My little boy was the light of my life. My pride and joy. He wasn’t a pawn or a ploy to fish for sympathy, and I never wanted to cross that line.
No one else in the club knew about Mikey. Only Ironside. And he wasn’t the type to gossip or run his mouth about my business to his buddies. Asking about my family was vague enough to protect my privacy, while showing that he cared enough to check in.
Before I could respond, the front door of the clubhouse opened with a blast of arctic air. Snowflakes swirled across the scuffed floorboards.
A biker hurried inside, with his coat collar popped up to shield his neck from the wind, and a beanie pulled low over his ears. I didn’t recognize him, so he wasn’t one of the regulars. And when he stripped off his coat, the back of his cut was blank. So, he wasn’t a member of the Reckless Order either.
“Wingman, you bastard,” Ironside called. Only good friends ribbed each other like that. “Didn’t we kick you out years ago?”
“You didn’t kick me out.” Wingman removed his hat, stuffing it into his coat pocket as he ran a hand through his hair. “I quit. Couldn’t put up with a bunch of assholes like you anymore.”
Ironside gestured to the empty booth across from him.
“Come on in. Have a seat. Sweetheart, could you get Wingman something to eat?”
“Sure,” I replied, shifting my gaze to Wingman. “Steak and potatoes? A sandwich with a side of wedge fries? Pick your poison.”
His dark brown eyes settled on me. Something twisted in my stomach—something I hadn’t felt for another man in a very long time. I wrenched my gaze away, fiddling with the coffee pot.
Ever since I found out I was pregnant with Mikey, I’d sworn off men and dating in general. I told myself that it was because I didn’t have time. I had to prepare for the baby’s arrival. Then I was preoccupied with giving birth and the recovery period. After that, I became a mother, raising a kid on my own. Dating never crossed my mind when I was up to my elbows in diapers, baby food, and the stress of teething and tantrums.
But deep down, I knew the real reason.
I was scared to death of falling in love again.
“Surprise me, sweetheart,” Wingman said. “And a shot of whiskey would be appreciated.”
Sweetheart.
That term of endearment was used religiously around here. Every biker who came through that front door generally didn’t pay attention to my name tag, choosing to call mesweetheartinstead.
Hearing Wingman say it, with his smooth, low timbre like melted chocolate, filled my stomach with butterflies. The acheof yearning, of want and desire, bloomed gloriously hot in my chest. Burning through my veins.
What would that voice sound like, whispered in my ear, as he slid the clothes off my body?
I closed my eyes briefly and sucked in a steadying breath, banishing that thought.
He was a stranger I just met a moment ago. I wasn’t that lonely or desperate for romantic companionship again…was I?
Shaking my head, I pasted on a smile.
“Coming right up.”
Then I fled to the safety of the kitchen. But not before I stole one final glance over my shoulder back at Wingman. He settled into a vacant seat next to Ironside.
I wasn’t blind—I could admit he was handsome. A shadow of stubble covered his strong jawline. There was a smooth agility to his movements, an ease of confidence in his stride, that was intoxicating to witness. And when he laughed at something Ironside said, his eyes crinkled at the corners.
Stop it,I scolded myself.
Catching feelings for a biker would do nothing but complicate my life further. That was the last thing I needed.
But when I was alone in the kitchen, prepping a plate of food, the persistent burden of loneliness weighed heavy on my shoulders. I gazed out the window at the snow piling up against the glass.
Seven years ago, I thought I’d found the man I would spend the rest of my life with. It turned out that the feeling wasn’t mutual.
Three weeks after the break-up, I took a pregnancy test. Those two pink lines changed my life forever.
I wanted to be in love again. Some day.
