“Hmm?” He took the fork resting on the lemon icebox pie plate and cut a bite.
“Nothing,” I said with a small smile. “Nothing at all.”
Chapter 8
We finished our pies—thebanana cream was the winner in my book. Pinky’s had begun to fill up, and another bartender hopped onto the floor to help Freddy.
I looked at my watch. “Holy hell. It’s nine p.m.”
“Still early,” Boxer said with a grin.
“Not for someone who gets up every day at four in the morning,” I quipped. “Whether or not I have to work.”
“You get up at four in the morning. I don’t even go to bed until then.”
“You must work odd hours.”
“I don’t work.”
I blinked.
“I’m just kidding,” he said with a laugh. “I work at Charlie’s Motorcycle Repair shop.”
“So, you’re a mechanic?”
“Nah, I work in the office. I’m the spreadsheet and parts guy. It’s a sweet gig. Not too challenging. Flexible. Allows me to drive to Dallas every now and again to seduce a hot doctor.” He winked.
“Maybe you need to be challenged.”
“Why? I like that I can do my job on autopilot. We’re not all driven to become doctors.”
“No, of course not. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Yes, you did.” He pushed the empty pie plate toward the center of the table and placed his crumpled paper napkin on top of it. “I’m a biker, Linden. Not everything I do is on the books. You get me?”
I nodded slowly. It was one thing toknowhe was a biker. It was another to have him admit to the darker part of his life.
He pulled out his wallet and laid more than enough to cover our meal, Jed and Sylvie’s, and a large tip left over for Freddy.
“You love being a doctor, don’t you?” he asked.
“Most of the time, yeah. The medicine and helping people. It gives me—”
“Purpose?”
“Yeah.” I paused. “Purpose.”
“You must be good at hitting the books.” He grinned. “Bet you love libraries.”
“How did you know?” I teased.
“You sniff books, don’t you?”
“I might.”
He slid out of the booth and then put out a hand toward me. I grabbed my purse and took it. He pulled me into his arms and wrapped an arm around my shoulder.
“Freddy!” he called. “We’re out!”