Page 33 of Jingle Belle's Biker

“Yeah, if you want to put it that way.”

“Melissa would. And I’d trust her. Between us, maybe a big burly man watching out for her might make a world of difference to how her ex pays up.”

“You mean pays?”

I nod.

“Gotcha.”

She talks to me about time on the road, and it takes a moment, as I eat, that she’s not talking about being a biker’s woman but being a biker herself. But she’s real, and she owns herself. Her dress, or lack of it, is for her, not the men.

As she tells me, she’s smoking, so she’s gonna show it off because she enjoys it.

When Saint sits, he mutters something about word spreading a little too fast.

“Word? How many hits are coming your way?” I ask, teasing.

He finishes his burger and takes a sip of his beer, the same one I note, he’s been sitting on for the whole time we’ve been here. “A lot. And my knitting needles haven’t been sharpened.”

“There’s a dart board back there.” I thumb behind me.

“They’re so last season.”

This time, laughter bubbles out. “I assume you’re talking about your freelance mechanic job?”

“Freelance? That’s a good way of putting it. I specialize in motorcycles, but any engine purrs for me. It’s a gift.”

Heat flares, spreading through me, down to my sex, and I’m pretty sure my panties are wet.

My phone’s on the bar, but I don’t need to look to know the time is marching as the music’s louder, more people are filtering in, and the scent of burgers, fried onions, and potato are in the air.

There’s school in the morning and homework to finish marking. Not that the homework is much in second grade, but it’s designed to get kids reading, thinking, and being creative.

He picks up my phone. “Pumpkin time?”

“Afraid so,” I say, taking it from him, and he pays the bill, waving my offerings away.

The night is cold around us, it’s early, but the shorter days give the illusion of it being much later, and I stop at the sound of a meow.

Saint swears. “Fucking cat.”

“Nomad!” I dart by the big biker, smiling.

The black cat’s sitting on the seat of his bike. I don’t know how he got here, but I don’t question the ways of the feline.Nomad was sitting with Pepper, letting her pet him in a way that not even a dog would like, right up until I got home. I parked on the street so I could comfort the child. That was when the cat zoomed off.

And now . . .

Here he is.

“Stop encouraging the creature.” Saint takes me in his arms again and spins me around, the leather of his jacket thick and old.

We stop right at the bike and the cat.

Saint’s eyes glitter as he gazes at me, and a buzzing fills every atom.

“Fuck,” he whispers, “you’re so pretty.”

He leans in.

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