Page 95 of Smokey's Distraction
He squirmed in his seat. “Of course I care.”
He’s uncomfortable talking about how he feels.The thought made her giddy.
“We’re going to Willy’s,” he said, changing the subject.
“Who’s Willy?”
“The dude who saved my life and is like a dad to me. He’d be a good person to talk to about having some of the teens from the shelter work on his farm. He’d be good for them, especially Gavin.”
She smiled. “You have a soft spot for Gavin, don’t you?”
“He’s an okay kid who needs some direction, and Willy can give it to him.”
“Are you speaking from personal experience?”
He slid out of the booth. “Yeah.”
She took his hand and stood up. “Are you going to share it with me?”
“Not now, but I will. We have to get going.”
After Smokey paid the bill, he put his arm around her and led her out of the diner.
16
The red brickfarmhouse was set back from the dirt road, surrounded by large oaks and evergreens. An old weathered barn sat several yards away from the main house where a few black and white striped chickens roamed about.
To the side of the house, six Harley-Davidson motorcycles gleamed in the early afternoon sun. Parking next to a cobalt blue bike, Smokey switched off the engine and Ashley jumped off, then opened the saddlebag to retrieve her purse. Pulling out a hair brush, she bent at the waist, flipped her head over, and ran it through her long, dark hair. As she straightened, she tossed it back, letting it fall over her shoulders, and put the brush away.
Hooking his sunglasses to the collar of his T-shirt, he strode toward her. “That was sexy.”
“Seriously?” She dropped the brush in her purse.
Burying his hands in her hair, he whispered, “Seriously,” then claimed her mouth.
“Smokey!” someone called out.
Groaning in frustration, he pulled away and shouted, “In a minute!” He looked back at Ashley and kissed her again. “Fuck, woman. I can’t stop kissing you.”
Leaning against him, her nipples grew taut, pushing against the fabric of her bra.
Suddenly, the pungent, almost sweet scent of gasoline and the loud rumble of engines filled the air. Tearing her lips away from Smokey’s, she watched as five motorcycles bounded up the road at a good clip, throwing around brown clouds of dirt and rocks in their wake. The riders were robust men, clad in sleeveless denim vests that showed off strong arms covered in skulls, lightning bolts, busty women, and a multitude of other tattoo designs.
Smokey held up his fist as they drove around to the back of the farmhouse. “Some of Willy’s friends,” he said to her.
“So Willy’s an Insurgent?”
“Nope. Willy and his buddies there are free riders, meaning they don’t belong to any club. They ride together, go to rallies, and even poker runs, but they’re not members of any club.”
“It’s kind of confusing.”
“It can be to citizens. It’s clear to us.”
“And I’m a ‘citizen’?”
He laughed. “You and most of the population, but I’m not holding that against you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks for that, I guess.”
