Page 60 of Chains
“It wasn’t too bad of a wait,” he said, breaking the silence between them.
Autumn nodded. “Not bad.” She looked down at the menu, running her finger along the edge. Chains watched her as she pored over the selections, front teeth biting into a glossy lower lip.
She looked up. “What?”
“Nothing,” he answered.
“Why are you watching me?” Autumn glanced back down at the menu.
“Am I making you nervous?”
“Do you already know what you’re going to order?”
“Lasagna and a salad. You didn’t answer my question.”
She put the menu down and folded her hands on top of it. “Look, this thing we have going on between us is not real. I mean, I’m vulnerable right now, and you’re a player. You can’t help chasing whatever new woman makes a blip on your radar. Whenever another woman piques your interest, you’ll switch gears and start laying on the charm with her.”
“Are you done?” he asked, slightly amused. “I get that you’re vulnerable right now, but this attraction between us started before my jerk brother broke off the engagement.”
“Maybe…” her voice trailed off as she took a sip of water.
“And I’m not a player.”
“Aren’t you?”
The smug look on her face made her more beautiful and desirable. He wanted to lean over and grab a handful of Autumn’s hair, then yank her closer and kiss her, but instead, he sat back and shook his head no.
“I’m sure women throw themselves at you.”
“Throwing and taking are two different things. Are women attracted to bikers? Hell, yeah. Do they want to spread for a guy in leather who rides a Harley? Damn straight. Do I fuck every chick that wants it? No way.”
“You’re a very confident man with a bit of cockiness thrown in.”
“And that means I fuck every chick who’s into me? You’re too smart to think that, Doc.”
A ghost of a smile whispered across her lips. “I didn’t mean that. I guess I’ve been taken in by the stereotype of the ‘bad boy biker.’”
“I’m a lot of things, baby, but a stereotype isn’t one of ’em.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“No offense taken. Anyway, I’m not looking to hook up with a citizen, so don’t sweat it.”
“Why not?—I mean the citizen part.”
“Been there, done that.” He picked up the tumbler the server had just put down and took a swig.
“Then, who do you date?” she asked.
“I don’t date, but I hook up with”—he paused, then looked at her over the rim of the tumbler—“biker chicks.”
“What doesthatmean?”
He downed the whiskey. “Women in the biker scene.”
“Where do you meet them?”
“Parties, clubhouses, bike rallies, motorcycle shows—they’re part of the lifestyle, and they embrace it. Do you know what you wanna eat?”
