Page 4 of Big Bossy Biker

“Huh?”

“When the mechanic fixes my bike, I’ll take you out,” Noah says, leaning back in his seat, his mind made up. It’s not like I was planning on objecting, though.

“I’d love that,” I say, the blush on my cheeks burning even hotter. Just the thought of sitting behind him with my arms wrapped around his middle, holding on tight as we speed down dark roads is enough to make my whole body feel like it’s on fire.

“I would, too,” he says, his eyes flitting to our server who’s walking over with her hands full. “Looks like our food’s here already.”

“One of the perks of being the only people here,” I say with a smirk. “The service is fast.”

“That it is,” he replies, smiling at the woman as she drops our plates in front of us.

While we devour our meals, Noah tells me more about his travels. I’m most interested in seeing the western states. They seem like a completely different world despite being within driving distance. Noah tells me about Las Vegas and the deserts of New Mexico, and I hang onto every word. By the time our plates are cleared, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed that our meal is coming to an end.

“We should probably head out of here,” I say begrudgingly, glancing at the staff members performing their closing duties. “I don’t want to keep them here.”

“We probably should,” Noah sighs, digging some cash out of his wallet – much more than our meals were worth – and tossing it onto the table. “This was much better than I expected it to be.”

“What were you expecting?” I ask as we leave the restaurant.

“Tasteless cheap slop,” he replies without a hint of joking, opening the passengers’ door when I unlock the car.

“I take it that’s a common occurrence when you’re out on the road,” I say, pulling out of the parking lot and heading back toward the motel.

“Unfortunately,” he says. “That doesn’t mean there aren’t places that surprise me, though. I ate at this little run-down place in Nebraska that I didn’t have high hopes for a few yearsago. Now I make it a point to swing by any time I’m remotely close to it.”

“It was that good?” I reply, glancing over at him and feeling my breath catch in my throat. He’s strikingly handsome in the low light.

“It was,” he confirms. “Maybe when you’re going on your own tour of the country you’ll have the chance to check it out.”

“I hope so,” I say, slowing down as I pull up to the motel. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Thanks for driving,” Noah says as he gets out of the car. He leans down before he closes the door and says, “Have a good night, Fiona. Get home safe.”

“I will,” I promise, watching him as he heads to his door, the sound of my name in his mouth bouncing around in my head.

Chapter Three

Noah

I wake up early, as usual. Some habits die hard, like the one drilled into me by the military: rise with the sun, ready to go. But this morning, I’m restless. I can’t get her out of my head.Fiona.

I slide out of the bed in the motel room that feels like it's straight out of a time capsule from the seventies. The sheets are thin, the walls are yellowed, and the air smells faintly of mildewand stale smoke. None of that bothers me, though. What bothers me is the way I can’t stop thinking about a girl half my age. Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with me?

After a quick shower, I throw on my worn jeans and my leather jacket. I could’ve kept the jacket off—it’s not cold out—but it’s like a second skin. Plus, it gives me something to do with my hands, stuffing them in the pockets when I need to stop fidgeting.

I head down to the motel office. I tell myself it’s just for the coffee, but we both know that’s bullshit. I’m hoping Fiona’s working the desk. When I step inside, though, it’s not her. Just some older woman with a face like she’s been sucking on lemons her whole life. No smile, no warmth—just a blank stare when I ask about the coffee.

“It’s complimentary,” she grunts. No shit.

I pour myself a cup of the lukewarm sludge they call coffee. It’s terrible, but I sip it anyway. I don’t see Fiona anywhere, and it irritates me more than it should. I know she’s probably off-duty, sleeping or something, but damn it, I hoped to see her.

I take my time drinking that disgusting excuse for coffee, hoping she might pop in or something. When it’s clear she won’t, I head out. The bike’s in the shop still, so I’m stuck here. And as much as I like the freedom of the road, today I don’t mind being grounded. As long as she’s around.

The day drags on. I go for a walk, try to clear my head, but the more I walk, the more it feels like I’m being pulled back to that damn office. By mid-afternoon, I’m making my second trip. Maybe Fiona switched shifts or something. I don’t know. I just want to see her.

But nope. Same sour-faced lady behind the counter. I grab another cup of coffee, wincing at the taste. At this point, I might as well be drinking it just for an excuse to come here. I head out again, grumbling under my breath. I don’t get it—this is not like me. I don’t hang around places like this for long, and I sure as hell don’t let some girl mess with my head like this.

Still, it’s not like I can shake her. Those green eyes, the way she smiled at me last night—it’s burned into my brain. I never saw her coming, never had any woman take up space in my head like this before. And I’m starting to think it’s more than just lust.

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