Page 34 of Single Mom's Bikers

Footsteps thunder down the stairs, and the moment is broken.

Dinner is chaos—the good kind. Violet makes shapes with her peas. Daisy explains how she learned to count by twos in class today.

“Can we build the fort this weekend?” Violet asks around a mouthful of chicken.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” But Evie’s smiling. “And only if your uncle isn’t busy.”

Uncle.

“I’m all yours.” I catch Evie’s eye. “For the building, I mean.”

Pink touches her cheeks. Yeah, she caught my meaning.

After dinner, the girls spread their homework across the living room floor. I help Violet write her letters while Daisy reads from her new book.

“That’s not how you make an S,” Daisy corrects.

“But it looks prettier this way!”

“Writing isn’t about pretty…”

I listen to them bicker, remembering similar arguments with my brothers. But we fought over motorcycles and territory while these girls fight over penmanship.

“Uncle Zane has to read my story!” Violet declares. “He does the best space alien voices.”

Upstairs, Violet’s room looks like NASA exploded. Star charts cover her walls, replacing the princess posters from last month. The kid changes passions like most people change clothes.

“This one.” She hands me a worn book about a princess who builds rocket ships. “The funny part where she meets the Martians.”

I settle in the too-small chair beside her bed while Evie handles Daisy’s more advanced chapter book next door. Through the wall, I hear them discussing space travel velocities.

“Uncle Zane?” Violet is almost asleep when I finish. “You’ll really help build the star fort?”

“Promise.” I tuck her blanket tighter. “No more trees, though, okay? Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Kay.” She yawns. “Love you.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Simple, honest—the way only kids can be. Before I can process it, she’s asleep.

Downstairs, Evie’s gathering project debris.

“Want help?” I start collecting stray glitter. Stuff gets everywhere, like evidence of magic.

“You’ve helped enough.” But she doesn’t move away when I step closer. “These past weeks, with Violet’s accident and everything…”

“Evie.”

She turns, and suddenly there’s no space between us. No more pretending this is just about being neighborly or doing right by the girls.

The first kiss is gentle. Her lips part with a soft sigh that drives me crazy. When she presses closer, gripping my shirt, all pretense of gentleness evaporates.

I walk her backward until she hits the couch. She pulls me down with her, eager and wanting. My hands find the curve of her breast under her shirt while she works at my belt.

“The girls?—”

“Sound sleepers.” She arches as I kiss down her neck. “Fuck, Zane.”

Clothes disappear between kisses. She’s gorgeous in this form—hair wild, skin flushed. The tattoos I’ve glimpsed peek out from her bra, begging to be traced.

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