My head snaps toward the parking lot at the sound of a motorcycle, and I perk up. Excited doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Grabbing my compact mirror, I check my makeup and hair, smoothing the flyaway strands down. I do my best to look cool. As cool as I can.
Honestly, I’m probably bouncing like a kid about to demolish birthday cake. If Benny’s anything like I’ve imagined, his motorcycle won’t be the only thing I’ll be riding tonight.
But when the bike comes into view, my excitement plummets.No. ThisCANNOTbe Benny.
When he smiles at me, I know I’ve been duped. Benny B. is a Photoshop wizard. Sure, he’s got blond hair like his picture, but that’s about it. No muscles. No washboard abs. Instead, his arms are scrawnier than mine, and he sports a beer gut.
And the leather? It’s a knock off. He’s clearly tried to recreate theSons of Anarchykutte. Same style, but with “Anarchy” replaced with a badly stitched patch reading “Devils.” On the back, the reaper remains, but it’s seen better days.
I catch all of this as he backs up his motorcycle. And scrapes the exhaust on the curb. Something I’ve never seen a real biker do unless they’re in a hurry.
There’s no way this guy has been riding for more than a month. He’s definitely not in a club.
Benny swings his leg over the bike only to catch his sneaker on the seat and face-plant on the ground beside it. And from my position on the patio, I have a front row seat to watch this disaster.
“Fucking seat,” he mutters, getting up and brushing off his T-shirt. “You like the hog?”
Dear God. “Uh, sure. Yeah.”
“Holly J., right?”
“Yep.”
He flashes a smile, and at least he has nice teeth. Unless he lands on a curb next time he tries to get off his bike. “Benny.”
“I know,” I remind him. “It’s on the app.”
“Yeah, just wasn’t sure if… Never mind.”
He fumbles with the patio gate. Just as I stand to open it from my side, he awkwardly climbs over the short fence. He stumbles again, but still wears his cocky grin. “You’re hot.”
“Thanks.”
I wish I could say the same, but it’s kind of a major disappointment when you’re expecting Charlie Hunnam and get… this.
“I’m still getting used to the bike,” he admits, settling into the chair across from me. “Just bought it a week ago.”
Called it. “What did you have before?” I ask.
On the bright side, I’m finally able to take a sip of my water because all the excited trembling has vanished.
“A Prius.”
I choke, coughing as I set the sweating glass back on the table. “You traded a Prius for a motorcycle?”
“A Harley,” he corrects.
At this point, it really doesn’t matter. His profile says he’s thirty-two. Too young for a mid-life crisis. “Interesting. What made you decide to make such a… drastic change?”
“Fuck the man, right?” He chuckles. “Plus, I got on this dating app and realized where I’d fit best. I’ve always been a man fighting against the hierarchy.”
Blink. “Excuse me?”
“Women love bad boys, right? And more than one woman has told me I look just like Jax Teller—as they rode more than just my Harley. In my bed. Might as well play into it. Charlie Hunnam and I are basically twins.”
I hide my laughter behind a cough as I take another sip. Benny B. might actually be a little crazy. “So, you’re not really in a motorcycle club, then?”
