Page 30 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

"That's enough." I pry them apart before that handshake turns into a hug. Women love hugging.

Mom swats my shoulder. "Little bear, don't be rude. How was your ride into the city?"

"Terrifying..." Amanda mutters.

"He's a horrible driver," she says. "I can't tell you how many crashes he's been in. Not just bikes. Four-wheelers. Snowmobiles."

"You told me–”

See? I knew this was a bad idea.

"Amanda, our bedroom will be on the left. Get settled."

"I don't have any luggage," she says.

"Maybe some coffee for you both?" Mom offers, with a scheming tone of voice.

"I'm fine," I growl.

"Okay. Amanda and I can hang out while you get settled..."

There is no way in hell I'm leaving these two women alone to discuss me.Not a fucking chance.

* * *

Eleven

Amanda

He won't try anything with his mama in the house. I silently repeat that mantra to myself as I allow the woman who introduces herself as Deborah to prepare me a cup of coffee and whip out some croissants from the fridge to heat up in the Air Fryer.

We bond over our mutual love of air fryers while Ethan seethes, gazing intensely at his phone.

"Gambling again?" his mother asks.

As a therapist, I set my coffee down and listen.

"No," Ethan says, his cheeks turning red. "I'm simply checking on... Donald Trump."

"The president?" I ask, suddenly ready to be sick.

"No," his mother scoffs. "The stupid pot bellied pig he keeps betting on."

"Huh?"

"Pot bellied pig races? They're popular at state fairs all over the country. Donald Trump just lost Mississippi when he should have been a sure win."

"I'm not gambling," Ethan snaps, seething at his phone again, and drawing it closer to him so neither of us can see the screen.

Deborah shakes her head and looks at me with warm eyes, the same color as Ethan's. Men who take after their mothers tend to be very beautiful, with those feminine features blending well with the masculine elements of their faces. That's true with Ethan.

He has his mother's eyes and a sharp nose, with a square, masculine jawline that he constantly has clenched up in some grumpy stance.

"How long has he been like this?" I ask his mother, mostly because Ethan's discomfort here will finally give him a taste of what he deserves. Also, I need an ally and Deborah is the first one I've found.

"All the Shaw boys love gambling."

"I'm not gambling," Ethan grunts, his face scrunching up so much it looks like it's going to turn into a butthole.

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