Page 22 of Life To My Flight

I shifted from foot to foot as I waited for my ride.

I wouldn’t mention that the man was fifteen minutes late.

Oh, who was I kidding? The man was fucking late and I was exhausted.

Even worse, I had to catch a ride from someone I didn’t even know.

Cody had gone home in the middle of the shift sick with a stomach virus. He’d been my ride home. Or he would’ve been. I wasn’t too keen on getting in a car with a stranger.

A loud engine rumbled into the parking lot, and I just knew that that red lifted Chevy was my ride.

It was older, but still in excellent shape.

A man hopped out and walked around the front of the truck. “Rue?” He asked.

His large beard caught my eye, and I was sort of shocked, and in beard lust with the man in seconds.

I nodded. “I’m Rue.”

He held out his hand, and I accepted it, placing my palm in his and giving it a firm shake.

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Nice to meet you. I’m Silas.”

That was when the front of his leather vest caught my attention.

It was nearly the same one that Cleo wore, only this one had this man’s name, Silas, on it. There was also the word ‘President’ underneath that.

I swallowed thickly, knowing this man was the president of The Dixie Wardens MC, and I was about to get into a car alone with him.

“Silas,” I nodded my head and smoothly extricated my hand from his.

He noticed the maneuver and smiled before opening the door for me.

I looked at it warily.

“I don’t bite,” he rumbled.

I looked from the tips of his boots to the top of his head before starting forward.

“If you kill me, I’m gonna have Cleo kick your ass,” I said softly.

“Noted,” he acknowledged.

Once I was in my seat, he slammed the door closed, and walked around the front of the truck before hefting his solid mass into his own seat.

“You don’t drive a motorcycle?” I asked.

“I ride a motorcycle, yes. But I had my grandkids, and their mother doesn’t like when I give them rides on my bike,” he said as he put the truck in gear.

I giggled. “I’m sure she doesn’t.”

“My son doesn’t give me the opportunity to watch his kids very often. Sam’s very protective of his kids, so I do my best to not piss them off. I would hate to lose the kids over something like that,” he said softly as he motored out of the hospital parking lot.

I looked over at him, noting the strained look on his face. “How many grandkids do you have?”

“Seven,” he beamed. “Another one on the way.”

I smiled at him. “That’s great. My best friend just adopted a baby with his husband. I love her to death. She’s a tiny little thing, though.”

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