That had caught her off guard, definitely. It wasn’t the first time she’d come out of the bar after closing and found a guy in the shadows, and it was usually bad news—which was why she’d known Dre would be upstairs paying attention. Normally, Dre would be at the door, having walked her out to make sure she was safe, but they’d stomped upstairs angry tonight. Even so, Petra knew they’d be watching.
Petra was pretty pissed herself. That outburst about her having a ‘type,’ and that ‘type’ being Dre, had come out of nowhere. Katie had made it worse, agreeing with Dre. But the worst part of it was they were both so entirely full of shit! Right now, standing in her kitchen, facing Jake, Petra knew Dre was full of shit. Jake looked nothing like them.
Okay. They were about the same height. Maybe, kind of, in averygeneral way, they had similar body types. As far as was apparent in clothes. Dre had fairly wide shoulders and a quite flat chest, which they made flatter with a compression top. For his part, Jake was clearly no gym rat. Yes, she appreciated an angular body much more than a ‘swole’ one. If she had a physical type, that was it.
But that did not mean her type was ‘Dre.’ It meant that Dre was her type.Which everybody already knew, seeing as they’d been together for almost three years.
Whatever. It had been a stupid, stupid fight and it was equally stupid to be standing here with Jake and obsessing about that stupid, stupid fight.
But that fight was possibly why Jake was standing here in her kitchen. Never before had she invited someoneshe’d just metinto her home. Dre stomping upstairs and leaving her to close up alone had her in a snit, and she’d come out to find the man they’d fought about sitting on his motorcycle, and ... okay.
She could be real with herself, at the very least. She’d felt petty. She’d wanted Dre to look out the window and see. That was why she’d kissed Jake.
As far asintentionswent, she hadn’t intended anything more to happen than that. But the kiss had been ... kind of beautiful. Gentle and slow. Savoring. Extremely hot, despite its relative tameness. She hadn’t even minded the taste of his blood, though bloodplay was very much not her kink. The way he’d wanted to keep kissing even though his lip had opened again had been really sexy. And surprising! Considering what she did know about him—young, scrappy, outlaw biker—she’d expected him to be much more assertive.
Regardless, though, he was a stranger, and she was usually more reserved with unfamiliar people. She didn’t know why it had all felt so good, made her buzz so hard. Maybe just six months without? She hadn’t felt like she’d missed sex much, but all of her erogenous zones had exploded when Jake put his hands on her hips and pulled her up close.
Well, really it didn’t matter. There was a spark between them, and Petra was a wild-eyed romantic at heart. She trusted that spark. Yes, she’d gotten singed a few times, but the spark itself always meant something real was happening. Even if it might go bad later, it was real.
She didn’t need to think more about why she’d brought Jake home. He was already here. There was a spark, she trusted the spark, and he had done nothing to discourage that trust. In fact, he was muchsweeterthan one might think upon first seeing him—thanshehad thought upon first meeting him.
As she stood at the island, sipping her wine, watching him sip his bourbon and look around in every direction, Petra wondered what would, or should, happen next. She’d been leading so far, and she was fine with that, but was he? Should she stay back a little and let him set the pace for a while? Or should she do what she wanted and go over and kiss him again?
Before she arrived at an answer, Jake turned and walked to the wall beside her bedroom door. She thought of that space as her ‘life’ wall, where she hung framed photos of her friends, family, travels, adventures, activities—her life. Almost that whole wall was filled. The rest of her wall décor in the apartment was art, mostly that of friends. Just like at Gertrude’s.
“You’re a dancer,” he said softly.
“Yes.”
“What kind of dancing?”
“Lots of kinds. Ballet, tap, contemporary, modern, hip hop. I majored in dance in college. Mostly hip hop and contemporary these days. I teach classes at a couple studios, and those are popular classes.”
His back was mostly to her, so she couldn’t see his face, but she saw and heard his sigh. “You went to college, huh?”
“Yep. Not that much came of it. It’s a rare few who make a real career out of dance, I think—or that’s what I tell myself, anyway.”
“I didn’t go to college. I wasn’t much good in school, barely graduated. I knew what I wanted to do with my life, anyway.” He turned and smirked at her. “That’s what I tell myself.”
Answering his smirk with a smile, she asked, “What did you want to do with your life? Be a Bull?”
Walking away from the photo wall, he returned and stood at the island, facing her. “Yeah, pretty much. My father was a Bull from the start of the club. I don’t think my brother and I ever thought about doing anything else. But ‘Bull’ isn’t a job description, it’s a person description. Mechanic is what I want to do for a job. The Bulls have a service station. I’m trying to get my certification.”
“Is there a test for that?” she asked as she went to the touchscreen on the wall and started the playlist that was already up. It was rare for Petra to be home and not have music going. Even when she slept, she kept music on. Maybe some tunes would loosen things up in the room.
When Dar Williams began to sing, she opened the menu. It was highly unlikely Jake the Bull would appreciate her Women in Folk playlist.
“Yeah, there’s a set of nine exams. That’s pretty. I’ve never heard it before.”
Pleasantly surprised, Petra glanced over her shoulder to see if he was faking that opinion, but he seemed to be sincerely listening. “It’s Dar Williams. Do you like folk music?”
“I like lots of different kinds of music. I like country probably the most. Folk’s pretty close to that, I guess.”
“Depends on the kind of country music, but sure. I like lots of music, too.”
“I guess you would, with the dancing.” An odd tightness moved across his face, and he asked, “Do you do any country dancing?”
“Like line dancing?” He nodded. “Yeah, I’ve done a little. Why, do you line dance?”