Page 3 of Jacob

With his fingers interlaced behind his head, he peered at her. “You want to be pen pals?” he asked, like it was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.

She nodded as her eyes glittered with excitement.

“Do people even do that anymore?”

She shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Nothing else matters,” he whispered.

“What?” Dash asked.

Whirling around, Jacob hadn’t realized his club brother had gotten back—Let alone that the guy had worked the pump. Jesus, he needed to get it together. God damn daydreams had him fucked in the head.

The older biker, with a cigarette hanging off his lip, regarded him with a perplexed look. Dash finished fueling up his bike and replaced the nozzle to the pump. Taking a final inhale, he pinched the butt end of his smoke between his fingers and flicked it away. Two streams plumed out of his nose as he exhaled. “It’s been three years. Let it go. Lollipop Girl’s gone. Plenty of pussy out there.” He turned to straddle his bike. “Find another Juliet, Romeo.”

Chapter 2

Sparrow Malone

One of two things happens when raised around an outlaw motorcycle club—either you’re mindful of every bike you see and judge it, or they’re so normal to you, you don’t notice them. On any other day, two bikes gassing up wouldn’t have been a blip on Sparrow’s radar. However, purple wasn’t a common Harley Davidson color, so the bike earned a double-take.

With a slight stutter step, she eyed the glorious machine parked before the gas pumps a few yards away. It wasn’t alone. Behind it, also connected to a hose, was an older model. Silver. She smirked at the color. Someone else had once told her he’d had a silver Fat Boy.

With the pump blocking her view, she couldn’t see the man or the other bike too well. He crouched down with his back to her, rummaging through his saddlebag. At her vantage point, just his thighs were visible as he squatted. Shaking it off, she turned back to the Corolla while unwrapping her lollipop.

She’d been imagining every silver Harley Davidson was his since he’d written to her about restoring one. The odds of his Montana ass bringing that old ass bike to Ohio were so slim, she had a better chance of hitting the lottery with a ticket she found on the street. She laughed at the absurdity as she stuck the candy in her mouth.

Lollipops had always been her thing. She’d take any kind of them, really—small ones, cheap ones, the kind the bank gave you, but her favorites were the ones with the gum inside. The gum was terrible, but there was something about the high sugar content of the actual candy that drew her to them. Everyone had their vices.

After she’d opened the door, she flopped into the passenger seat of the car and twisted the white stick of her blue raspberry pop with one hand. The other she used to fluff her unruly hair. The sun had barely risen, and the humidity was already off the charts. She’d turn into a chia pet by noon if she didn’t do something.

“Was he there?” her boyfriend asked from the driver’s seat.

Leaning toward him, reaching into her back pocket for the unmarked envelope, she got a better view of him in dawn’s early light. The blue of his eyes had dulled as much as his pupils had pinned. Looking as though he hadn’t washed it in weeks, his closely cropped blond hair looked greasy and the strong features of his face were marred by hard lines.

Unable to muster the energy to hide it, she frowned at him while tossing the money in his lap. “It’s too fucking early for that shit,” she scolded.

With a gleeful grin, he parted the envelope and fingered the bills inside. “Excuse me for wanting to be awake enough to safely drive my woman around after being up all fucking night,” he shot back.

She rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. “Most people drink coffee.”

“You’re the only thing Columbian I like.”

Disgusted, she glared at him. “I’m half-fucking-Brazilian, dick.” She slapped at his crotch, causing him to laugh as he blocked it.

“Aww.” He held her wrist and leaned toward her, puckering his lips for a kiss. “Only the good parts, right?” He winked. But when she turned away, his playfulness left him. “Give me a break, I’m exhausted.”

Her eye went to the men on the Harleys as the loud rumble of their engines filled the air. The sound of a Harley was unmistakable. The glorious roar was equivalent to a symphony to her. She hadn’t a prayer in the world growing up with her dad in an outlaw motorcycle club. She was destined to be attracted to bikers.

The stupid gas pumps blocked the patches from her view. They were outside Roughneck Riders’ territory, but they were probably just some riders, nobody of concern. She ran her finger along her bottom lip as she watched them pull out of the gas station. The silver bike, though. Always the silver bikes.

When Pipes started the car, he fiddled with his phone for a few seconds. Before he could sort out the playlist for their ride back home, the bikers were gone. O.A.R.’sThat Was a Crazy Game of Pokercame through the speakers and he put the car in gear.

“Can I drive?” she blurted and turned to face him.

“Why?” He narrowed his eyes.

She cocked her head to the side. “Do I really have to explain it?” she asked, lifting her brows.

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