Page 19 of Her Possessive Bikers

I can't help but laugh. "Noted. See you at seven."

She gives me a little wave and disappears, leaving behind the faint scent of leather and something floral. I wait until her footsteps fade before dropping my head into my hands.

What the hell am I doing?

11

INDY

Istand in front of the bathroom mirror, fussing with my hair for the third time. "What are you doing, Indy?" My reflection offers no answers, just shows me fidgeting with my Metallica shirt, making sure it hits just right above my hips.

The lasagna in the oven fills the house with garlic and herbs. Way too much food for one person, but I kept adding ingredients like some kind of cooking possessed person. My stomach flips when I think about Tres coming over.

"It's just a business transaction," I mutter, but even I don't believe myself. The way he dismissed that woman earlier... I can't get it out of my head. The look on her face when she saw me, like I'd personally offended her by existing.

I check my phone. Twenty minutes until he's supposed to show up. The house is spotless, which is ridiculous because he's here to pick up a motorcycle, not inspect my dusting skills.

"Dad would be rolling his eyes right now." I laugh, touching the framed photo of him on the hallway wall. "Your little girl getting worked up over one of your brothers."

But Tres isn't just any brother. There's something about him that makes my skin tingle. The silver in his beard, the way hecarries himself like he owns whatever room he's in. The fact that he's probably old enough to be my... I stop that thought right there.

"This is insane," I say to no one, pacing the kitchen. "He's coming to buy Dad's bike. That's it." But I still check my reflection in the microwave door, adjusting my necklace.

The timer dings and I pull out the lasagna, the aroma making my mouth water. "Well, if he doesn't stay to eat, I'll have leftovers for a week." Who am I kidding? I made this hoping he'd stay.

I toss the cherry tomatoes into the salad, my mind drifting to my last actual date. Six months ago? No, longer. That orthopedic surgeon who kept asking me out until I finally said yes. We had decent Thai food, awkward conversation, and a handshake goodnight. Before that was... God, I can't even remember.

"And now you're making dinner for a biker," I mutter, sliding the bowl onto the counter. "Mom would have a stroke."

The doorbell echoes through the house, sending my heart into my throat. I wipe my hands on my jeans, take a breath, and head for the door.

"Hey," I say, opening it to find Tres filling the doorframe. His grey t-shirt stretches across his chest, and the sunset catches the silver in his beard. "Come on in."

"Something smells amazing." His deep voice sends a shiver down my spine.

"Just threw something together." I lead him through the house, very aware of his presence behind me. "The bike's in here."

The garage door creaks as I push it up, revealing Dad's prized bikes. Tres lets out a low whistle.

"Damn, Brick kept her pristine." He runs his fingers along the chrome. "Used to give him shit about how much time he spent polishing this thing."

"Yeah, he'd spend hours out here." I lean against the workbench, watching him circle the bike. "Said it helped him think."

"That sounds like him." Tres looks up, catching my eye. "You sure about selling?"

"Keep one, sell one - that was my thought." I shrug, trying to ignore how the garage suddenly feels smaller. "Besides, Dad would want it going to family."

The word hangs between us, loaded with meaning. Family. Is that what this is? Because the way Tres is looking at me definitely doesn't feel familial.

I watch Tres secure the bike to his trailer, his movements precise and practiced. The sunset casts long shadows across the driveway, and the smell of lasagna wafts through the open garage door.

"You hungry?" The words tumble out before I can stop them. "I made way too much food for one person."

He pauses, chain in hand. "Absolutely. Whatever it is has been driving me crazy since I walked in."

"Lasagna. Dad's recipe, actually." I fidget with my bracelet. "He used to make it whenever I visited."

"Brick could cook?" His eyebrows shoot up. "That's news to me."

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