The Biker's Rules
I ask hopefully.
“He was handsome,” she says after a beat, staring out the window. “Brown hair. Dark eyes.” She pauses. “His friends were, too. All … very good-looking.”
My jaw tightens. Brown hair. Dark eyes. It’s not our Enrique.
“One guy was tall, smoldering, with black hair, blue eyes,” she says. “He didn’t talk much.”
A beat.
“Another one looked sort of like a young Chris Evans.”
Great, Captain America and his side-kick is after us.