Katie
Connor.
The hot one.
He was standing right there. This was a fucking dream, right? Hot guys like him just didn’t walk into the store like this and demand that I unlock a pump. Hot guys like him didn’t walk into the store, period.
“Hey, Connor,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“Fine. Ten bucks on pump six.”
I bit my lip and kept my smile, mostly for appearances. I didn’t want to show Connor that his brusqueness had affected me.
But damn, it was hard with a man who looked like him and all of the “bad decisions” that could follow and not feel affected by what he said. What could you say about a man with floppy hair like him; with tattoos up around his neck, his body, and pretty much everywhere except his face; with muscles that, though somewhat hidden by his tattoos, still managed to pop off his arms and shoulders?
“You got it,” I said. “How has your night been?”
“Fine.”
“Apparently so; I did not think that a night could be so good that it would make you go mute.”
He smiled at that, but in a weird way—almost like he, too, was trying to hide how my words had affected him somehow. I wasn’t sure why he would have reacted that way. It wasn’t like I had said something especially mean.
But if there was one thing Tara and Elizabeth had hammered home about Brock and Steele, it was that there were perhaps no men who better exemplified “there’s more than meets the eye” than the Black Reapers MC. I had to suspect that was the case now for Connor too.
“Your pump is all set to go. Let me—”
“Thanks,” Connor said, tapping the counter and walking out, his hands stuffed into his jeans.
Damnit, Connor, can’t even have a normal conversation?
At first, I just let it go. I went back to taking care of some employee applications I was reviewing, half that I would toss out on first glance merely for refusing to follow instructions properly.
But how often was Connor going to come by here? Again, this just didn’t happen. It certainly hadn’t happened before, and it wouldn’t happen again anytime soon. And I had an easy in—the Bandits had come by here recently.
If that didn’t get his attention, then nothing would.
I slid the paperwork underneath the counter, taking care to make sure it was not visible for the public to see. I grabbed my keys, intending to lock the store behind me as I walked out. There was no one else inside; though the store had plenty of money to hire people for all shifts, I still hadn’t managed to hire someone to cover nights for this particular day of the week.
I walked out, locked the doors behind me, and approached Connor. When he looked back at me, it was with feigned indifference. Sure, he didn’t look interested in talking to me, but there was something about it that seemed forced, almost like—not that this was actually the case—but almost like he was afraid to speak to me.
“You know, I had a bunch of Bandits here recently, and they were all assholes,” I said. “You’re nice. And much more handsome than they are.”
Connor snorted, looked out at the road, and briefly made eye contact with me. The gaze didn’t last long before his eyes returned to the gas pump.
“That’s about as low a bar to clear as possible,” he said. “And don’t call me a nice guy. I’ve killed people before and I like to fight. I wouldn’t call that nice.”
Well, how the fuck do you respond to that?
“Maybe so,” I said, admittedly grasping at straws. “But you guys use your violence for something good.”
“Don’t be so generous,” he said. “We just want Santa Maria to be peaceful.”
“Peaceful assholes,” I said with a laugh.
A hint of a laugh formed in Connor’s throat, but it barely got out. The gas pump clicked, and he shelved it. I knew I had to make my point now or I’d never actually make it.
“Connor, look,” I said. “I know the guy usually does this, but in this town and these times, nothing is really done usually. I think you’re hot. I know there’s more to you than you’re letting on. You want to grab coffee sometime?”
