Page 72 of Biker's Collar: Property of Scrap

Iwake up with a pounding headache. I didn’t even drink, but Owen did. To stop him from driving his bike all the way across Las Vegasdrunk, I forced him to drag an old couch out of the back room and we’re sleeping in the worst possible position.

Zebulon – he prefers Zeb – and Deacon are asleep shirtless on their backs on the pool table. The other men either drove off drunk, or they’re asleep on the floor. I must have slept with my neck at a ninety degree angle. But when I groan and try to move, Owen’s arm keeps me pinned in the uncomfortable position.

His arm covers my chest, which appears to be slightly exposed. I don’t fully remember… but I suspect Owen drunkenly tried to take my top off before falling asleep. When I try to grunt his name, I realize Owen’s arm isn’t just keeping me trapped in place, he’s blocking me from speaking.

What the hell? I grunt and make a second effort to shift his arm, which yields results in the form of waking Owen’s groggy ass up. He slurs my name and then shifts just enough that I can escape his grasp. When I leave his bare chest cold, he snaps awake and changes his mind about letting me get away. I make a sharp squeak as I fly back against Owen’s hairy chest.

“Get back here, Vickie,” he murmurs. I try to wriggle away again, because my ass doesn’t want to stay crunched up on this couch forever…

“My neck hurts…”

“Oh yeah? Did I make you suck my dick?” he murmurs, pulling me against his chest again and not listening to me at all. Owen makes it hard to pull away when he kisses me. I don’t really want to feel his lips all up on me in this room of sleeping bikers but… Owen’s kisses are life-changing. I let him get three in before I pull away from him and hit his chest.

“We need to get out of here.Youneed to get out of here.”

“We need to fix slot machines,” he says. “And…”

“What?”

Owen takes my hand and kisses it. I don’t know why he’s doing something so weird and sentimental this morning.

“I want to marry you.”

“Owen…”

“I know. You hate feelings. But we love each other, and… it’s so fucking sexy that you can fix a slot machine.”

“I lived in Las Vegas for five years. It’s not a big deal.”

“You’re smart.”

“Not that smart if I ended up with you.”

“Ha ha,” he whispers, flipping me around so I’m straddling him on the couch. I’m terrible at hiding my real feelings from him. It doesn’t matter what rude ass comment I make or how hard I try to push Owen away. His fingers just sink even deeper into my hips. I feel this urge to move closer to him. And follow it.

“Marry me,” he whispers, kissing me softly on the lips now that he has me close.

“This doesn’t count as a proposal,” I whisper, pressing my hands to his chest and nuzzling close to him.

“I have to give you a pre-proposal so the emotions don’t freak you out and lead to you shooting me in the fucking mouth.”

“Why do you have to make me sound like a savage?”

“You went from dealing that poker game to playing and you cleaned us out of $32,000.”

“I don’t have a job. I needed money.”

“Hm. You’re lucky you’re my old lady. Zebulon looked pissed.”

“He should have thought of that before wagering his dog tags on an underground poker game.”

“What are you even going to do with those?”

“Give them back once he learns his lesson. Don’t fucking gamble.”

Owen laughs. His chest moving beneath me causes my heart to swell. I feel so strangely connected to him now. Like his emotions affect me implicitly. I get even closer to him, making it possible by slipping one of my legs between Owen’s body and the back of the couch.

“I need to learn that lesson,” he whispers, kissing my lower lips. “I don’t want to screw up with you, Vickie…”

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