“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked again, slightly angry this time.
I was done here. It was one thing to suffer through listening to a guy prattle on about himself during one meal, but he was getting a little aggressive. I hadn’t even told him no outright and he was already being pushy. I didn’t want to see what he would be like at the end of the night if we continued with this. “It means that I think we should cut this short,” I said, bracing myself for an argument.
“Don’t I get a say in that?” he asked, reaching for my hand again.
I pulled it back before he could touch me this time, standing. “I’m sorry, but no. I’m not feeling any chemistry between us.”
Greg sat back in his seat, a frown on his face.
I didn’t want to draw this out, so I dug some cash out of my purse and set it down on the table. We hadn’t gotten our food yet, but we had ordered, so I made sure it was enough to cover my half.
“It’s your loss,” he said as I started to walk away. “I can do better anyway.”
That last part was mumbled under his breath, so I didn’t think I was meant to hear it. Normally, I’d stop and argue with the man, but it had been a long day at work and I didn’t have the energy to waste on him. My mind was already running through dinner options since I wouldn’t be sticking around to eat the pasta I’d ordered. Greg was all but forgotten. As I was leaving, I laid my eyes on one of the few people I knew in this town.
Bones sat alone in a booth.
I’d met the biker on my first day in town, four weeks ago. I drove all the way from Las Vegas to southern Mississippi with no problems, only for my red Nissan Altima to get a flat just outside of the town that would become my new home, Holbeck. I’d ended up walking into a real-life biker bar, looking for help, and it was exactly like I’d seen in movies. Full of big guys wearing cut-off leather jackets with a patch sewn onto the back. The emblem with angel wings on each side of a motorcycle handlebar with a skull above it was both beautiful and intimidating, and the club’s name was printed along the top of the logo. Rebel Saints.
I admit I had been anxious to be in such a place. When I thought of bikers, especially ones who were a part of a club, a trickle of unease had run down my spine. I remembered an outlaw biker club in Vegas, where I had lived my whole life before moving to Holbeck, and they had a rough reputation. Criminal activity, fights, mistreating women … it wasn’t pretty. People were afraid of them, rightfully so.
Yet, Bones was one of the Rebel Saint and he had helped me.
He had seemed kind, changing my tire for me and giving my dog water. I’d even felt a connection to the man, which was nuts. With the small patch on the front of his cut labeling him as president of the motorcycle club, Bones had bad idea written all over him. Just the type of man I should avoid.
Despite knowing this, my heart fluttered at the sight of him. His black hair was trimmed close to his skull and a stubble beard covered his strong jaw. His right arm was covered in a full-sleeve of tattoos and the t-shirt he wore under his cut fit tight enough to show off his firm pecs and sculpted arms. I was willing to bet he had a six-pack too.
I tried not to be a superficial person, I knew there were far more important things than looks, but Bones was hot, in a forbidden fruit kind of way. There was no denying that.
His piercing blue eyes met mine and he lifted the bottle of beer in his hand, nodding in my direction.
He didn’t speak a word, but I felt a jolt of attraction so much stronger than anything I had felt toward the date I’d left at the table behind me. I was drawn to Bones and it took a real effort to remind myself that he wasn’t my type.
I needed to get out of here and forget about men for the night.
Giving Bones a small smile, I broke our eye contact. Still, I could feel his eyes on me as I walked out of the restaurant. Goosebumps broke out over my skin.
I stopped at a drive-thru on the way home, picking up a burger and fries. It wasn’t the best option for dinner, but it was convenient and sometimes that was all that mattered.
As I pulled into a parking space in front of my apartment building, the curtains fluttered in my apartment, which was on the ground floor. A second later, my dog’s head appeared, his mouth parted and tongue lolling out. Somehow, Roscoe always seemed to know when I was home as soon as I parked.
Or maybe he checked every time he heard a car. The thought of him racing to the window over-and-over, looking for me, warmed my heart.
Dogs are the best.
As I unlocked the door of my apartment, I heard him come racing to greet me, his nails grazing the hardwood floor and a deep bark coming from his mouth.
“Hiya, buddy,” I said, dropping my dinner and purse onto a table by the door so that I could kneel in front of him, scratching him behind his ears.
Roscoe’s tail swung wildly and I smiled. It did feel nice to be met with such happy enthusiasm when I’d only been gone for about an hour. Adopting Roscoe last year was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. He’d been surrendered to an animal shelter by his former owner when she moved into a new home and her landlord wouldn’t allow animals. I tried not to be judgmental about it, but I really couldn’t understand how she did it. It might be more expensive to find a place that was pet-friendly, but it was worth it, in my opinion.
I’d been so lonely before this gorgeous golden retriever came into my life.
This apartment was new to me, but it finally seemed to feel like home. It had taken me three weeks to finish unpacking, since I spent so much time working, but now the one-bedroom apartment was fully furnished and decorated. I had bought new furniture, hung up pictures of my family and friends back in Vegas. The whole thing was a new start for me, but I didn’t want to forget where I came from.
I felt hungry, but the dog walker only came by during the day, while I worked, so I knew Roscoe would need to go out. I took him through the patio door, just off the living room. The courtyard looked empty, but my neighbor waved from inside his apartment. All the ground floor apartments had sliding patio doors with access to the courtyard. All the layouts were the same, with the open-concept kitchen and living room, bedroom, and a breakfast nook with built-in bench seating.
I liked it here, but I still needed to get used to the humidity. In Nevada, it was hot, like here, but it was a dry heat. Somehow, the moisture made the air here in Mississippi feel heavy, and it clung to my skin and clothes. It made my hair a frizzy mess too, something I’d discovered the day I met Bones. I’d felt mortified when he’d driven away and I looked into my visor’s mirror to see the rat’s nest on top of my head. He must have thought I looked ridiculous.