Page 83 of Ridin’ Dirty

“Hey,” he muttered through a crooked smile.

I felt the beginning of a wicked grin playing at my lips, knowing if he liked the front he was sure to go wild over the back.

“Are you ready, or…?”

“Yeah,” he stood to full height, dropping his wrench into his toolbox before wiping his hands against each other. “Let me feed Reap, and we’ll get out of here.”

I nodded, and he called after his pup in another language before he went inside. Obedient as ever, Reaper followed after him happily.

True to his word, I didn’t have to wait long. When he returned, Pistol found me in his garage, my fingers trailing lightly across the leather of his Harley’s seat. I heard it as his boots shuffled to a stop and peeked back at him from over my shoulder. His eyes did not meet mine, and I didn’t bother turning to face him—not wishing to rob him of the view.

“Temp will go down with the sun. You sure you don’t need more to cover up?”

“Been a while since I’ve ridden the back of a hog, but not so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like. Take me for a ride, Stallion, and cold is not how I’ll feel.”

My statement earned me his eyes and a slow grin.

For a moment, I questioned if I even needed the thrill of a ride to get hot and bothered.

He took a step toward me and looked about ready to say something, but he was interrupted by the sound of his phone. He stopped short, reached into the pocket of his kutte, and glanced at the display. He then drew his eyebrows together before sliding his thumb across the screen to answer.

“Yeah,” he greeted in a clip.

He listened for a few seconds, his eyes aimed at his boots.

The next sound he made was more of an unintelligible grunt, the noise escaping him the same instant he brought his eyes back up to meet mine. His annoyance was hard to miss—but for once, I knew it wasn’t me irritating him.

“Heard. On my way.”

He hung up without another word, then slipped his phone back into his pocket, his eyes never leaving mine.

My heart sank, and I felt myself growing warm for entirely different reasons. I got my hopes up. Way up. Even though I didn’t know what he was about to say, my level of disappointment felt embarrassing.

“Change of plans?” I asked, trying to mask my feelings.

“Yup. Need to make a detour,” he said before he moved to mount his Road King.

“We’re still going?”

My hope was as obvious as his irritation, but I didn’t even care.

When he had a foot planted on either side of his bike, he looked over at me and said, “Babe, I’m a lot of things, but a masochist isn’t one of them. I tell you we’re goin’ to dinner, and you dress up like that? I’m fuckin’ takin’ the bait.” He held out a hand and demanded, “Climb on.”

I didn’t have to be told twice.

The ride to the clubhouse was a tease, but I didn’t complain, knowing our night had only just begun. I carefully maneuvered myself off the bike and was busy adjusting my mini skirt as Pistol dismounted. When I was finished, he reached for me, his large, calloused hand swallowing mine as he tugged me toward the entrance.

It wasn’t the first time he held my hand.

It wasn’t the second, either.

But it made my belly tingle like crazy anyway.

I bit my lower lip as I hurried after him, trying not to smile like a fool.

I was really glad I decided on a trip to the mall that day.

When we entered the clubhouse, we didn’t stop in the lounge.