She had this strange need to find out every personal detail about him. Why he chose to be a mechanic. Why he belonged to an MC. Who raised him. Even his middle name.
Where he lived. If he ever had his heart broken.
If he had any scars from his childhood from wrecking his bicycle or playing sports.
Instead of shoving the fry into his mouth, he dropped it back onto the plate. “How much more?”
She wiggled one eyebrow, then instantly regretted it, hoping it didn’t make her appear like a cougar stalking her prey.
Did her cheeks heat up? Oh, please, don’t be blushing like a silly schoolgirl with a crush. Good lord, woman, get your hormones in line.
He scrubbed a hand across his forehead and grimaced, like it would be painful to tell her. “Tyler.”
“Tyler?” She rolled her lips inward.
“Yep. Tyler Robert Byrne if you wanna know the whole thing.”
She didn’t want to grin like a damn fool if he didn’t like the name, but it had to be said… “You actually look like a Tyler.”
The name fit his boy-next-door looks. Well, if he hadn’t been wearing his cut, a long-sleeve thermal shirt beneath it with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing a tattoo covering his forearm, and heavy biker boots. That kind of spoiled the wholesome look.
“No one calls you that?”
“My mother and my aunt.”
She considered her forgotten salad and stabbed at a cherry tomato with her fork. She paused with it halfway to her mouth. “What does your father call you?” She popped the tomato into her mouth and chewed.
“He don’t.”
She swallowed her mouthful. “You don’t talk to him?” Whip was young, his parents had to still be young, too.
“Nope. Haven’t talked to him since I was eight.”
She put her fork down. “Sorry. That has to be difficult.”
“Ain’t difficult and don’t be sorry. The man don’t deserve an ounce of sympathy.”
“The sympathy was for you.”
“I don’t need it, either.”
The way he said that made her pause. Since she didn’t know the circumstances about the break with his father and she didn’t know him well enough to dig, she let it go.
Instead, she sat back in her chair and studied him. When he lifted his glass of sweet tea, she zeroed in on the way his Adam’s apple traveled up and down his throat as he swallowed.
Why did she suddenly feel like some dirty old lady? She couldn’t be much older than him, could she? Or was she really a cougar? “How old are you?”
“That gonna make a difference just like my real name?”
In reality it might, but she reminded herself for the hundredth time that they were only sharing a dinner. Nothing else. “No.”
“Just curious?” His grin caused a reaction deep within her.
She finally realized why. Sweet with an edge was the perfect way to describe him.
Yes, on the outside he looked wholesome and All-American, but he wasn’t all of that. Not at all. He was much more.
He had layers.
Layers she’d like to peel away.
This trip was about discovery. Whip was now added to that list of must see and do.
That realization caught her off guard.
So much for only sharing dinner. That just got tossed out of the window while driving one hundred miles an hour.
She had never pursued a man before. Not even back in high school. Mostly because her eyes had always been focused on the prize and men seemed to get in the way.
Had she had relationships? Yes.
Had her drive and determination wrecked those relationships? Absolutely.
At the time she didn’t care. Honestly, she still didn’t. If any of those short-lived relationships would’ve been meant to be, the man would’ve been supportive of her career and not tried to undermine it because he couldn’t handle a successful woman.
Cold-hearted, unemotional bitch was the label they liked to put on strong, career-driven women when it usually wasn’t true.
Fragile and toxic masculinity made having a long-term relationship impossible.
In her world, successful women were looked at as a threat to successful men. Their misogynistic thought was women were supposed to support successful men, not stand next to them or even in front of them.
Some of the sexist shit she’d heard throughout her career could easily crush a woman who actually put weight behind some of those hurtful words.
Real men supported strong women. Little boys were threatened by them.
The problem was finding the first type instead of the second. They were out there but unfortunately, in her experience, it was like finding a needle in a haystack.
Who the hell had time to dig through hay? Not her.
Well, now she had time but she had no plans to stay anywhere long enough to make the time needed to dig worthwhile. That didn’t mean she couldn’t find the time to have some much-needed intimacy with someone along the way. Even if it was only for a single night or even a few hours…