“Best burgers on the coast,” Diesel explained enthusiastically. “Shelly’s is every second Sunday of the month.”
As they mounted the bikes, Morgan couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been alone in her apartment, recovering from Jason’s betrayal and dreading another week at her soul-crushing job. Now she was riding along the coast with four fascinating men who treated her with nothing but respect and inclusion.
And one of them—the mysterious one whose face she had yet to see—made her heart race in a way she couldn’t quite explain.
Shelly’s Roadhouse was exactly the kind of place Morgan wouldn’t normally frequent—rustic, noisy, with license plates and vintage signs covering the walls. But the moment they walked in, she felt right at home.
“Bullet!” called a weathered man with a prosthetic leg, navigating expertly from behind the counter. “Boys! Right on time.” He didn’t so much as blink at Bullet’s face covering—clearly used to the man’s preference for privacy.
His eyes widened slightly when he noticed Morgan. “And you brought company. That’s a first.”
“Mike, this is Morgan,” Bullet introduced. “Morgan, Mike owns this fine establishment.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” she said, shaking his hand. “The ride here was spectacular.”
“First timer?” Mike asked with a knowing look.
“Is it that obvious?” Morgan laughed.
“Only to the experienced eye.” Mike winked. “Your usual booth is ready, boys. I’ll send Shelly over for your orders.”
The large corner booth offered views of both the parking lot where their bikes stood and the restaurant’s main entrance—a seating choice Morgan suspected wasn’tcoincidental. She slid in beside Bullet, acutely aware of how their thighs pressed together in the confined space.
Her heart rate spiked as if she hadn’t just been wrapped around him all morning as they rode.
A formidable woman with silver-streaked hair approached their table. “The usual for you boys?” she asked without a notepad.
“Please,” Hawk confirmed.
Shelly turned to Morgan. “And for you, honey?”
“What’s good here?” Morgan asked.
“Everything,” Diesel answered immediately. “But Bullet always gets the jalapeño burger with sweet potato fries. It’s legendary.”
Morgan glanced at Bullet, curious how he’d eat with his face still partially covered. “In that case, I’ll have the same.”
“Good choice,” Shelly approved. “Drinks?”
Everyone ordered non-alcoholic beverages, and Morgan followed suit, understanding the responsibility that came with riding. As they waited for their food, she found herself drawn into their easy camaraderie. These men moved and communicated like a single organism, finishing each other’s thoughts, sharing inside jokes that somehow made her feel included rather than excluded.
When the food arrived, Morgan took her first bite of the jalapeño burger and let out an involuntary moan of pleasure. “Oh my god,” she mumbled. “This is amazing.”
“Told you,” Diesel grinned. “Worth the ride just for the burger, right?”
She nodded emphatically, reaching for a sweet potato fry. “Absolutely.”
Morgan noticed that whenever Bullet needed to take a bite, one of the others would naturally create a distraction—Diesel would launch into a story, or Viper would show her something on his camera, or Hawk would ask her a question about her work. The coordination was so seamless, it was obvious they worked well as a team.
“So, Morgan,” Hawk asked during one such moment, “what do you do when you’re not letting Bullet sweep you onto the back of his bike?”
“Marketing and design at Vertex Creative,” she answered. “Though lately, I’ve been questioning that choice.”
“Why’s that?” Diesel asked, his voice suggesting genuine interest.
“My boss is..." She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Challenging. The kind who makes you redo projects endlessly just to assert control, then chooses your original concept anyway.”
“Sounds frustrating,” Hawk commented.
