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“Aww! You think my eyes are pretty?” She leans into my touch for half a breath before pulling back, acting cutesy with me, flicking her tongue out to lick her top lip. “Nobody’s toying with anyone here, Corbin.” My brain short circuits. Reaching out with lightning speed, my thumb brushes over her bottom lip, and her breath hitches. Nearby, someone clears their throat, and reality crashes back like cold water. I recoil, hauling ass back to my bike like I’m on fire.

I spend the rest of the ride half-hard and fully distracted. Obsessed might be putting it mildly. I track the way her body moves on that bike like it’s the most important intel I’ve ever gathered.

Back at the clubhouse, it’s cleaning duty day. We want to make sure the clubhouse is ready to go for the weekend. Prospects get the shit jobs, and today, that means scrubbing the common room, bathrooms, and the chapel until they shine. I assign Tatum the bar area while I “supervise” from a stool, nursing a beer I barely touch.

She works without complaint. Sweeping, wiping down sticky surfaces, restocking bottles. The other prospects bitch under their breath, mumbling about how this is work for bitches. She stays focused, ignoring everyone, earbuds in, hips swaying slightly to whatever she’s listening to. I can’t stop watching. The curve of her ass when she bends over. The way her hoodie rides up just slightly, playing peekaboo with me in a way I wish it wouldn’t. The focused set of her jaw like she’s proving something with every swipe of the rag. Fuse walks by and claps me on the shoulder. “You’re staring, brother.”

“Fuck off,” I bark at him.

He laughs. “She’s burrowed so deep under your skin it’s not even funny. Just be careful, you know prospects are off-limits.” I wave him off as he heads out.

When she finishes the bar, she moves to the floor on her hands and knees, scrubbing at a stubborn spot. I nearly groan out loud. The image of her like that—on her knees in front of me—is going to live rent-free in my head for weeks. My mind flashes back to yesterday, and I have to look away before I embarrass myself again.

“You good over there, Prospect?” I call out, voice tighter than I want.

She glances back, catching me staring at her. Instead of getting pissed, she smirks. “Enjoying the view, Switch?”

“Get up,” I growl, but there’s no heat in it. Not the angry kind, anyway. She stands, stretching her arms overhead. The movement pulls her hoodie up again, revealing more skin to me than before. I want to map every inch with my tongue.

“Done with the floor,” she reports, stepping closer to where I’m sitting. Close enough that I can smell her sweat mixed with that floral scent. “What’s next, boss?”

I stand, towering over her. The common room is mostly empty now. Backing her into the bar’s countertop, one hand braced beside her on the wood, with the other tangled in her hair, pulling enough to make it sting so she looks up at me. “Next is you remembering who’s in charge of your training,” I say quietly. My eyes drop down to her mouth. “And who’s keeping an eye on you while you’re here.”

Her breath hitches. “I know exactly who that is.” The tension crackles. I want to kiss her. Fuck, I want to lift her onto this bar and see how loud she can get. Instead, I step back, clenching my jaw. I’m not doing that again. Not here. Not while I’m supposed to be in control.

“Chapel needs wiping down. Then you’re done for the day.” She nods, but the look she gives me before walking away is pure heat.

Challenge accepted, Spitfire.

The next few days blur into the same punishing rhythm. It’s been almost a week since I’ve had my hands on her, and it’s slowly driving me insane. Bike maintenance every morning, but since they almost have everyone’s bikes done including their own that will slow up soon. However, she’s embracing her place here, so much that I catch her teaching one of the younger prospects a better way to adjust valves when she thinks I’m not looking. I pretend not to notice how naturally she fits in.

Group rides get longer and harder. I start pairing her with me at the back sometimes, testing her limits. She never falters. On one run through pouring rain, her Ninja fishtails slightly on a slick curve. I’m right there, ready to react, but she corrects smoothly and pushes on. When we get back, soaked to the bone, I hand her a towel and let my hands linger on her longer than necessary while I check her over. “You’re shivering,” I mutter.

“I’m fine.” But she leans into my touch anyway, and it takes everything in me not to pull her closer.

Cleaning shifts turn into more. Stocking the bar fridge while I watch from the doorway. Helping in the kitchen when it’s prospect rotation. Scrubbing the bathrooms without a single complaint. Every task she attacks with the same quiet determination. Every time she catches me watching, that flirty spark jumps between us, reminding me of how easily she made me lose control.

By day six, I’m waking up thinking about finally having her underneath me. I go as far as checking the cameras in the common area just to see if she’s up yet. Memorizing the way she ties her hair back before a workout. Noticing how she winces when her ribs still hurt but powers through anyway. I’m obsessed but can’t really find a fuck to give. My brothers are starting to notice, but once she’s not a prospect, it’ll be fine. I can make it that long. I have to. Lennox gives me disapproving glances when he notices, but he hasn’t said anything yet. So, that’s good.

That night after a long ride, I find her alone in the garage, working on her Ninja under the lights. She’s in a tank top, grease streaked across her cheek, hair messy and wild.

Fuck, she’s hot.

I lean in the doorway, just watching for a minute before she senses me. “Stalking me now, Switch? Isn’t that a bit much even for you?” she asks without turning around.

“Making sure you’re not sabotaging club property.” The answer feels automatic, trying to let her know that just because she's hot and we fool around doesn't mean I don’t still have my guard up.

She laughs softly and finally looks at me. “Still don’t trust me?”

“I trust you more than I should.” The admission slips out. I walk over, crouching beside her as she tightens something on the rear sprocket. “Nicholas really let you work on bikes?” Her hands still for a second.

“He liked useful things. I made myself useful.” The casual way she says it pisses me off. I reach out, tilting her chin so she looks at me. “You’re more than useful, Tatum. You’re…” I brush my thumb over her bottom lip, and her tongue darts out to catch it, eyes fluttering half-closed.

“Corbin,” she whispers. It hits better than any shot of whiskey I’ve ever had. I want her. Badly. But she’s still a prospect. Still Nicholas’s ghost hanging over us. Still the woman who could bring hell to our door.

I pull back with a curse. “Get some sleep. Early start tomorrow.”

She stands, wiping her hands. “You keep cornering me like that, and one of these days, you’re not gonna walk away. I don’t much fucking care for all the reasons you think we can’t.”