Page 15 of Her Obsessed Biker
“And here I thought you were the kind of guy who lived off whiskey and vengeance.”
That earns me a twitch of the lips. Not quite a smile, but close. “Whiskey doesn’t soak up blood like carbs do.”
My stomach flips for reasons that have nothing to do with the food.
I step into the kitchen and hover near the counter. “So…what is this?”
“Steak. Rice. Garlic butter green beans.”
“You make that sound like it’s normal, but it smells gourmet.”
“Been cooking since I was fifteen.” He flips the steak, and the sizzle makes me jump a little. “Didn’t have a mom around. Dad thought cooking was women’s work, so I taught myself. Kept me alive.”
I swallow. There’s something heavy in the air now. Something more than seasoning and oil.
“Is he still around?” I ask softly.
His jaw clenches. “No.”
“Do you—”
“No.”
Okay, no dad talk. Got it.
I reach for the green beans and start trimming them on instinct. He glances sideways but doesn’t stop me.
We work in silence for a few minutes, our elbows brushing once or twice. I feel the heat of his body beside mine. Controlled. Leashed. But still there. Thick and magnetic and impossible to ignore.
“Blaze said you were Navy,” I offer, trying again.
His hand stills on the spatula. Then he nods once. “SEAL.”
“Wow.”
“Don’t be impressed.”
“Why not?”
He turns to me, eyes darker than ever. “Because it’s not what people think. The training? Sure, it’s hell. But the missions? The things you see? The things you do?” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t make you a hero. It makes you…something else.”
Something about the way he says it…the gravel in his voice, the flicker in his eyes…it makes my chest ache.
“Why’d you leave?”
“Got tired of watching good men die for men who didn’t deserve their loyalty.”
I nod slowly, words catching in my throat.
“And when I got out, I still needed something to fight for. Something to control. That’s how I ended up back here. Running a club full of broken men and trying to keep the whole damn world from imploding.”
He pauses, then tosses the spatula into the sink. “Dinner’s ready.”
He plates the food without ceremony and hands me a dish. I thank him and take it over to the small table by the window. We sit across from each other, the only sound the soft clink of forks and knives.
I take a bite and my eyes widen. “Holy shit. This is good.”
He smirks. “Don’t sound so shocked.”
