CHAPTER THREE

Danielle

I bit my lip. “Will you please let me by? You’re making me nervous and all I want to do is call someone to pick me up and take me home.”

“I’ll take you home,” Booker said as he walked back inside, a scowl on his face directed at “big biker man” in front of me. “And get the hell away from her, Mack. You can see she’s freaked.”

“Did she tell you her brother’s a cop?” Mack demanded.

“Detective, actually,” I corrected and then dropped my head. I needed to shut the hell up.

“Move the hell away from her,” Booker repeated. I took a minute to look at him and his expression was a little scary. He gave his friend a look like he would kill him if he didn’t do as he said. Instead of making me nervous, it made me feel protected. Another clear indication there was something inherently wrong with me.

Mack grinned, raising his hands in surrender as he stepped away from me. I skittered around the desk and back out in the open, keeping my purse in front of me… for what I’m not sure. I just felt a little protected somehow.

“Come on. I’ll take you home,” Booker said.

“No, it’s okay. If you can just call me a cab, it’ll be fine.”

Booker shook his head. “We’re closed, darlin’, and it’ll take a while for a taxi, so let me just take you home.”

I swallowed.

“What?” he asked.

I glanced at Mack and then back at Booker. “Um… aren’t bikes really dangerous?”

Booker seemed to share another secret look with Mack before they both burst out laughing.

I pulled my purse closer. “Well, if you’re going to stand there and laugh at me, then I definitely want to call a cab.”

Apparently, I’m freaking hilarious when I’m scared out of my ever-blessed mind, because Mack laughed harder.

“I’ve got my truck,” Booker said, once he’d sobered.

“With or without a shovel and a tarp in the back?”

Booker frowned. “What?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” I figured if he was going to murder me there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot I could do about it at this point. “Yes, a ride home would be much appreciated.”

Booker nodded and waved his hand toward the roll-up door.

“Nice to meet you,” I said to Mack, and headed outside.

“You too, babe,” Mack said to my back.

Booker led me to his Ford F-150, and I turned to face him. “Can I borrow your phone please?”

“What?”

“Your phone. May I borrow it for a second?”

He reached into his pocket and handed it to me. “Knock yourself out.”

I stepped in front of the truck and took a photo of it, along with the license plate, texting the photos to Kim so she’d know who was driving me home and when I was leaving. At least if he did murder me, they’d be able to track down my killer.

“Thanks,” I said, and handed the phone back to him.

He smiled his sexy smile again and pulled open my door. I wasn’t expecting his gallantry as he waited for me to climb inside, but I covered my surprise. I didn’t realize badass biker men did that kind of thing.

Booker climbed in beside me and started the engine while I buckled up. He didn’t say anything as he guided the truck away from Arbor Lodge and I took a moment to take in his ride. It was new with all the bells and whistles, so to speak. Leather seats, wood inlay, and a kick-ass stereo system… at least it looked like a kick-ass stereo system. It was currently off.

About ten minutes passed and I had about all the silence I could handle. “Your real name’s not Booker, is it?” He glanced at me and shook his head before focusing on the road again. “Are you going to tell me your real name?”

“Austin Carver.”

“Oh,” I said, unable to hide my surprise.

He smiled. “Not what you were expecting?”

“Not really, no. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice name. Sweet sounding, but I guess I expected you to be Maverick or something like that.”

“Maverick?”

“What’s wrong with Maverick?”

“Only a pussy would ever go by Maverick.”

“What if that’s the name his parents gave him?” I challenged.

“Then, if he weren’t a pussy, he’d change it.”

I bit back a smile. “I won’t tell Maverick’s mom you said that.”

“You know a Maverick?” he asked.

I nodded. “He’s one of my kids. I teach kindergarten.”

“Fuck me. Of course you do,” he grumbled, and pulled onto the freeway.

I gathered my purse close to me again. For some reason, the fact he didn’t seem to like my choice of employment bothered me. It shouldn’t. He didn’t know me, and he was probably a criminal for Pete’s sake, but I was the one who felt embarrassed.

“What’s your group’s name?” I soldiered on, my inability to stay silent when I was nervous working against me.

“My group?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Your club. Whatever.”

He studied the road again. “Dogs of Fire.”

“Why did you pick that?” I asked.

“I didn’t.”

“Why did your group… I mean, club, pick that?”

Booker shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“You don’t know why they picked it?” I studied his profile and saw his jaw lock. “Sorry, not my business.”

He neither agreed nor disagreed.

“Do you need my address?” I was unbelievably desperate for conversation, apparently.

“I have it.”

“Right,” I mumbled. Of course he did. I’d written it down for him. I studied him again. God, he was beautiful. I licked my lips and focused back on the road. “So, do you work at Big Ernie’s?”

“Sometimes.”

“So, it’s not your regular job?”

“No.”

“You’re obviously not a mechanic,” I mused.

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re too clean,” I blurted out. “I mean, your hands aren’t caked with black oil and stuff. Sorry. Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

He chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” I demanded.

“You don’t like silence, do you?”

“I like silence… just not when I’m nervous. Crap. Never mind. Ignore me.”

“Babe, I’ve been trying to ignore you since the second I saw your piece of shit car crawling down my street,” he said.

I gasped, my irritation rising to dance with my nerves. “Well, you didn’t need to come and rescue me. I didn’t ask you to.” He chuckled again and I blinked back tears, feeling both angry and insecure at the same time. “I’m sorry if my talking bugged you. I was just trying to be friendly,” I continued, because, seriously, I was obviously a glutton for punishment. “It’s what nice people do when other people help them. They ask them about their life and find common ground in an effort to make conversation.”

“Is that what they do?” he asked.

“Typically, yes,” I whispered, and turned toward the window.

I managed to keep my thoughts to myself as we drove into Hazel Dell and down the private driveway into my apartment complex. Not the greatest part of town, but also not the worst. It was what I could afford and it worked for me now.

“This is me,” I said, pointing to the stairway that led to my second-floor unit.

He nodded. “I’ll walk you up.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I know,” he said, and climbed out of the truck.

Gathering my purse, I pulled my jacket closer around me and pushed open the door. Booker stood on the other side and, again, waited for me before closing the door and walking me upstairs. I unlocked my apartment door and pushed it open, flipping the light on before stepping inside.

“Thank you for everything,” I said.

“I’ll call you tomorrow or Friday about your car.”

Crap, right. I was going to have to pay for my stupid car to be fixed. “Yes. Um, I forgot to ask. Do you take credit cards?”

He frowned, but then nodded his head. “Yeah, babe, we take credit cards.”

I relaxed. “Okay, good. Thank you. Well, it was nice to meet you, Austin. Thanks again for everything.”

He gave me a chin lift in response and turned and sauntered down the stairs. I know for a fact he sauntered, because I leaned out my front door and watched him leave. His long, muscular legs and perfect butt made me sigh, and I realized he probably heard me, so I ducked back inside and closed and locked my door, leaning against it to catch my breath.