Page 2 of Loyal
I don’t answer her, giving the man my attention.
“I’m Sami, by the way,” I tell him.
He looks over his shoulder, giving me a smile.
“Loyal.”
“That’s an interesting name. Where did you get it?” I kneel down next to him, watching as his hands move.
“It’s a road name from my club. They gave it to me for being loyal to the club above all else.”
“So you have a real name?”
“Sure do,” he says as he pulls the tire off the car.
“Do I get to know it? Or am I supposed to guess?” I ask.
He turns and looks at me. “A biker only gives his real name when he finds the one he plans to spend the rest of his lifewith. That, or if he gets arrested. They have some obsession with government names down at the police department.”
I giggle, then chastise myself for it. I sound like a fucking schoolgirl. He doesn’t seem to mind, though.
“Those pesky cops,” I joke, watching as he checks my tire.
“This looks like a knife sliced through it. How the hell did you manage something like this? You have any enemies?” He sounds serious now.
I shake my head. “No way. I drove by the construction over on Broadway. I even thought to myself that the place was a mess. I probably ran over some debris.”
He accepts my answer, changing my tire quickly. When he is done, he stands, so I do too, but I stumble a bit from my legs growing numb. He catches me easily.
“Easy there, Grace.”
I frown. “My name is Sami.”
He laughs. “Grace as in graceful? It was a joke. Sorry.”
I shake my head. “No need to be. Thank you for changing my tire. My friend canceled on me. I was going out to dinner. Want to join me? My treat as a thank you.”
He shakes his head. “Hell no. No man in his right mind would let a beautiful woman like you pay for a meal. Not unless he is a loser.”
He called me beautiful.
That has the butterflies coming to life in my stomach.
“Well, could I make you dinner then? I feel wrong not doing something for you. I mean, unless you want money. I can pay you too,” I rush out, realizing I may have read this all wrong.
“I don’t need your money. I didn’t do this for a reward.”
“Why did you do it then?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
He smirks. “A beautiful damsel in distress? How could I resist?”
“That’s the second time you’ve called me beautiful. You do know I’m at least a decade older than you,” I point out, feeling the need to be up-front.
“I’m twenty-one. How old are you?”
My stomach drops. Shit, I really am a decade older than him.
“I’m thirty-two, about to turn thirty-three.”
