Page 8 of Cold Fury

I’ve told myself all the stories of our past a hundred times. A thousand, even. I did my best to put the history of us into a sealed box in a corner of my mind.

Why the hell did you accept a ride from him?

The truth is, I panicked. It’s been years since I’ve seen him, but I know Connor Mattson. I knew that if I refused the ride, he wouldn’t have taken no for an answer. He’d have kept pressing me to accept. And then eventually he would have taken a closer look at me. And realized who I was.

Not sure how I convinced myself that accepting the ride would have had a different outcome. Wishful thinking, I guess.

But you told him who you were, you idiot. He didn’t even recognize you.

Maybe there was a tiny part of me that was kind of offended that he didn’t instantly know who I was. Even with the new beard and his hair shorter now, even though he’s built more muscled and hard than he was back then, I couldn’t have mistaken him for anyone else in the world. I instantly knew exactly who he was, even from the other side of the parking lot.

Somehow, the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. The words that sealed my fate.“You still got that tattoo on your right bicep?”

It was the first tat he ever got. The one he got for me.

My dramatic exit a few minutes ago notwithstanding, Connor and I were only a couple blocks from my apartment when I took off on his bike. Sighing in resignation, I pull up on the street in front of my building and kill the engine. I just manage to settle the huge Harley onto the kickstand without tipping it over.

And then I sit down on the curb and try to decide what to do next.

I can’t just leave Connor’s bike here with the keys in it to get stolen. I’m going to have to wait here and hope that somehow he finds me. Otherwise, I’ll need to figure out how to track him down and give the bike back to him.

God, I amtrulya master of not thinking my decisions through today.

Thankfully, it turns out that I don’t have to wait long. A few minutes later, a lone figure on foot turns into my street. My heart starts to thump crazily in my chest as he approaches. Guilt, nerves, and a whole new fresh wave of anger at him — and at myself — washes over me as I stand up and get ready to face him.

Connor stops a few feet in front of me. I square my shoulders and try to stay calm.

“So you stole my bike,” he rumbles. His voice immediately connects with something deep within me, just like it always has. “Shit, I guess I should be glad you didn’t try to run me over with the damn thing.”

In spite of myself, I snicker. “Only because I didn’t think of it.”

“So, what’s the deal, Kat?” he frowns. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“Well, I would hardly have sent you a memo about it, would I?” I snap, relieved to go on the offensive.

I expect him to shoot back a barbed reply, but he surprises me. “Yeah, not likely,” he admits. “So, why’d you happen to stop the bike here? I figured you’d make me work a little harder to get it back.”

Shrugging, I point at my building. “I live here.”

He lets out a loud bray of laughter. “You stole my fuckin’ bike to drive two blocks home?”

“I was mad!” I spit at him. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”Dammit. Connor always could fluster me. I hate that I just admitted that.

“Well, look. Thanks for not pushing it out into traffic, I guess.” He grabs the keys from the ignition, then glances over toward my apartment. “You wanna invite me in? Maybe we could catch up a bit, for old time’s sake.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to inform him that I’d rather stab my eyes out with a fork. But now that he’s being a little less of an asshole, I have to admit that he did get me away from Hooch just now. Besides, I am just a little bit curious about what he’s been doing in the years since I last saw him. I can already see that he’s still a biker. But his cut isn’t the same. He’s wearing the colors of the Royal Bastards MC now.

I bite my lip. “Sure. I guess I can do that. But just for a little bit. I have to work later.”

It’s a total lie, but at least I can use the excuse to get him to leave when things get too uncomfortable.

Connor follows me up the front walk. I try not to think about what his reaction to my building is. It’s not much to look at, that’s for sure. The hedges out front are misshapen and half-dead from want of watering. The sidewalk is uneven. The front door is kind of dented, and has scrape marks around the handle like someone tried to jimmy the lock. What can I say? I’m still trying to pay off my massive student debts from nursing school. This is all I can afford if I don’t want to live with a roommate.

But Connor’s low chuckle tells me he’s not really looking at the surroundings.

“You’re staring at my ass, aren’t you?” I call back at him.

The chuckle gets louder.

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