Page 49 of Jingle Belle's Biker

By the time I finish up with all the shit I ended up having to do, shit I don’t like to do, it’s dark and pushing seven p.m.

I don’t go home. Instead, I head to Styx because Gravel’s being a pain in my ass about meeting up.

The place isn’t full yet. It’s Friday, and the real crowd starts around ten at places like this, but it’s like a kick in my solar plexus when I walk in.

There’s the little Mellie at the bar with a drink, and next to her with a coloring book is Pepper. It brings back memories of me as a kid doing something similar.

Sitting on the bar and breaking about every single health code is Nomad. He’s right next to Pepper, surveying her and hissing whenever a guy gets too close. I know he’s hissing. I can’t hear him over the music, but I can see him.

And then there’s Gravel.

But what’s making it hard to breathe, what slammed into me so fucking hard it’s a wonder I don’t see stars, is who’s sandwiched between Mellie and Gravel.

She’s having the time of her life, throwing back her head and laughing.

Belle.

Chapter Eleven

Belle

“Slumming it?”

His voice is low and deep, that edge of slow, hot sex.

I pretend I didn’t notice him the moment he walked in the door. I pretend that, in my head, the music didn’t stop, and every single atom of awareness in the bar turned to him, like some kind of screwed-up western/biker mash-up movie.

LikeSharknadobut better.

“Oh!” I turn, looking up, blinking in pseudo-shock. “Saint. Imagine seeing you here.”

He steps up to me, and I’m immediately both toasty warm and too hot, the kind of hot that needs fewer clothes and no audience except for him.

Saint bends close. “Liar, Belle. You saw me.”

“No, I was talking.”

“And you saw me.”

“Did not.”

“Yeah,” he says, “you did. Right before you upped it all about ten notches and laughed like you were at a comedy show.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

“Yours might.”

“Ego.”

“The ego check was full of coats.” Then he takes me in, and the black and white check dress I’m wearing is both over the top and stupid. Like a kid playing teacher. Staid and boring and trying to turn that into sexy.

I’m a mess.

“Your face is all bright red, pretty one.” He reaches over and takes my wine, and has a mouthful. “That’s disgusting.” He orders a beer from Havana.

“What kind?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Cheap.”

---