Page 50 of Jingle Belle's Biker

“Is this your way of letting me know I got out of a bad deal last night?” Oh, damn. I promised myself I wouldn’t say a word about it, just pretend it didn’t happen.

He turns to say something to Gravel, and I breathe a sigh of relief, letting the Buzzcocks sing about God saving the Queen wash over me.

Saint might’ve turned from me, let me off the hook, but he’s still close. His big hand resting on the bar’s edge right in my personal space zone. I press my thighs together as a thrill passes through me.

“OMG,” Mellie says as she leans in, sipping her soda.

I look at her. “OMG?”

“It’s what the cool kids say. According to Pepper.”

“She’s seven.”

“She’s got her finger on the pulse.”

I can’t argue with that.

But Mellie isn’t finished, and I’m stunned at the change that’s come over her after one day here. Gravel and Frederick Jones picked Pepper and me up after school today, and the kids still there were all agog at the teacher and the child getting on big,bad bikes—which is, according to Oliver, what the motorcycles are.

It didn’t matter Pepper rode in a sidecar on Gravel’s bike, and from his pink ears, something told me it wasn’t his regular ride.

But when we got here, Mellie glowed.

Like someone waved a magic wand and let her flower.

She told me she didn’t think Andrew would be a problem now, and I agree. Nothing like a bunch of bikers having a tiny woman’s back to scare off her abusive, cowardly ex.

“I know we don’t know each other that well,” she says, “but what’s the deal with your biker?”

“There’s no deal.”

She shakes her head. “There is. You both light up when you see each other.”

“You’re in need of an eye test. Possibly a frontal lobotomy,” I say.

Pepper’s watching us, and I look at Nomad for help, but he just head-butts the little girl. I got him cat salmon and also some cat duck and goose. Those gourmet, high-end cans of cat food are wasted on him.

He swivels his head to give me a sharp look, like he can hear my thoughts. Then the black cat turns back to the girl to hiss at a man who comes too close.

Maybe, I think, he can have the salmon.

“It’s obvious,” Mellie says.

“What is?” I almost jump a mile at the deep tone of Saint’s voice.

“That—”

“Your cat makes a good guard cat,” I say, tromping all over Mellie’s words.

The low light in the bar hits his shaved head, accentuating the perfect shape of his skull, and shadows his cheeks, showing off his high cheekbones. My heart dances, and my pussy throbs.

And I don’t know what to do.

“I don’t have a cat, I keep saying.”

“He is a cutie,” Mellie says.

Pepper pipes up as she grabs Nomad and squeezes. The cat gives a long-suffering look, and I suspect it would scratch me up if I tried that, but this is Pepper, a kid, so . . . long-suffering it is.

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