Page 2 of Hard as Stone
“Are you listening?”
“What?” I frown and quickly pull my tongue back.
Was I just licking the air while looking at him?
“I need to get through.Now.”
I glance over my shoulder at the machinery and muddy debris piled up behind me. “Hmm, let me think...” I start, tapping my chin and turning back to face him. “Looks like a hard no.” I meet his gray eyes and tilt my head to the side. “Unless you’ve got a pair of ruby slippers hidden in those leather pants to transport you someplace else, I’m afraid you’ll have to turn your bike around and find another yellow brick road to travel on, Toto.”
He looks at me like he’s trying to decide if I’m for real or if I’m some sort of bubblegum-popping mirage sent to torment him.
“Look,” he growls, “I don’t have time for this. I’ve got business to attend to.”
“Let me guess, you’re late for a frown convention? Or maybe there’s a sale on brooding at the local mall?”
For a second, I swear I see the corner of his mouth twitch. But then his scowl deepens, if that’s even possible.
“You always this annoying?” he asks.
I beam at him. “I prefer ‘delightfully quirky,’ but sure, we can go with annoying. Now, how about you turn that frown upside down and take the detour like a good boy?”
He glares at me for a long moment, and I half expect him to just gun his engine and plow right through me. My heart does a little stutter-step, and a bead of sweat that isn’t heat related trickles down my back.
I’m acutely aware of how isolated we are out here, how far away my family is behind me. This guy is so huge his biceps are probably bigger than my head. If he decides to get nasty, I’m not sure I could outrun him in these steel-toed boots.
Keep your cool, Poppy.
I take in a slow, full breath, tightening my grip on the stop sign as I maintain eye contact. I’ve dealt with rush hour traffic in the city, irate taxi drivers, and buses that think they own the road. One giant dude on a Harley isn’t going to scare me... much.
He revs his engine. And I square my shoulders, lifting my chin and channeling every ounce of traffic-directing authority I can muster.I’ve got this. I am the master of the intersection, the queen of construction zones. No biker, no matter how tall, dark, and intimidating, is going to shake me.
Just when I think we’re going to be locked in this staring contest until the next ice age, miracle of miracles, he lets out a long-suffering sigh.
“This isn’t over,” he grumbles, revving his engine as he turns his bike around.
Before he can take off, I can’t resist one last parting shot. “Looking forward to our next chat, Toto! Maybe I’ll even share my gum!”
He shoots me a look over his shoulder that’s part exasperation, part amusement, and guns it in the opposite direction.
“Who was that?” Felix’s voice pipes up behind me, making me jump.
I turn to find both my brothers gawking at the retreating figure of Mr. Grumpy Biker.
“Just some local color.” I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Didn’t really like me being in his way. But I set him straight.”
Hugo snorts. “Did you see that patch on his jacket?”
I blink, realizing I’d been so focused on his face—and arms... and, well, everything—that I hadn’t even noticed his clothes. “What patch?”
“Stoneheart MC,” Felix supplies, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re the local motorcycle club. Dad says we should steer clear.”
“Oh, come on,” I roll my eyes. “This isn’t Sons of Anarchy. I’m sure they’re just a bunch of guys who like leather and loud engines.”
But even as I say it, I can’t help the tight feeling I get in my stomach. And it’s not nerves. It’s excitement.
“Whatever you say, sis.” Hugo shrugs. “Just don’t fuck around with ‘em like you normally do. We don’t need the trouble.”
I stick my tongue out at him, ever the immature younger sister. “Get back to work, you two. That shit pipe isn’t going to fix itself.”
