Page 10 of Jingle Belle's Biker

What they wouldn’t be supportive of and what I haven’t told my friends at school about is last night.

I shiver as I drag my bag over to me and pull out the homework I need to mark. Last night was an eye-opener.

This city has a center which is moderately paced, where most of the businesses are, and then we have Sweetwood Heights, where the affluent live on their big properties.

There are other expensive suburbs as well as divey ones. And then there’s the Industrial District that’s both abandoned places as well as working warehouses.

And, apparently, it’s a hotbed for gangs.

If my Saint of a biker hadn’t stopped to rescue me, I -I don’t want to think about it. Sure, they probably wouldn’t have hurt me, they just wanted to intimidate me, but I’m also not naïve. Crime happens, and I don’t want to be a victim.

The encounter would also be prime Lance fodder for his book on why this city needs hardcore gentrification.

Not money into social services or more jobs. Not more affordable housing. But supermarkets, flashy apartments that cost too much for most in the poorer sections, and more shops for the rich and well-heeled.

I know he’d love to make this a small city destination for those wanting a break from big city life. It’s picturesque here. It could be a luxury city in the woods, small and sweet and full of all the high-end things the rich might like, all while not being beacons to paparazzi for those who want to get away.

I know because Lance has told me.

But . . . people need to live. They need better jobs and wages. They need help, and one thing that helps is being able to have a roof over their heads.

Sometimes, he makes me so mad I want to punch him.

My phone rings, and I snatch it up, heart beating hard as, for a brief moment, the name Saint flashes in my head.

The name Hannah flashes on the screen.

Of course, it’s not my Saint of a biker. He doesn’t even have my number. Or a reason to call. Maybe my brain’s water addled. I hit answer.

“Girl, get your ass down to Finally for a drink. I need to know how the meeting went and whether you saw the world’s hottest bag of dicks.” She hangs up.

“Hello to you too,” I mutter.

Today was crazy at work, and I didn’t get a chance to drop by the Sweetwood Library. But the bar, Finally, is near enough I can walk as I’m waiting until payday to take my crappy little car in to be fixed. I set down the homework assignments and get changed.

The bar’s the right level of busy when I get there, some indie music’s playing low, and the black wood and golden low lights make it intimate rather than dingy.

I spot Hannah immediately in her leather pants and skin-tight top. Her blonde hair’s streaked with blue and tied up in knots on her head. And her sleeve of tattoos is on display.

She’s the coolest librarian I know.

“Belle!” she shrieks my name and hurls herself into my arms, squeezing tight. I can feel the jealous burn of her male fan club who’ve surrounded her and pretty much want to be me right now.

It’s the Hannah effect, and I’m ninety-eight percent sure she doesn’t realize it.

“Someone get this girl a drink.”

Five guys race to the bar, and the one who gets back first earns a Hannah smile. I barely refrain from the eye roll.

“You are terrible,” I whisper.

She frowns prettily. “What?”

“All your admirers.”

“Oh, them? They’re just nice guys. Keeping me company until you got here.” She pushes through them, leading me to a table. “Now, how did it go?”

I groan. “It didn’t. Everything that could go wrong did, and when I got there . . .”

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