Page 3 of My Older Biker

"What kind of things were you noticing?"

I don't answer. Can't. Because the answer is everything. The way she moved. The curve of her hips in jeans that fit too well. The soft fullness of her body. The fact that she looked at me sometimes like she was aware I was looking at her.

She sets the mug down, walks closer and stops three feet away.

"Things like the way I look?" she says. "The way I move? Whether I was looking at you the same way you were looking at me?"

"You need to stop."

"Why?"

"Because you're twenty years old and I'm forty and your father is my best friend."

"I know how old I am. I know how old you are. I know who my father is." She takes another step. Close enough now that I can see the rise and fall of her chest. The way her t-shirt clings to her curves. "Are you avoiding me because you don't want me, or because you do?"

I should lie. Should tell her I don't want her. Should make this easy for both of us, but I don't say anything. She sees the answer in the silence. Steps closer and puts her hand flat against my chest. The touch burns through my shirt.

"Tell me you don't want me," she says. "Say it and I'll believe you."

"This is a mistake."

"That's not what I asked."

"Zoe."

"Tell me you don't want me."

I can't. The lie won't come. Not when she's this close. Not when I can see the way her pupils are dilated and the way her breath has gone shallow.

"This is a bad idea," I say.

"Probably."

"Your father would kill me."

"That's his problem."

"I'm twenty years older than you."

"I know how math works."

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"Yes I do." Her hand is still on my chest. Pressing now. Not pushing me away. Anchoring herself. "I've known for a year. And I'm tired of waiting for you to give yourself permission."

"Permission for what?"

"To stop protecting me from yourself."

She's close enough that I feel the heat coming off her skin. Close enough that I see the pulse beating in her throat. Close enough that if I moved six inches I could kiss her.

"If we do this," I say. "We can't take it back."

"Good. I don't want to take it back."

"I'm not going to be what you think I am."

"You mean you're going to be exactly who you are. Rough. Violent when you need to be. Someone who puts the club first sometimes." She doesn't look scared. Looks certain. "I know who you are, Dean. I've been watching you for thirteen years. I'm not naive."