Page 82 of Ridin’ Dirty

“It’s Saturday,” he said as he yanked his gym shorts over his hips.

“Yeah—what does that mean?”

He swiped his sweat towel from off the floor and tossed it onto the couch next to me in offering.

“Means I ran five miles so I could chase my protein shake with a cinnamon roll.”

I reached for the towel then propped myself up on my elbows.

“Not big on cardio, but a cinnamon roll to go with my coffee sounds divine.”

“Thirty minutes,” he stated as he turned for the bathroom. “Forty, tops.”

He was in and out of the shower in five.

Ten minutes later, the rumble of his Harley broadcasted his departure.

By the time I was out of the shower twenty minutes after that, he’d already come and gone, taking Reaper with him.

But I didn’t mind.

I was still riding the high of angry sex with Pistol.

Plus, my cinnamon roll was left by my Keurig with a note.

It said nothing and everything at once.

7:00.

I didn’t know where he was taking me, but I was too excited to care. Wherever we went, it was going to be just the two of us.

No Stallion clubhouse.

No rivalry drama.

Just us on our first official date.

The anticipation made the day drag. I did my best to distract myself around the house, but that routine was pretty played out considering the week I had. After a late lunch, I decided to see what I could do about killing some time outside of the house.

My first stop was my favorite nail salon. I treated myself to a mani-pedi, opting for white toe-nails and fire-engine-red fingernails. It was still fairly early when I left the salon, so I decided to make a trip to the mall—which was how I ended up with a new outfit for the night.

The backless halter top I bought was a daring choice, given I assumed we’d be on Pistol’s hog that night and not in his cage. It was black, with a slit down the middle, exposing a bit of my chest. The garment would cling to my body only after the strings on either side of the front were tied together across the middle of my back. When I tried it on, I imagined the feel of the night wind brushing against my skin, and my excitement caused my stomach to clench, making the shirt an absolute must

It had been ages since I climbed on the back of a Harley and wrapped my arms around a man. The longing I felt as the day wore on was a reminder that Pistol was the embodiment of everything I craved. Only, rather than fill me with confidence, the truth made me nervous.

It never served me well to want a man the way I wanted him.

I tried not to dwell on it as I hunted for the rest of my outfit. The light-washed, denim mini skirt I purchased did wonders for my legs. I was also certain the whole look would come together precisely as I wanted with my black, stiletto ankle boots.

Satisfied that I was properly equipped to unleash my sexy rebel—allowing me to be myself with a man I knew could handle it—I finally returned to the house.

I was in the bathroom, finishing my makeup, when I heard Pistol’s Harley in the driveway. I checked the time on my phone, saw it was only six-thirty, then waited for him to come inside as I started on my hair. Twenty minutes later, I was still in the house all by myself. When I went to the bedroom to slip into the clothes I laid out, my curiosity was starting to get the better of me.

As soon as I was dressed, I didn’t bother waiting for Pistol to come inside. I wasn’t sure what he was up to, but I wanted to find out. I grabbed my purse and exited through the back door, expecting to find his Harley in the driveway. When I didn’t see it parked there, I stopped and frowned—then I heard movement in the garage. I walked toward the detached structure and found Pistol kneeling beside his bike. He’d removed the sidecar and looked to be making a few minor adjustments.

“Hey,” I murmured in greeting.

Both he and Reaper looked my way, but it was Pistol who captured my full attention as I watched his eyes scan me up and down and up again.