Page 7 of Jingle Belle's Biker

“Me?” Her eyes grow big, and the green sparkles like jewels as lightning flares. “Never.”

“Take my helmet and you can direct me.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t wear your helmet. I’ll get it wet.”

“Better than scrambled brains if there’s an accident.”

“What about yours?” she asks.

I push the helmet at her. “Hard fucking head, Red.”

She sucks in a breath. “I don’t know.”

“Well, if you’re scared, kid, I’ll let you walk. But I think it’ll rain again before you reach there. Unless, of course, it’s the nextblock.” My tone’s slightly mocking, and a drop of rain splatters down.

She doesn’t take it for anything more than a tease. “I’m not a child. And I’m not scared of your motorcycle,” Belle says, making me grin.

“I meant me.”

“You?”

“I’m a biker.” The helmet’s still held out on offer.

Another drop of rain falls and another. “A saint of a biker who saved me.” She takes the helmet. “Thank you, Saint, I’d love a ride home.”

I pull up in front of an apartment building that sits inside a high-walled fence with what was probably once a beautiful garden or courtyard of a mansion from back in the day when this was a growing industrial town.

The paint trim on the doors and windows needs a touch-up, and the yard either some new plants or less bikes and clutter. Maybe some of the pavement ripped out too, since it looks like it was an add-on years ago.

Of course, my mechanic brain likes it for good-weather open-air workshop vibes, but for a living space? Not so much.

“Are you staying in the city long?” Belle asks as the rain comes down in a light patter.

My gaze travels to the place dubbed Secret Gardens and to her as she hands me my helmet. Her long hair’s curling, and she’s a pretty little thing, buttoned-down and not at all my type.

Haven’t heard her cuss once, and I’m fucking sure this was her very first time on the back of a motorcycle.

“Trying to get rid of me?”

“Not at all.” One hand clutched her chest, right on the washed-out open wound of her stain. “I was . . . I was going to say there’s a place here, and also?—”

“I know, Miss Red. I can read.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone before putting it back. “Even got one of these.”

She frowns. “I was being polite and friendly. No need to mock.”

“I wasn’t.” I rest my helmet on my wet thigh. “I’m still deciding whether I’m gonna take the job here or not.” Then I grin. “Who knows, maybe we’ll be neighbors.”

“That would be great. I can show you around . . . if you want. And I’m in?—”

“You shouldn’t give strange men your fucking address.”

She frowns, and I can see curtains twitch. “You’re not strange, and you know where I live.”

We’re saved by the ringing of her phone. I give her a salute for unknown reasons, except it feels like the right thing to do.

“Get your call,” I say. “Who knows, maybe we’ll see each other around.”

I put on my helmet, and she nods, turns, and runs up to the building’s door. I gun my engine but wait until she’s inside before taking off.

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