Page 12 of Bounty
“That depends on why you chose it,” I decided. He’d explained one received road names based on something about themselves—riding skills, personality trait, or a memorable incident. “Knives slice, right? There was also a soda calledSlice. And, of course, you slice fruit.” I liked that option the most.
His dark eyes twinkled. “What doyouthink my reason is?”
“Oh…uh…I haven’t given it much thought,” I hedged, not wanting to offend him. Over text, I communicated with Slice with reasonable intellect, but in person, I turned into a flustered little girl.
“Little liar,” he said, his teasing note removing the sting.
I flushed.
“There’s also slice and dice,” he said, picking up where I left off. “The term has origins in the cooking world. Before you ask, I’m not a fucking cook. Never have been. Never will be. A motorcycle slice is a cutout of a bike.”
“So, which is it?”
He sipped his beer. “I’ll leave it up to you to decide. Tell me Sunday morning at breakfast.”
It took a moment to remember MMM was hosting a breakfast the day after the signing, so everyone could say goodbye to colleagues and old friends and bond a little more with all their new acquaintances.
Our conversation lulled once more, and we drank our beer in uncomfortable silence. I wasn’t sure how to get our date back on track. The boldness that propelled me to send the topless photo had deserted me. I felt so vulnerable. I didn’t know if seeing my mother and dodging out of sight set the precedent for the awkwardness between Slice and me. Or if I was still salty that Slice didn’t even care why I wore my pretty dress before he sent me upstairs like a child.
Once he accepted my invitation, I’d carefully folded the dress and packed it in with my underwear.
Usually, my forays brought me to parties and other group events. I hardly ever went ondates. Despite my rebellion, I was too busy trying not to be like Cassie. I was too busy trying to protect Mom’s creativity.
Sometimes, I wondered if that was just a convenient excuse I used. Deep down, I didn’t want to end up with a loser like Chad. Nor did I want a man who catered to my every whim and had no thought of his own. Then, guilt would eat me up and I’d curl back into my cocoon.
I didn’t want my choices to affect my mother’s career. She loved writing. I loved seeing her excitement. On a darker note, Ididn’t want to give her the power ofI told you. I told you to listen to me. I told you that you’d fail.
I told you. I told you. I told you.
I fuckinghatedthose three words.
Refusing to get into a deep dive with Slice about why my life stood still, I clammed up.
Everything I could’ve asked, Slice had already covered in our DMs. He wasn’t married and had no kids. He was a twin and they, along with their father, belonged to Red Rum MC. His mother died ten years ago when he was seventeen. As a child, he’d modeled for catalogs and magazines. He took it up again after meeting my mother because he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue being a biker. Once, he’d dreamed of owning a shop where he built custom motorcycles and refurbished old cars. We talked about visiting all fifty states on the back of his bike. Well, except for Hawaii. Once we finished our tour of the states, he promised we’d backpack across Europe. All after I graduated.
I promised I’d one day cook all his favorite meals. I’d try to watch NASCAR if he promised to watch football games. Wekneweach other. More than that, I’d believed him. When he ghosted me, I realized he’d just been talking. Or dreaming.
Some dreams weren’t meant to be realized. They were just imaginings to propel us to the next phase of our lives. Slice needed Mom’s modeling gigs to get through whatever he’d gone through. He seemed to have come out on the other side.
Yet, he was here with me. Maybe, Icouldbe a part of his life and he a part of mine. If I knew how to make that happen.
Gazing into his mesmerizing eyes, breathing in his spicy cologne, I wasn’t sure what more I could ask him that wouldn’t come off as if I was a repetitive dummy.
I deflated. My date was crashing and burning because we had zero chemistry.
“How many dates have you been on, Effie?”
Damn. Slice’s question shouldn’t have surprised me. If I felt the awkwardness, he did, too. But I refused to go down in the flames of failure. “A fair amount,” I said with a straight face.
His grin called me a fucking liar. “I’m still the same Slice, sweetheart. I won’t bite,” he said gruffly, and winked at me. “Unless you ask me to.”
Staring at his mouth, I licked my lips. My pulse sped up and I squirmed, imagining our tongues touching, tangling, and tasting each other. Heat swept through me. Suddenly, I was happy he’d ordered me out of the bandage dress. My hard nipples would’ve poked through the material.
“I might,” I returned, the honest words drawn from weeks of pining for him. Now that I had a chance with him, I couldn’t screw it up. The reminder stiffened my resolve. I peeked at him through my lashes. “If you let me bite you back.”
His eyes flared in surprise, pleasing me. A slow smile curved his mouth and the twinkle in his eyes changed to a hot gleam filled with promise. He lifted his beer and tipped the neck toward me, then sipped from it, his gaze never leaving my face.
If my stomach hadn’t growled, I would’ve leaned over and stolen a kiss. I grabbed my beer and pressed it against my forehead, glad for the cold condensation. When I didn’t feel as flushed, I set the bottle on the table again.
