He flashed her his wolfish grin, hoping to win her over with his charming personality. “I am.”
She sipped her beer, seeming unimpressed by his declaration or his charm. “Lemme guess—the eye patch has a tragic war story? You saved a puppy or baby, right?” He couldn’t help laughing. She was a tough sell, but he liked a challenge. Plus, she was funny, and he really liked that trait in his women.
He leaned in, close enough for her to smell the whiskey on his breath. “Nah—not a baby or a puppy. A taco took my eye.”
She blinked at him, and he could tell that she was torn between confusion and laughter. “Um, a taco took your eye?” she asked.
He nodded solemnly. “Fiery little bastard. Meanest thing I ever faced.”
Something like a laugh threatened the corners of her lips. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Does that kind of bullshit usually work on the women you’re trying to pick up? Because it’s not going to work on me. You’ll have to work much harder than that if you want my attention, sweetheart,” she spat.
“Yeah,” he said with a wicked grin, “it might be the dumbest thing that you’ve ever heard, but you’re still talkin’ to me.” She rolled her eyes and turned away from him, giving Cyclops her back. She was right—he was going to have to work a hell of a lot harder if he wanted her time or her attention, and for some crazy reason, he wanted both from her.
“Just because I’m still talking to you doesn’t mean that I like you,” she said, still not turning to look at him. “It just means that I’m bored and I’m kind of interested in the whole taco taking out your eye story, if you’re willing to tell it.” He was in—at least fornow, and if telling the most humiliating story of his life was what it took to get her to pay attention to him, then he’d do just that.
He tilted his head, letting the light catch the edge of his patch. “Good, because if you liked me this soon in our relationship, I’d think less of you.”
Her brows arched. “I hate to tell you this, but we don’t have a relationship—um, I didn’t catch your name.”
“That’s because I didn’t throw it,” he teased. “Everyone calls me Cyclops,” he said.
She snorted, actually snorted, and he couldn’t help his own smile. “Of course they do. Listen, I hate to tell you this—actually, I don’t really hate telling you this. I don’t date bikers.” She was tougher to break than he thought she’d be. She wasn’t going to give him a break.
“Good thing I didn’t ask you out,” he shot back.
She gave him a sharp look, the kind that could cut through steel. “You’re one of them, right? You’re a biker.”
“I’m guessing the whole leather, patches, and tough guy routine gave me away,” he teased. “You forgot that I drink beer for breakfast.” He stepped closer, close enough that the heat of him wrapped around her like smoke. “Yeah, I’m one of them,” he said, looking around the bar at the other bikers. “The kind your momma probably warned you about.”
“I’m not scared of you,” she insisted, but he could tell by the look in her eyes that she was scared of something—maybe not him, but something had her running scared.
“Never said you were.” His voice dropped, low and steady. “But something has you scared, so if it’s not me, then what—or who?” That got her attention. He could see it in just a flicker of her eyes, the slight catch in her breath, and the way her fingers tightened on the bottle of beer. He could tell that she hated that he was right.
She turned on the stool to face him fully. “I’m not some little biker groupie, Cyclops. I’m not here to impress you, so stop trying to impress me. I came in here to have a fucking beer—alone.”
He grinned at the sound of his road name on her lips. “Didn’t say you were a groupie, sweetheart. But you walked into my bar, and now, you’re in my world.”
“Your world sounds like a bad idea,” she insisted.
“Oh, it is,” he said, leaning in until his breath brushed her ear. “But bad ideas are a hell of a lot more fun than the good ones.”
She was so close that he could tell that her pupils flared just thinking about what he had said. “Keep talking, and you’re going to end up disappointed,” she threatened. She was bluffing, and he could tell just the way she was leaning into his body.
“Nah,” he said, straightening with that lazy grin that made most women want to punch and kiss him at the same time. “I don’t get disappointed. I get what I want.”
She slid off the stool, standing toe-to-toe with him. She wasn’t small, and she didn’t flinch when he didn’t back down, which only made his interest deepen like a hook setting in. “Then I guess you’ll have to learn what disappointment feels like. Good luck with that.”
Cyclops let out a low, dark laugh. “Oh, sweetheart. I don’t need luck,” he lied. He had a feeling that he was going to need all the luck that he could get.
She smirked at him and walked away—her hips swinging just enough to make it clear she knew exactly what she was doing to him and every other guy in that bar. He watched her go, his one good eye narrowing with interest.
Ink sidled up beside him. “You’re smiling, and that’s dangerous. I know from experience that when you get that lookin your eye, there’s going to be trouble. I still have the scars to prove it.
Cyclops didn’t look away from the woman as she left. “Yeah,” he said, voice like gravel. “She’s gonna be trouble. But you know how much I like a little bit of trouble.”
“Shit,” Ink grumbled as he disappeared back behind the bar, and all Cyclops could think about was all the trouble that sexy brunette was going to give him, and that thought made him smile.
Trixie
