Page 65 of Jingle Belle's Biker

Sin huffs but continues her exploration of the space.

I’m way too aware this is taking longer than I expected. Her bike needs an overhaul, and it’s going to take me a few days, but she needs transportation. So, if I can get it running to where I’m happy, I’ll be good.

Then Sin can either stick around or come back in a week or, as much as it pains me, take her bike elsewhere.

It’s not that I want it as an excuse for her to stick around, or it’s a way of staking a claim. I can do that if I wish without a reason.

But I know this bike, I built it for her. Basically birthed the fucking thing. It makes sense she brought it to me.

I pat the saddle, and she comes up. “Miss me?”

She rolls from my left side to the other and puts her hand near mine.

“Yeah, I do. We had fun.”

“But?”

“You know it’s done.”

“I know.” She kicks the ground. “What sucks is I haven’t found a good replacement.”

“Gee, Sin, wait until fucking Tuesday. There’ll be a shipment coming in.”

“You know what I mean,” she says.

“You wanted to be first.” I shake my head and adjust one of the headlights. “There are plenty of guys—and girls—who pant after you and your fine ass.”

Sin grins. “You forgot the tits.”

For a moment the feel of Belle’s, heavy and soft, hits me. Now, those are perfect. But I shake my head again. “This’ll be a few days, but if you’re eager to get back out there, someone can take care of it. Let me know where you’re off to, and I’ll hook you up.”

She paces over to the work table and peruses it. “I’m trying to figure out if that was you not so subtly trying to get rid of me or you not so subtly keeping tabs.”

“Neither. Asking.”

“Well, since I left the Trinity, I’ve just been looking around. I have a friend in Trine. Figuring might bunk down with them for a week or so. They’re fucking cool, man. Mostly women, and you find an old man or an old lady if that’s your style.” She slides me a look. “You want?”

“I’m no one’s old man, Sin.”

“And I’ve got no interest in being anyone’s old lady. Not anymore.” She crosses her arms. “A cat, a pretty little conservative thing who probably doesn’t fucking swear. You looking to invest in twin sets?”

It takes me three beats to drag my mind out of the gutter and get what she means. Twin sets. Not sets of twins.

“Nomad isn’t mine.”

She nods, and glances at the box and bags that she went through earlier. Then she looks at the food and water dishes. “Uh huh. That’s a lot of hardware for not your cat.”

“I can’t carry him in my jacket. It’s not safe.” Fuck, that sounds . . . shit. I run a hand over my shaved head. “The creature insists on turning up where I am and demanding a ride.”

Her smile turns smug.

“I’m not fucking explaining this to you. He’s a cat.”

“The girl?”

“Leave her alone.”

She gives me a double take, then holds up both hands. I don’t know if it’s my tone or what, but something makes her stop the smugness. “Just messing with you. She seems nice.”

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