Page 5 of Outlaws' Dirty Secret

“Exactly. But you’ve been in a slump since he-who-shall-not-be-named. I totally get why you wanted a break, and then it was hard with your grandma dying, but you need to get back in the game or you’re going to forget why people love your books in the first place. Get out there, fall in love, or at least into bed a few times. Make it dirty!”

“Easy for you to say. You’re married,” I grumble. “Sorry. You know I’m happy for you guys. You’re my proof that happily ever after isn’t just for fiction. You’re both coming tomorrow, right? It’s nothing big. I just want to make dinner and?—”

Grace laughs. “Stop. We wouldn’t miss it. This is the first birthday we can celebrate together since you moved back! Look, I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll email you my notes on the first couple chapters. Maybe something there will help you get your spark back.”

I put down my phone and breathe in the scent of fresh coffee. Outside the kitchen, a breeze makes the bright spring green leaves rustle. Behind them, the wall around the motorcycle club is just visible, with the top of the old grade school peaking over it, and behind it, the church clock tower. From down here,you’d never know it’s full of bikers instead of little kids in plaid uniforms.

Skyhigh, Blackout and Dragon spring to mind immediately. They're rough, dangerous and the type of guys that wouldn’t look at me twice. Which is fine by me, but I can’t shake the feeling that they are the kind of guys my readers would want to hear about. Not relationship material, but I bet nobody’s accused them of being painfully vanilla.

Too bad my romance isn't about bikers.

Maybe it should be?

I should've told Grace about my short lived true crime drama and how crazy hot they looked jumping over the fence, but I know how she feels about the Outlaw Sons taking over her old neighborhood.

Which… yeah. I don’t blame her, but… she didn’t get to see them up close. I allow myself to smile. Write what I know? Maybe I should find some “inspiration” close to home.

I pour a second mug of coffee, waffling between the physical pain of going back outside to work on the garden, and the mental anguish of pulling words out of my head when they don’t want to flow.

The doorbell rings while I’m still lost in indecision, and I nearly jump right out of my pink striped socks.

4

WILLOW

What kindof monster drops by without calling? Nobody does that anymore, and definitely not around here. Not even the people trying to save souls bother with my neighborhood these days.

Crap. I can’t go hide upstairs in my office without passing through the living room where whoever it is might spot me. I consider making a run for it anyways and pretending I’m not home, but I’mjustdesperate enough to avoid work that I’m willing to brave someone at the door.

The shadows of several tall figures are visible through my front window and the frosted glass in the top of the front door. Tugging the edge of the living room curtains aside, I peek out and find myself looking straight into Dragon’s striking, dark eyes. Caught, I smile weakly. He says something that I can’t hear, and then cocks his head towards the front door in a silent, “Come on, lady. We know you’re in there.”

I must’ve thought too hard about them and manifested bikers on my porch.

I lick my lips and slip a hair elastic off my wrist to pull my hair back in a messy, looped ponytail. I’m wearing my work clothes—yoga pants and a cropped t-shirt—so not exactly dressed for company but close enough.

All three are out there, and this time they look like they mean business, proudly wearing the black leather vests that mark them as members of a motorcycle club. Skyhigh is facing away, giving me a close up of the club logo on the back: a scary looking skull in front of some sort of mechanical parts that are probably motorcycle related. In capital letters, curved to fit around the top of the design, it says Outlaw Sons MC.

Somehow it makes the visit feel formal.

I flip the lock and open the door a crack. There’s no reason to believe they’re here to cause trouble, but they’re not exactly boy scouts. “Can I help you?”

Blackout smiles, softening his rough features. “Other way round. We’re here to helpyou,honey.” The deep, velvety way he says it, with just a hint of rasp, would sell a million audio books.

Help me? I’m not convinced. “With what exactly? Selling the house? Like I said before, I’m not interested.”

Skyhigh steps forward, a grin on his face and cap in hand like a good little boy, but it’s like watching a wolf pretend to be a sheep. “Is it too much to believe that we’re here because we wanted to make sure you were okay after yesterday?”

“Honestly, a little, yeah,” I answer, relaxing enough to let the door open further.

All it takes is that tiny little slip and Dragon puts his hand on the door and easily pushes it open. All three are quick to take advantage of the opportunity and let themselves into my house.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“The yard. Didn’t think you’d appreciate us just climbing the fence without asking,” Blackout answers without stopping.

I rush past to cut them off in the dining room. “You still haven’t asked! Back outside! Did you hear me invite you in?”

Blackout laughs. “We’re not vampires, honey.”

---