Page 22 of Cocky Secrets

Accepting the correction, I repeat, “Motorcycle cop.”

“No, I ride a patrol car but it’s at the station. I drive my truck in, switch cars.”

“You don’t ride the Harley ever?”

“Yeah, here and there,” he replies, tone casual, but I see passion flickering in his eyes. “I love hitting the back roads when I get the chance. There’s nothing quite like it.”

“I can imagine,” I whisper, picturing him with my vivid imagination on the burgundy Harley, no helmet, wind whipping through his hair, a sexy smirk on his face, muscles on his arms flexing when he hits the throttle.

Bear nods, and for a moment, there’s a flicker in his expression. “You should come out with me sometime when I ride. I could show you some great spots.”

The invitation shoots a wave of uninvited warmth through me, but I can’t let myself get too excited. Something’s off. I feel like he’s toying with me. “Yeah, maybe.” I give a thoughtful nod, then wake up to reality. “Wait…whenyouride?”

“I’m not selling it.”

“Excuse me?" I frown, adding a confused, "I don’t understand.”

“My Harley. The one your Dad thinks he’s test-driving. I’m not selling it.”

I blink, “Wait, what?!!”

TEN

Sage

Istare at Bear. “What are you saying? Why did you do this? I…I don’t get it!”

Bear holds my gaze, lightning bolts connecting us. “When your dad came into the diner this morning, he told the owner he was getting one for his daughter…Sage.”

I blink. “You knew it wasme.”

“Not a common name.”

“This was a ploy! A ploy to get me here!”

Bear turns to face me full on, no more pretense, eyes on fire. “I didn’t have your phone number and I wanted to see why I was waiting around at noon when you said you’d be here. Still don’t know exactly why you didn’t show up,” he reminds me, eyes hard and filled with something I can’t quite decipher yet. “And I’m not sure I care anymore what your reason is. Not sure it even matters.”

“Why?”

“Seeing you again only makes me want to see you more.”

Frozen by the way he’s looking at me, I whisper, “I’m so confused.”

“Because whatever reason you give me won’t change the fact that I wanted to,and want to, see you again. Enough to pretend to sell my bike to a biker.”

We glare at each other, like predator and prey sizing each other up, and I’m not sure who is which, the heat from the rising sun nothing compared to that which is now boiling in my veins. “Ican’tsee you, Bear. I can’t be seenwith you. I can’t come paint you. I was crazy to ever think I could. I tried to ride my bicycle here, but my brothers caught me and wanted to know where I was going. I couldn’t tell them.”

Bear takes this all in. “You have to hide it?”

“Yes!”

He grunts, catching on, then explains to make sure he’s clear on this, “Your Dad, your brothers, the whole club, won’t let you see me. Because I’m a cop.”

My inhale is sharp, pained. “That’s right.”

Bear mutters, “Clubs don’t like cops,” to himself before meeting my eyes. “So I can’t pick you up and take you riding on my Harley. Even though they understand what it’s like to be on a motorcycle more than anyone, they wouldn’t let you be on mine. That’s what you’re saying.”

The image of us riding on that burgundy beast flashes in my mind, my heart, mycore. “That’s what I’m saying. You can’t come pick me up and take me riding.” I pause, holding his gaze with so much meaning between us. “Even though Iwantyou to.”

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