“You can just put down Tarzan,” he said.
That was kinda…sexy. In a primal way.
“Tarzan,” I repeated, looking him up and down. “Is that a frat boy nickname you earned in college for running around in a loincloth?”
He chuckled.
Oh my God.That sound. Deep, low, and so delicious. The butterflies in my stomach turned into a perfect storm.
“Fuck, no,” Tarzan replied. “It’s just bikers talking shit. I’m known for my brawn, not my brains. That’s not exactly flattering, I guess, but it’s better than other road names that guys get stuck with, trust me.”
A thousand questions swelled to the tip of my tongue, aching to know more. If my dad could see me now though, he would not be happy that I was chatting up a biker. Ever since I started dating as a teenager, he warned me to stay away from boys with motorcycles.
They’re nothing but trouble,he said.I won’t let my little girl become some biker’s toy.
Clearly, I didn’t heed his warnings. It took every ounce of willpower to concentrate on what Tarzan was saying, when I was so distracted by his…everything.
That scruffy jawline.
The V-neck of his shirt, providing a tempting glimpse of more tattoo ink and golden brown chest hair.
And his size, of course. Bulky with muscle, yet soft around the middle, indicating he didn’t keep a strict diet. I liked a man who enjoyed a good meal, loaded with carbs, topped off with something sweet for dessert.
“Well then, Tarzan,” I said. “Let me ring up your total, and get your order to the kitchen before those hungry biker friends of yours start howling.”
After I keyed his order into the register and swiped his credit card, Tarzan said he would wait outside until the food was ready, so he didn’t get in my way since the diner was so busy. I couldn’t come up with a protest to keep him inside before he headed out the door. I spotted him through the window, making his way across the parking lot to a beautiful glossy black Harley. He leaned against it and fiddled with his phone to pass the time.
I practically flew into the staff bathroom in the back. There wasn’t enough time to refresh my makeup, so I pinched my cheeks until they turned pink instead, and did the best I could to tame the halo of frizz around my curls from the humid kitchen.
Fuck, I hadn’t felt this jittery around a guy inages.
“Keely!” the cook barked. He was a cranky badger with a surly attitude on the best of days. A lunch rush like this only made him even more grumpy. “Where the hell did you disappear to? I’m swamped out here! Food is getting cold!”
“Coming!” I called back, hurrying into the diner again.
When Tarzan’s order was finished and packed into three large brown paper bags, I loaded them into my arms and carried them outside.
“Your feast is ready to go!” I declared.
Tarzan pushed away from his bike, taking the bags from me.
“It smells great, thank you,” he said.
I clasped my hands behind my back, bouncing on my toes.
“I noticed you didn’t have any cherry pie on your list,” I said. “So, I took the liberty of putting in a slice, just for you.”
With my phone number.
Maybe it was too forward. Or desperate. But this man had slipped through my fingers before. If he never called me and I ended up scaring him off, well…at least I tried.
“If you keep this up,” Tarzan said. “I’ll expect free pie every time I come here.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to hide a grin and spread my hands.
“I guess the only way to prove your theory is to pay me another visit, Tarzan. But I should warn you, I’ll know if you get free pie from other waitresses when I’m not around. And I can get very, very jealous.”
Without waiting for a reply, I dashed back into the diner and closed the door. Leaning against it, I released a shaky breath while giddiness bubbled in my chest.
