Page 41 of Mensa's Match

“I got allergies.”

I dipped my chin. “You think I don’t know that? It’s the very reason I hated that you came into Bayou Moon. Mick has enough dairy on hand, I figured you’d steer well clear.”

He laughed. “You thought I’d avoid a place where my brothers routinely hang out just because I got a fuckin’ allergy?”

His hands rubbed the cheeks of my ass, and I resisted leaning into his hands. “To be fair, you hardly ever showed up when I was there.”

He looked at me askance. “So you were investigating me.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Riley was my assignment, but I didn’t trust your squeaky clean reputation.”

His jaw shifted for a moment. “What about you? Why’d you resign? I got a feeling you didn’t give me the full scoop on that.”

My stomach growled. “Are we eating here? If so, I should start cooking.”

After a long moment, he shook his head, leaned forward, and set me on my feet before he stood. “No, we’re getting out of here. I expect your brother’s friend, Phil, will come back when he thinks the coast is clear. Pack a bag so you have fresh clothes for tomorrow.”

There was plenty there that I had questions about, but reflexively I asked, “How do you know he’s Wyatt’s friend?”

“Monica shared when I got done with questioning, but you also mentioned it on the phone earlier.”

“Oh, that’s right. Where are we going? Feels like you’re getting short-changed since I’m not even dressed up for a date.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not a date, and what you’re wearing is fine, but no flip-flops on my bike.”

“Are you serious right now? You really don’t share?” I asked, my voice loud enough to be heard over the breeze along the Gulf.

Mensa had taken me to one of his favorite places for Chinese food. After we loaded the take-out containers into his saddle bags, I expected to go to the clubhouse. Instead he guided his bike to the beach, pulled a blanket from the other saddle bag, and we had an impromptu picnic.

He aimed his plastic fork at me. “It’s force of habit, Whitney. I’m so goddamned sensitive to dairy, and the fuckin’ by-products like whey, that just dipping your fork or mine into something could make my throat close up. That shit never feels good.”

I pressed my hands out toward him. “All right. I stand corrected. I’m sorry. Really. I hadn’t even thought about that, though… didn’t you say this restaurant’s food never contained dairy?”

His head titled as though he regretted his words. “Yeah, but they say ‘never say never’, and I don’t feel like finding out I’m wrong today. Especially since I got plans with this blonde law-abiding citizen who annoys me as much as she turns me on.”

“She sounds like a winner. I like anyone who annoys you.”

He borderline snorted. “I bet you do.”

I bit my lower lip. “Why’d you bring me here?”

He turned to me, some of his hair whipping into his face from the breeze. “Why not? Best part of living in Biloxi is coming out to the Gulf and staring at that gorgeous water.”

I watched him for a moment. “You really believe that?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Seems to me that the best reason to live here is your motorcycle club.”

He swallowed some of his General Tso chicken and nodded. “Can see where you’d think that, but there are other chapters around the country. There’s nothing like being in Biloxi though.” He locked eyes with me. “Like you told me, the weather’s ‘nice.’ Even in December, I can come down here and rarely freeze my ass off. Lake Michigan has waves every so often, but you damn sure can’t have a picnic next to it in the middle of winter.”

I grabbed a fried biscuit and held it in front of my lips. “Fair enough.”

He stared at the gentle waves for a beat, then focused on me. “Why’d you get forced to resign?”

My lips twisted to the side as I mulled it over. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else? What drove you to join the Riot MC? Not to sound judgmental, but your parents seem pretty normal, so what happened to make club-life so appealing?”

He stared at me for a long moment, and I thought he’d avoid the question. Finally he said, “It’s a couple of things. Maybe it’s hindsight clouding my memories, but the first reason is that as a teenager, I knew something was wrong with Uncle Jack. When I was fifteen, I swore I’d never be like him.” He shook his head. “It’s been hard not to kick my own ass because I should have said something to somebody back then, even if I didn’t know exactly what was wrong with him. ”

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