ask him.”

“Are you going to make me keep throwing out fictional examples until one of them lands right?”

“No.” He bumps his knee against mine and drags his good hand through his beard. “We’re really just a group of friends with a shared love of Harleys who wanted an excuse to hang out more and work on our bikes together. We do charity rides when we can, and we’ve gone to a lot of Pride parades so we can represent and show people that bikers aren’t all homophobes. And we like to go to places where shitbags are protesting so we can show them that not all queers are easy to push around and intimidate.”

“And tonight there was an emergency charity ride where you broke your hand?” I ask blandly.

“My buddy, Hero… his sister needed some help.” He nods at his hand and flexes his fingers. “This was courtesy of her now ex-boyfriend. Fucker tried to hit Jag with a flashlight and my hand got in the way.”

My eyebrows fly up.

“Um, why?”

“We were helping her get her stuff out of his house and he showed up,” Arrow explains. “Jag mouthed off to him.”

“Wow. Jag sounds like he’s interesting.” You’d have to be to get the nickname ‘Jag,’ right? “So, you guys do charity rides, go to Pride events, and offer your services to help battered women escape their shitty boyfriends? You sound like saints.”

So much for finally finding a flaw. Still nothing but green flags over here. I should be happier about that, right? Not that I’m unhappy that Arrow is such an incredible guy, it would just be so much easier to remind myself not to actually fall for him if he had some more glaring faults.

“Not sure a saint would have had such a delightful fantasy about pounding the guy’s face in,” he says.

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Do you have a violent streak? Anger issues?”

Arrow’s forehead creases and he looks at me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m crazy.

“Now we’re getting somewhere?” he repeats, and I cringe. Oops, yeah, I said that out loud.

I focus my attention on his hand for a minute. I’m looking for his crazy and accidentally flashed my own instead. Great. But, fine, if we’re doing this, then we’re doing it.

“I have trust issues,” I say with a weak laugh. “You seem kind of perfect so far, and bitter experience has taught me that usually means someone is hiding something really fucked up.”

He’s quiet for a beat and then he barks out a laugh. “I’m far from perfect.”

“Oh yeah?” I arch an eyebrow and lean in a little closer. “Go ahead then, try to scare me off.”

“I do have a history of getting into fights. I almost got expelled from high school for fighting and in my early twenties I spent a couple of nights in jail for drunken brawls,” he confesses.

“What, twenty-five years ago?” I scoff. “Not sure that counts as a flaw.” Our noses are nearly touching now, the smell of his skin and the warm puff of his breath against my lips making my heart race.

I can feel the hesitation thrumming through him. He has one he’s holding back, something he really does think will scare me away. I’m starting to doubt that he could.

“How about if I promise to work on some more obvious flaws?” he teases, hooking his good hand behind my neck and pulling me in another half inch.

“I would really appreciate that,” I murmur, ghosting my lips over his. He chases the light touch with a rough, needy sound in his throat, making heat rise inside of me and electricity dance over my skin. “Do you still want a drink?”

He drops his grip on my neck and sits back a little.

“Actually, I’d better not. A beer is one thing, but I can’t ride after hard liquor.”

I think about what he’s saying for a minute, then lean over and pick up his glass from the table, holding it out to him.

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