Page 6 of Starting Over

Holy shit!

I thought King was handsome, but he had nothing on the man standing in front of me. He was about an inch taller than the biker, and his shoulders were just a touch wider. The salt-and-pepper beard matched well with the gray at his temples, that was barely visible under the Stetson that sat atop his head.

He wasn’t wearing a uniform. Just a pair of well-worn denim jeans and a button-up shirt. If it weren’t for the car, and the badge on his belt, I might’ve mistaken him for a cowboy.

I stood there, staring as my thoughts of chastising this man vanished. He was quite possibly the sexiest man I had ever seen in my life.

Duane was handsome, but sexy was different.

I quickly pulled myself together, tearing my gaze from his, and looked back at King. Choosing to pretend like I hadn’t just questioned the man wearing the badge, I ignored him completely.

“Would you be able to help me get my car towed? I would call someone, but you’re the first person I’ve met here.”

“Sure, my club owns a garage. I’ll call my guy to come grab your car, and I can give you a ride to wherever you need to be.”

“No,” the cop said.

King looked at the man and grinned.

“What was that?”

“You can call Tank and have him get the car, but you aren’t putting her on the back of your bike. I’ll take her where she needs to go.”

King narrowed his eyes at the man. “Nah, I got this. You can head home. Maybe stop by and see Beck.”

“Beck is just fine.”

The two of them argued like I wasn’t standing there.

“Excuse me,” I interrupted. “Don’t I get a say?”

“Of course, darlin’. What would you like to do?” King grinned.

I looked between the two of them, then back at King. “I could use a ride, if you really don’t mind.”

King smirked back at the cop.

“I don’t mind at all. Let me just give Tank a call.”

He walked a few steps away, putting his phone to his ear as I considered everything settled when I heard. “Ma’am, I can’t let you go with him.”

I swung around to the cop.

“Let me? I don’t believe you have the authority to tell me where I can go and who I can go with.”

“Ma’am, there are rules—”

“Rules? You mean fucking laws? That you’ve sworn to uphold? Please tell me what law is preventing me from getting on the back of that bike with that man? What law are you going to twist to force me to go with you? Trump up some charge? Maybe you have a packet of white powder in your pocket you’ll toss on my seat? Or did you want to bust my taillight so you can give me a summons? Offer to let me suck your dick to avoid a ticket? You asshole cops are all the same.”

“Ma’am, please calm down.” The cop reached for my arm, and I shoved it away.

I hadn’t realized how much my voice had raised. I was in fight mode. There was no flight. Not anymore.

Before I realized what I was doing, I had balled my fist and swung. It was not my finest moment. But I would be damned if I would be at the mercy of some backwoods cop.

My hand never made contact. At least not where I aimed. The cop had grabbed my fist and in a move I had seen too many times on the streets of Boston, had me spun around and bent against the grill of my car.

“Let me go, you son of a bitch!” I snarled.

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