“That,” she states, breathless, “was intense.”
I laugh softly. “Good or bad?”
She meets my gaze, something heated and honest there. “Very good.”
I smile. After a quick dismount tucking away the helmets, I take her by the hand, lacing our fingers together and lead her inside.
Dinner is easy in a way that surprises me. No games. No awkward silence. She asks real questions and listens like the answers matter. When she laughs, it’s unguarded. When she goes quiet, it’s thoughtful, not distant.
Halfway through, she tilts her head. “So. Miles.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s not actually your name, so where does it come from?”
I don’t dodge it. I never wanted to. She waits, patient. I smile probably a little too proudly. “Because even when I was a prospect, I rode more than anyone else. Put more miles on my bike than most full patches. It stuck.”
She nods slowly. “I like Dixon.”
I shrug. “Most people don’t use it.”
“Maybe I will,” she challenges, and something about that feels dangerous in the best way.
The conversation drifts, deepens. Eventually she asks about my time in service, and I don’t deflect like I usually do. My military life was good, I don’t have regrets, it just isn’t something I talk about often.
“I was medically retired,” I explain. “Spine injury.”
Her eyes soften immediately. “What happened?”
“I got blown up,” I state simply. “Broke my neck. C5, C6. They put pins in. Took a long time to walk again.”
She doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t flinch.
“I thought that was it,” I continue. “At first I wasn’t sure I would walk. Then I did. Thought I’d never ride again. Never do much of anything. I had some trouble with the changes and the fear of what the future may become.”
“But you did,” she says quietly.
“Yeah,” I share. “I learned how. Again.”
She reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. No pity. Just presence.
“I’ve never been married,” I add, because it feels right to say it here. “No kids. My mom died four years ago. She was all I had before the club.”
“And now?” she asks.
“Now the MC is my family,” I state. “All of it. The Hellions are my life and I like it that way.”
She squeezes my hand once. “That makes sense.” She doesn’t pry or press me for more which is refreshing. Most women the minute I say the Hellions are my life, they want to compete with taking my attention over. I’m not that kind of man and most women get their feelings hurt when they face that reality. My club comes above everything. The right woman understands the lifestyle and respects it. In turn, she’ll get a life unlike anything she can imagine. And maybe Danae could be that woman for me? I guess time will tell.
When we leave, the air feels different, charged, electric. I take the long way back, slower this time, feeling the way she presses into me, the way her breath changes when I lean into a curve.
By the time we stop in front of my place, she’s practically humming with it.
She looks at the house, then at me. “You sure?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Inside, it’s quiet. Dim. My space has always been just that, mine. Tonight it feels like I’m letting someone cross a line I didn’t even know existed. She studies everything like she’s memorizing it. She’s fascinated by my tiny corner of the world.
