Page 14 of Flint

“Jesus,” Flint mutters as he rubs his hand through his hair and down his face, making my lips twitch.

The girl catches me and winks. She sees what I’m doing, and I love her even more for not calling me out on it.

“Didn’t get your name,” the gruff big guy says. No hand extended for a nice handshake, though. Typical for a biker, I expect.

“Right, I’m Julianne. Julianne… crap. Hey, Gator, what’s my last name?”

“Name’s not Gator,” he barks.

“Okay, fine. Guy who steals Gatorade and mans a gate, and knows more about me because he secretly wants to marry me since I’m his stalking victim, what’s my last name?”

“Don’t want you either, babe.”

“Of course you do. I’m fabulous. Now out with it.”

He shakes his head in my direction, but under the annoyance he’s trying to display, I see the spark of laughter in his eyes. Yeah, he and I are going to get along great. “Michaels.”

“Damn, Flint, where did you find this girl?” the big guy inquires with a smirk of his own.

“He didn’t. I found him. Sort of fell head over heels for him. Well, not him specifically. Guess I’m a club girl.”

Flint sighs. “Seriously, you need to stop. Just stop talking.”

“Why?” I really don’t get the hostility from him. I’m just making conversation. Not even saying half the things I’m thinking. That’s progress from when he first met me.

“’Cause, honey, you just told these boys you’re fair game. A club girl is what these boys refer to as vamps. They’re here to fuck and not much else. You basically just called yourself open for business,” the pretty girl says as she taps my arm lightly.

“Oh.” If I could cover myself back up in mud, I would. Better to be dirty than show I’m blushing. ’Cause I know I am. My whole face feels like a heating pad set on High.

“Anyone want to tell me why the hell my gate is broken?”

I literally jump, then glare as it has me jerking my injured shoulder, toward the boss, yelling at us all from the door. Okay, he isn’t yelling, but he’s got that tone. You know, the one a parent figure gets? They don’t have to yell, but a deep tone carries through everyone, enough for us all to feel like shit even if we did nothing.

“Flint’s girl took out our rejected prospect who thought it would be a good idea to come here and take out my old lady,” the big guy explains.

Not sure who sputters more, me or Flint.

“Fucking hell.” Taking no time to cross the area to us, Law looks down at the guy. He’s still out cold, pretty sure he ain’t dead, but he got handcuffs on now.

“Prospect, search his car, then get rid of it. Bulldog, take our friend—” He looks over at me, seeing me actively listening, and coughs. “Ah, call our friends at PD so they can take care of this. Then make a few calls and get my fence fixed. We can’t open for business with shit like this in our front yard.”

“I’ll get my guys on it. We can get it done by noon,” Flint says.

“Just get it done.” He turns and walks away, looking back only once, and I catch his eye briefly. Not sure why I’m his focal point, but I bet it isn’t the best idea to get on the president of a biker club’s radar.

“Hey, Prospect, get Kitten back home, will you?”

Captain Jackass is back, it seems.

“Seriously? Even after I ran this guy over? I don’t even get a name upgrade like Tiger or something? I mean, this guy can at least attest that my bite is worse than my claws.”

“Nope.” Wow, he’s got a great smile. Think it might be the first real one I’ve seen on him. Damn, a girl could lose her panties from that smile. Mostly because she would take them off and throw them at him, but you get the idea.

“Go with them.”

We both turn to the big guy, who I can now see has “Bulldog” on his vest and “Vice President” under it.

Of course he is. Just my luck.

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