Page 68 of Single Mom's Bikers

“Your manager’s shy,” Skylar observes quietly. “Don’t worry, we’ll edit her out.”

“Thanks. She’s private, you know?”

“I get it.” She checks her phone. “Two million views already. They love your work. And apparently, your arms.”

I laugh, but my mind’s on Evie.

Later, after the crew leaves, I find her organizing supplies. “You okay?”

“Fine.” But she won’t meet my eyes. “Just not used to cameras.”

“They’ll edit you out,” I promise, pulling her close. “And they’ll focus on the tattoo work only.”

She relaxes slightly against me. “Your fan base seems enthusiastic.”

“Jealous?” I tease, nipping her ear.

“Please.” But her hands slide under my shirt. “Like I care about thirsty TikTok comments.”

“No?” I press her against the supply shelves. “Not even a little?”

She kisses me hard. “Maybe I just think you should wear more clothes on camera. Stop showing off these arms everyone’s drooling over.”

“Make me.”

Her laugh breaks the tension. “Later. When we’re alone.”

“Promise?”

“Go clean your workspace or something.” She pushes me away playfully. “I have to get back to work.”

I catch her hand before she can escape. “Hey. You know I’m yours, right? All of me—arms included.”

She nods. “I never forgot.”

When I arrive at Evie’s, the girls are already asleep, worn out from their day at the park. I find her in the kitchen, wearing one of my old shirts, scrolling through her phone.

“Four million views,” she says without looking up. “Your arms are apparently very popular on TikTok.”

I slide behind her, nosing her neck. “Are you jealous now?”

She tilts her head, giving me better access. “Maybe a little.”

“Your man, huh?” My hands find her hips. “What happened to sharing?”

She turns in my arms, expression playful. “Oh, I share. Just not with your newfound fanbase.”

“They can look.” I kiss her softly. “Only you get to touch.”

“That’s just…perfect.”

I catch a glimpse of her phone—she’s watching Skylar’s video. The moment where the camera pans past her is brief, but that snake tattoo is clearly visible. It doesn’t seem to worry her.

“Speaking of looking…” I trace the design through her sleeve. “Going to tell me about this one?”

She tenses slightly. “Nothing to tell. Young and stupid, remember?”

But there has to be more to it—there has to be. The placement, the design, and the way she always changes the subject when it comes up.

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