Chapter Three

Noah

I wake up early, as usual. Some habits die hard, like the one drilled into me by the military: rise with the sun, ready to go. But this morning, I'm restless. I can't get her out of my head. Fiona.

I slide out of the bed in the motel room that feels like it's straight out of a time capsule from the seventies. The sheets are thin, the walls are yellowed, and the air smells faintly of mildew and stale smoke. None of that bothers me, though. What bothers me is the way I can't stop thinking about a girl half my age. Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with me?

After a quick shower, I throw on my worn jeans and my leather jacket. I could've kept the jacket off—it's not cold out—but it's like a second skin. Plus, it gives me something to do with my hands, stuffing them in the pockets when I need to stop fidgeting.

I head down to the motel office. I tell myself it's just for the coffee, but we both know that's bullshit. I'm hoping Fiona's working the desk. When I step inside, though, it's not her. Just some older woman with a face like she's been sucking on lemons her whole life. No smile, no warmth—just a blank stare when I ask about the coffee.

"It's complimentary," she grunts. No shit.

I pour myself a cup of the lukewarm sludge they call coffee. It's terrible, but I sip it anyway. I don't see Fiona anywhere, and it irritates me more than it should. I know she's probably off-duty, sleeping or something, but damn it, I hoped to see her.

I take my time drinking that disgusting excuse for coffee, hoping she might pop in or something. When it's clear she won't, I head out. The bike's in the shop still, so I'm stuck here. And as much as I like the freedom of the road, today I don't mind being grounded. As long as she's around.

The day drags on. I go for a walk, try to clear my head, but the more I walk, the more it feels like I'm being pulled back to that damn office. By mid-afternoon, I'm making my second trip. Maybe Fiona switched shifts or something. I don't know. I just want to see her.

But nope. Same sour-faced lady behind the counter. I grab another cup of coffee, wincing at the taste. At this point, I might as well be drinking it just for an excuse to come here. I head out again, grumbling under my breath. I don't get it—this is not like me. I don't hang around places like this for long, and I sure as hell don't let some girl mess with my head like this.

Still, it's not like I can shake her. Those green eyes, the way she smiled at me last night—it's burned into my brain. I never saw her coming, never had any woman take up space in my head like this before. And I'm starting to think it's more than just lust.

By the time the sun's starting to set, I'm back at the office for the third time today. If she's not here this time, I'll give it a rest, I swear. But then the door chimes as I walk in, and there she is. Fiona. And fuck me, she looks even better than I remember.

Her hair's pulled back, her lips part into a smile when she sees me, and just like that, the knot in my chest loosens. I hadn't even realized it was there.

"Hey, Noah," she says, her voice soft but playful. "Back again for more of that gourmet coffee?"

I grin, shrugging. "What can I say? It's the highlight of the day."

She laughs, and it's like a shot of adrenaline straight to my heart. Goddamn, I'm in trouble. "Graveyard shift tonight?" I ask, trying to keep it casual, but I'm already thinking about how I don't want this conversation to end.

"Yep," she says, leaning on the counter, looking at me with those green eyes. "And you?"

"Figured I'd keep you company," I say, surprising even myself. "If you're not expecting too much excitement around here."

She raises an eyebrow, then looks at the empty lobby. "Excitement? At this time of night? I'm lucky if anyone walks in."

"So, I guess you wouldn't mind a little company then."

She bites her lip, thinking for a second, then gives me a grin. "There's a deck of cards in the employee lounge. And we can see the front office from there, so I won't get in trouble if someone shows up."

A card game with her? I'm down. "Lead the way," I say, trying to sound cool even though my blood's pumping faster than it should be.

We head to the back, and the employee lounge is as shitty as I expect. Peeling paint, a few mismatched chairs, and an old, flickering monitor showing the empty front office. But there's a small table, perfect for cards. Fiona grabs the deck and shuffles like she's done it a thousand times before.

"You any good?" I ask, settling across from her.

"Good enough to kick your ass," she says with a wink.

"Oh yeah? Let's see."

We start playing, and the banter comes easy. It's weird—usually, I don't let people in. I keep shit close to the vest, but with Fiona, it's different. I want her to know me, and I want to know her.

After a few hands, I can't stop myself from staring at her. The way she laughs when she beats me, the way her fingers brush the cards, her lips pursed in concentration. It's driving me insane.

Somewhere along the way, we stop caring about the game. Our conversation slows, and the air between us gets thicker. I don't know who moves first—maybe it's me, maybe it's her—but before I know it, I'm leaning across the table, and she's meeting me halfway.

And then we're kissing.

It's soft at first, testing the waters, but it doesn't stay that way for long. I'm not used to taking it slow. I'm used to kissing like I'm claiming someone, making them mine. But with Fiona, I'm hesitant. Like I don't want to scare her off, but I want her, and I want her now.

She's right there with me, her lips parting, her hands moving to my jacket. I deepen the kiss, and she lets out this little gasp that shoots straight through me, making me want to throw caution out the window.

But just when things start heating up, as I'm sliding my hands up her thighs, aiming for that spot between them that calls to me like a siren, she pulls back, her cheeks flushed, looking down at the table. "Noah," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "I've never…"

It takes me a second to get what she's saying. And when I do, I feel like an idiot. She's inexperienced. Of course, she is. She's what, maybe twenty-one, for fuck's sake, and here I am, a forty-year-old biker, ready to throw her onto the break room table.

She looks embarrassed, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. "I've never, you know, done this before."

I could go for it anyway. Hell, I've done it a hundred times before. Hooked up with someone and left the next morning without looking back. But with her? I can't. I can't do that to her.

Instead, I cup her face in my hands and kiss her again, slower this time, softer. "It's alright," I murmur against her lips. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

She looks up at me, her eyes wide and vulnerable, and for a second, I forget who I am. I forget that I don't do relationships, that I don't stick around. All I can think about is how much I want to protect her, how much I want to stay.

"I promise that isn't a problem," I tell her, consciously warming my tone. "I can take the lead and take care of you. We don't even have to have sex."

"Really?" she murmurs, turning her face back toward me. Her eyes are wide and trusting. There's a hint of fear there, but excitement is more prevalent.

"Of course," I reply, reaching across the desk and grabbing her hand. I bring it up to my mouth and press a gentle kiss to her palm. "You can trust me."

"Okay," she whispers, standing up. "Okay."

"Yeah?" I say, grinning as I kiss her across the desk.

"Yes," she replies when we break apart.

"Is there somewhere a little more private than here?" I ask, tilting my head. "Or should I take you to my room?"

"There's a security room," she tells me, grabbing a keyring from her desk and gesturing for me to follow her.

I stand behind her, waiting as patiently as I can as she unlocks the door. Then, as soon as she pushes it in, I grab her wrist and drag her through the door. I push her against the door, drawing a gasp from her. Then, I press our mouths together, finally kissing her.