Page 25 of Property of Tacoma
Foxy turns her head, her green eyes flashing with amusement. “Andmybike is in here.”
My brows hike up to my hairline in surprise.Her bike?
The picture of her on a Softail flashes in my mind, and my cock thickens.
She’s got my undivided attention now, especially on that sexy-as-hell ass. Eyes glued to her, I track her every move as she struts over to the back of the RV, flips open a panel I didn’t notice before, and punches in a string of numbers on the keypad within.
What kind of Go-Go-Gadget shit is that?
Clapping and bouncing on her toes, Foxy’s eyes flick back and forth between me and her RV. A loud mechanical groan suddenly echoes across the alleyway. “Wait ’til you see her.”
I can’t help but smile at her excitement.
Slowly, the entire back of the vehicle starts to fall away from the back of her rig. Down it goes, until it’s lying flat on the ground like a ramp.
“That damn thing has a toy hauler,” I say out loud.
“Yeah!” she answers excitedly.
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” I laugh. Gleaming under an interior light is a custom street bike. The damn thing is just as gaudy as the vehicle hauling it around—sparkly bass-boat black with some kind of hot pink half-wrap over it.
I squint my eyes and look closer at the design. “Is that Hello Kitty?”
Her head swings in my direction, and her eyes are dancing. “You know about Hello Kitty?”
“Ten-year-old daughter, remember?”
She smacks her palm against her forehead. “Oh yeah.”
“You got a thing for glitter, don’t ya?” I chuckle, moving closer to get a better look. Crotch-rockets have never been my thing, but I have to say, Foxy on one, just might make me a believer.
She smirks. “What tipped you off?”
A deep throaty laugh rips up my throat. This damn woman just keeps on surprising me.
“I just have to get my girl out,” she adds.
“You need some help?” I move to help her, but she waves me off.
“Nah, I got it.”
Smiling ear to ear, I watch her strut her sexy ass up the ramp, her hips swaying with each step. She moves into the small space and unfastens the ratchet straps holding the Kawasaki Ninja 600 in place.
“How long have you been riding?”
She cranes her neck and shoots me a flirty smile. “Longer than I can remember. I grew up on the back of a bike.”
That makes sense. She comes from a long line of bikers.
“Plus, I couldn’t let you boys have all the fun.”
“Guess not.” I snort.
The deep rumble of a Harley approaching pulls my attention away from the temptress bent over her motorcycle. Bane pulls up, his expression stormy as he cuts the engine.
Fuck. Here we go.
My brother climbs off his bike, eyeing Foxy and the toy hauler with thinly veiled disdain.
