Page 3 of Biker

I’ve clearly taken this whole trying new things in my new city thing too far. I should go. I could slip out of this bar, and no one would be the wiser. Then I could go home and curl up with some ice cream and a shifter romance before calling it a night.

Yup. That sounds like a safer option right now.

I can just blame it on the temporary wild streak I succumbed to. I was intoxicated by the black business card left on the circulation desk for me. Oh, and the loneliness. Can’t forget about that.

Which makes total sense since I’ve only lived in Seattle for a few months now. I needed a change, and they needed a librarian. Considering my career choice, you go where the job is. I don’t think libraries will disappear, at least I hope they won’t because not everyone has the means to access books because of their socioeconomic status and libraries help bridge the gap. But libraries don’t get the same hype they used to even though we continue to serve the community.

I jumped at the chance when I was offered the position. I’ve fallen in love with my new home even though it’s very different from growing up in Florida, even the years I spent in the state capital going to school. At least I’m near water here, which is kind of the same, but there are so many differences and I’m enjoying exploring them.

Exploring them alone.

Which brings me right back to the whole loneliness thing and thinking it was a good idea to log onto the KNK website to see if they could match me with someone. I figured it might be a good way for me to meet someone and to get a little spice in my life.

It’s been a while since I’ve been in a relationship, though I’m not going to hold my breath that this match turns into something serious. It might just be a hook-up, but I’m okay if it is.

I’ve never been one to go out to a club or a bar and pick up a man. My ideal night involves that ice cream and a book I can get lost in while my cat, Gizmo, curls up around my feet. I’m not into strobing lights, loud music, sweaty bodies, and guys who have had too much to drink to be of any use to me.

I know what I like when it comes to the opposite sex, and I can’t put my trust in a man who has been drinking too much. It’s just unsafe and while I might be willing to think outside the box when it comes to a matchmaking service to meet someone, I won’t be exploring giving up control when I’m unsafe. That’s how accidents happen, and people get hurt.

No, thank you.

I arrived early at the bar and now I’m regretting it. I was anxious and wanted to make sure I got here on time. But now I’m wallowing in doubt. It’s not a good look. I’m sure I look on edge.

I force myself to look around the bar. It’s not a dive or anything, far from it, but it’s not exactly some luxury lounge either. I don’t need something fancy, but there’s a lot of chrome here. I guess I should be happy that with a word like ‘sacrifice’ in the name, there aren’t knives or something on the wall. There are a lot of motorcycle parts hanging around, which is kind of strange, but they certainly have stuck with the theme.

The exposed brick of the building is beautiful and goes with the whole industrial thing they have going on. I don’t see any stone altars or anything either, so that’s a win.

“Excuse me, are you McKenzie?”

The deep voice coming from behind me has me stilling, my anxiety falling away and my fidgeting hands pausing. The voice is sexy as hell and there’s something wrapped up in the tone—something commanding and possessive. Something that speaks to the deepest part of me that is so tired of being independent all the time, the part that craves someone to come and take care of me.

I turn slowly, my hands smoothing down the vintage skirt I have on. I want to adjust the off-the-shoulder top I’m wearing, but I stop myself. Just barely. When I look up into hazel eyes, my lips part, but no sound comes out.

His jaw is strong and covered by a well-trimmed beard I instantly want to feel between my thighs. Would he leave beard rash behind? Is that a thing? My nipples standing at attention tell me I definitely want to find out.

Oh my. Okay.

I’ve never seen a man more attractive than the one standing in front of me. He’s taller than my 5’6” height by quite a bit, but not like a scary amount. His jeans fit his thighs like they’re a koala and he’s a eucalyptus tree. My gaze roams over his torso where his black t-shirt is stretched across his chest. He’s muscular, but not overly so.

My eyes stop when I notice the leather he’s wearing—a vest hugging his chest in a way that I kind of wish I was. Not going to lie, it’s a little strange seeing a grown man wearing a vest. It’s not something I see very often, and he doesn’t really strike me as a vest kind of guy.

I force myself to really look at the patches on the vest, one says ‘Road Captain’ and the other says ‘Bronco’. I narrow my eyes at them because as a reader of romance, I’ve read some motorcycle club ones. I almost smack my forehead because if he’s part of an MC then it’s not a vest, it’s a cut. Well, if the terminology in books is to be believed and, as a librarian, I put a lot of stock in books.

My voice comes out tentative and unsure, “Bronco?”

I wasn’t given a lot of information about my match. Or maybe I was, and I just didn’t pay close enough attention because I was too busy finding my courage to go through with this whole thing. Though, this man should be what I’m looking for since we were matched.

At first glance, he certainly is, but that’s only skin deep. There is so much more to a person than what they look like. Still, there’s something about Bronco’s presence which has me sitting up and taking notice.

There were a lot of questions on the KNK website as part of the process. A lot of them were sexual in nature and there was even an option to use one of KNK’s safe spaces for this first meeting, but I didn’t want to go that route. I need some sort of connection with someone before I jump in bed with them, even more so if I’m going to trust them with my fantasies.

Which is why I’m here in Sacrifice’s Altar and staring up at the man in front of me.

Bronco’s movements are slow as he reaches up and brushes some of my hair back from my shoulder. The action is tender, but there’s a hint of possession in it which has my thighs clenching together as I stare at him.

“That’s me,” he states with a nod.

I furrow my eyebrows together and take in his graceful movements as he slides onto the stool across from me at the small table I managed to snag as my own. I can’t keep the curiosity out of my voice, “I was told the man I’d be meeting is named Porter.”

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