Page 3 of Bringing Home the Biker

Brad? I didn’t recognize the name.

She stared down at the phone, and I cleared my throat. She jumped in her chair and clutched a hand to her chest.

“Where the hell did you come from?” she exclaimed.

I couldn’t help but smile and nodded toward my office. “Right there.”

“Right, right,” she muttered and dropped her hand back to her lap. She shifted, straightened in her chair, and pasted on a smile. “What’s up?”

“Everything good out here?” I asked and scanned her face.

“Never better,” she replied, and the smile stayed firmly in place. “Just working on getting everything wrapped up for the holiday break.”

I nodded slowly. Part of me wanted to ask who she’d been talking to, why she seemed... off. But I didn’t. It wasn’t my place.

“Well, I’m heading out to check on some job sites. Call me if you need anything.”

“Will do,” she said and turned back to her computer.

I walked out of the office, and the cool late-morning air greeted me as I headed to my motorcycle. My mind wasn’t on the projects, though—it was on Star. She’d seemed shaken and let down, but she clearly didn’t want to talk about it. That smile she wore? It was the kind she put on with customers she was trying to get rid of.

I swung a leg over the bike and strapped on my helmet. My hand lingered on the key for a moment before I started the engine. I glanced back at the office, and my brow furrowed. Something was bothering her, and I hated not knowing what. I hated that I couldn’t ask, couldn’t help.

Not that I didn’t want to—I did. Hell, I cared more than I probably should. But I was her boss. There was a line, and it wasn’t one I could cross, no matter how much I wanted to make sure she was okay. The balance we had at work was good and solid. If I overstepped, I risked messing that up, and neither of us needed that.

The bike roared to life beneath me, the sound loud and grounding. I pulled my sunglasses over my eyes and shook my head. Whatever was going on with Star, she’d figure it out. It didn’t have anything to do with work, and I wasn’t going to butt in where she probably didn’t want me.

Still, as I pulled out of the parking lot, a small part of me couldn’t help but wish she’d let me in.

Chapter Three

Star

Thursday night had me camped out on my couch, a glass of wine clutched in one hand and my phone on the coffee table while some random Christmas movie played. The soft glow of the string lights around my window made the room feel cozy, but my mood was anything but. Christmas was in four days, and I was in a full-blown crisis.

I took a long drink of my wine and flopped back against the cushions. I let out a frustrated groan. “Why, Star, why didn’t you just tell your mom you were single?” I muttered to myself. But no, I had to go and blurt out a story about a boyfriend that didn’t exist. Now, I was trapped. If I didn’t show up with this imaginary guy, the entire holiday would be a disaster. My mom would give me that pitying look, and my sister would gloat about her perfect husband and their perfect baby. I could already hear the snide comments.

“‘Oh, Star, still single? Don’t worry, there’s someone out there for everyone.’” I mimicked my mom’s voice with an eye roll. I swirled the wine in my glass before taking another sip. “Yeah, well, where’s that guy for me, huh?”

Three ex-boyfriends.

That’s all I had to show for my dating life. I had hit up every single one of them today and hoped and prayed one of them could help me. The first two? Married. The last one? Brad, who had the audacity to call me this afternoon from Ohio to let me know he was not only engaged but oh-so-happy in his new life.

No dice on my exes rescuing me.

I groaned again and louder this time. “I’m so screwed.”

I dropped my head back and stared up at the ceiling like it might hold the answers.

It didn’t.

Instead, I grabbed my phone and opened the dating app I’d downloaded earlier when I first cracked open the wine. Desperation had led me here. I’d set up my profile—funny but not too funny, flirty but not desperate, and maybe a little too reliant on old vacation photos—but I hadn’t started scrolling yet.

I stared at the app icon and debated if this was really what my life had come to. I’d heard the horror stories: creepy guys, unsolicited pictures, awkward dates that ended in blocked numbers. And yet, here I was, contemplating asking a total stranger to pretend to be my boyfriend for Christmas. What was I thinking?

“Probably that you’re out of options,” I muttered to myself as I started scrolling. The first guy had a shirtless gym selfie. Nope. The second guy? A photo of him holding a fish. Why was that so common? Did guys think holding a dead fish screamed “holiday boyfriend material”?

I snorted and kept scrolling. Five minutes in, I was more discouraged than before. “Yeah, Star, great plan. Maybe pick the serial killer-looking guy and bring him home for Christmas. That’ll make Mom proud.”

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