Page 41 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

And if my dick was hard before, it's a steel rocket now. Two weeks without gambling? Easy. I could do it. Right then as my dick threatens to rip apart from my body, I know I can quit gambling for this fine ass woman. Immediately.

"I fucked up the second I walked into your office. I'm sorry."

I can’t tell what she thinks of my apology. Amanda considers me slowly, and I feel just as guilty as I used to feel beating up Wyatt’s friends for their lunch money – and to toughen them up.

Amanda acts as if she didn’t hear my apology. She dries herself, distracting me with the way her towel slides between her breasts and under her armpits. This woman is drop-dead gorgeous. I would have quit gambling on the spot ages ago if someone who looked like Amanda Yancey just… asked.

"Sorry?" she finally asks, tilting her head to the side and allowing those sexy thick curls to fall over her shoulder. "Do you care to elaborate, Ethan?"

I feel like she's tricking me into emotional awareness, but I'm too mesmerized by her drying off to stop her. Whatever, woman. Control me with your body if you must. It's working…

Despite her hotness, she looks totally dejected.Which I get, even if I don’t particularly care to elaborate about the apology. It's not like I don't understand her. She has a whole life she doesn't want to leave behind. No boyfriend but... an apartment. Routine. I can't offer her much different for a while.

Not until I know exactly what we're dealing with.

If this is the game she wants to play, I accept her challenge.

"Sorry for taking you away from your life and into... this mess."

"I understand you feel it's your duty to protect me. Have you always been the protector?"

She's pushing.

"Don't therapize me."

Amanda smirks just long enough for me to catch it, but she's quick to suppress it.

"Coming from the man who isn't afraid of emotions. I'm just making conversation."

"I'm the eldest of three. I had to look after my brothers. Always."

"No sisters?"

I scoff. "My sisters don't need looking after. Dad taught them how to shoot before kindergarten."

She looks at me like I just spoke gibberish. "That's disturbing."

"Typical liberal."

"Meaning?" she asks, trying to hide the fact that my comment bothers her.

"There's nothing wrong with teaching women to defend themselves."

"I never said there was," she says. Her smirk disappears as quickly as I can identify it."I support women defending themselves."

"Come on, let's get your clothes."

"Fine," she says. I didn't say anything useful, so I don't know why she continues to smile. Maybe it's the scowl on my face. Just getting a rise out of me is more than enough to excite her. Can't say I blame her.

Magnum and I are similar sizes -- 2XL shirts with big and tall everything. I grab a pair of gray Chiefs sweatpants for Amanda, who immediately starts on some nonsense about the Patriots. I tune out her wrong football opinions and drag out a plain white t-shirt that doesn't smell like Magnum's armpits or anything unsavory.

"I guess no bra or underwear for me until you've decided I'm safe."

"I'm not the one deciding," I grunt. "And you don't need panties or a bra until tomorrow. I'll do the laundry."

"You know how?"

"What, do I smell bad?"

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