I nod.
“You can spend the night here, spend the night at my place, or I can get you a room at one of the resorts if they have any vacancies.”
I look around at the party and doubt there’s much sleep to be found here, and the idea of going to a hotel alone scares me. “I’ll go with you.” The words are out of my mouth before I have time to think them through any further.
“Make yourself at home. I’m going to grab a quick shower, unless you want to go first.”
“Go ahead.” I’m too nervous to do much of anything right now.
“I won’t be long.”
“Take your time.”
He disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone in the living room that shares an open floor space with his kitchen. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it’s decent. Could use some décor and a little cleaning, but if the place was pristine, I might be scared he was going to hack me into pieces.
I’m not stupid and know that Kevlar and the club he’s in is dangerous, but when I’m with him, he makes me feel…safe.
I shuffle around his living space, trying to get a sense of who he is outside of being a biker and owning a tattoo shop. I know he’s the kind of guy who rescues a damsel in distress, but I find myself curious about him.
Does he have a girlfriend? Has he been married before? Does he have any kids?
There’s half of a sandwich that could pass as a fossil by the looks of how long it’s been sitting on the coffee table next to a stack of takeout napkins and tattoo magazines. Over the big TV hanging on the wall with a bunch of cords hanging behind it sits a shelf with nothing on it but a helmet with a bunch of stickers on it and a model of a Harley Davidson motorcycle.
The TV is set to the homepage of a streaming service. The trailer to some horror movie keeps playing on a loop, but the sound is muted. The remote to the TV is sticking out between the couch cushions of his brown leather sofa. On the kitchen counter sits a stack of mail and a lemon-scented spray bottle of kitchen cleaner.
I open his fridge, wondering what the contents will tell me about him. I smirk at the stacks of yogurt containers. He has some basic items. Cheese, eggs, bacon, a bag of bagels. No veggies and no fruit. A couple of cans of beer and an open energy drink.
I shut the fridge door, noticing a sticky note on the freezer door that reads: Get milk and trash bags, in a messy scrawl inked in black marker.
There’s a stray sock by the front door next to his shoe rack that holds boots, sneakers, and slides. He has one picture on the wall. A silhouette print of a motorcycle and the rider on the beach at sunset.
I smile at the image, imagining its him behind the clubhouse.
The window behind his couch overlooks the street below.
Kevlar returns freshly showered, dressed in a pair of black athletic shorts with white stripes down the sides. No shirt.
I swallow.
Hard.
He’s hot.
Hotter than hot.
Sexy.
All bad boy.
All muscled.
All biker.
Chapter Five
Kevlar
“Your bags are sitting at the foot of my bed. Towels are in the hall closet. Should be plenty of hot water.”
