Page 9 of Jingle Belle's Biker

“Intimidation sure sounds like illegal,” Gravel says. “Not that I care.”

“It’s more toeing the line of intimidation. Making sure rents are in on time, handing out eviction notices if people don’t pay, and,” I shrug, “being a six-foot-five biker helps.”

“So, it’s good money?”

“And cheap, short-term rent. I guess this fucker wants to play hardball with the residents, and it’s not my business.” I shrug.

“You’ll be in town for a while?” Frederick asks. “At least for the month?”

“Until after the holidays. If I take it.”

The other two bikers grin at each other. “So, you’ll be here,” Gravel says, “to do some work on bikes? Excellent.”

I check the time. It’s getting late, and if I’m going to meet this Lance tomorrow, I need to get out of here. Besides, I’m fucking hungry.

I make my goodbyes and hit the road, the rain having stopped. There’s a greasy diner not far from the motel, one of those twenty-four-hour types. So, I stop in for a burger and head back out to eat it in the cold post-storm weather.

There’s something on my bike.

Narrowing my eyes, I stalk up and come to an abrupt stop.

A cat. Black, rounded, no collar, and green eyes that gaze scornfully at me before finally blinking.

“Get off, you waste of space.”

The tail swishes hard and fast, but the cat doesn’t move. With a sigh, I unwrap my burger, and the cat’s attention zeros in.

With a move more graceful than it should, the creature leaps from the saddle to my feet, winding around my boots and rubbing on me before letting loose a plaintive meow.

“No. Go home, cat.”

It stops as I go to my bike, and the cat jumps back into the saddle. This time, it swipes, its paw hitting the burger, sending it tumbling to the ground.

Once more, the cat leaps off the saddle and starts to eat the patty. Then it stops, looks up at me, and lets out a soft, smug mew.

“Asshole.”

I wheel my bike away from the cat and my meal right as my phone starts to buzz. With a sigh, I climb on the bike and pull out my phone.

The job’s expanded if you want it.

And the too-pretty and not my type red-haired woman fills my mind, the way she pressed against me as we rode, her heat, the softness of her hand in mine when we shook.

I text back.Be there at nine.

Chapter Three

Belle

No rain today. No working car either, but this time, I didn’t have a meeting. I flop down on my worn purple sofa in my second-floor threadbare but cozy apartment.

Another law of some kind, I’m sure. Everything goes perfectly when you don’t need it to.

Christ, I can see my mom and dad looking at where I live and judging.

Lucky for me, they don’t come this far east, as they prefer San Francisco and LA. The small Southern California town we’re from in the San Diego region, Salta, is still more their style, even though these days, it’s beneath them, too.

But I smile because for all their mover and shaker ways, and their complete lack of understanding I love being a teacher, and they’re supportive.

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