CHAPTER SEVEN DIGITS

Rebel—

When we return to the garage, I set Daisy down and go to unlock the doors. Shoving one up, I turn to see Brayden carrying the tire. “Roll your bike inside.”

Setting the tire on the concrete, he does as I say. It doesn’t take long to swap out the tire, and I enjoy having Brayden here helping me. We’ve got our heads together studying the chain, and I’m finding it’s hard for me to concentrate when he smells so good. I want to jump his bones.

His shoulders are broad, and his biceps are large, but not too large. I hate muscle bound men. I like that he’s tall, like Travis Kelce tall. I’ve got long legs, and I love that I still have to tip my head up to look at him. I love his easy smile and the way the lines around his eyes crinkle when he does. I love the way he seems to take me just as I am, with no need to cut me down for what I do or point out how odd it is for a woman to do this work.

My gaze flicks up to his as I work, and I realize I can barely keep it off him. There’s a joy inside me I haven’t felt in so long. I’m practically giddy.

We finish with the bike, and then talk about changes he wants to make to it, like a new exhaust system and maybe a new seat. He catches his index finger on a sharp piece of his fender, and it slices a small gash. Blood immediately flows.

“Dammit,” he hisses.

“Let me see.” I grab a paper towel and take his hand in mine to examine the cut, then press the towel against it to staunch the flow. “It doesn’t look too deep. I’ve got a first aid kit. Come on.” I lead him to the cabinet and retrieve it, then look in the dirty utility sink. “Um, let’s go upstairs. The sink up there is cleaner, and I’ve got a table to work with.”

I lead him up the narrow stairs to the second-floor storage area that my father converted into an apartment years ago. When I took over, I made some changes, making it more feminine with a new paint job and some girly furniture.

I’m the only one who ever comes up here, and I wish I’d stopped to think before bringing Brayden up. Everything reveals a very personal piece of me—one no one in the club gets to see.

Taking in the room, I can only imagine what Brayden thinks seeing the pale pink walls, the frilly bedding, the plush chair pulled to the makeup vanity draped in beads. Everything in here sparkles from the beaded chandelier to the fur rug.

“Wow,” Brayden says. “It’s quite the explosion of femininity you’ve got going up here.”

I don’t say anything, because I’m embarrassed and sure he thinks it’s insane. I lead him to the bathroom and turn on the faucet. “Here. Run some water over your wound.”

My voice comes out snappier than I intend, and I catch his expression as I move past him to set the kit on the small dining table next to the galley kitchen against one wall. The ceilings are low and the room is dim, even with the lights on.

I dig through and find the antiseptic and butterfly bandages, then grab a bit of gauze to dry his wound. “Come here, and I’ll wrap it up.”

He steps over and eyes the table. “All this isn’t necessary, babe.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. You hurt yourself in my garage. I can’t have you suing me, can I?” I say it jokingly, but I think I just ticked him off.

“I wouldn’t do that, Rebel.”

“Sit.”

He sighs and drops in a chair. “This is a lot about nothing.”

“Hush.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He manages to stay silent for a total of twenty seconds while I work.

“That’s a pretty dress.”

I follow his eyes, glancing behind me. Ah, the little black dress hanging over the tiny closet door. The one I’ve had for over a year but never had the guts to wear… or the place to wear it. “I’ve never worn it.”

“Really? Why not?”

I lift a shoulder, and his gaze settles on me and doesn’t leave. I distract myself, cleaning his wound and taping the butterfly bandage around his finger, noting how long they are and how big his hand is compared to mine. When I finish, I don’t lift my eyes, and he closes his hand around mine.

“Hey.”

I swallow and finally glance up, not sure what I expect to find there, but not the sincere, tenderness on his face.

“Would you wear it if I took you out sometime?”

Hope flares inside me that we might see each other again, and a smile bursts upon my face. “If you want. I’d like that.”

“I’d like it, too.” His gaze shifts to the dress. “Why’s it out? Were you trying it on?”

“Actually, I have this thing to go to tomorrow. It’s a… business thing. I was thinking of wearing it, but I think it might be too fancy.”

“You should wear it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You know that saying, don’t save the champagne only for special occasions or you’ll never drink it?”

“I’ve heard that, yeah.”

“It probably applies to pretty dresses, too. If you save them for a special occasion, you’ll never wear them.”

“Guess so.”

He stands. “I should be going.”

I lead him downstairs, and he rolls his bike outside and sets it on its kickstand. Then he takes my hand and tugs me to him. “Thanks for the help, Rebel.”

“You’re welcome.” My body is flush against his, and I love the way it feels.

“I really do want to take you out. Can I get your number?”

“Will you call?”

“I definitely will call.” He returns that beautiful smile and digs his phone out.

I reel off my number, and he enters the digits into his. My phone rings over on the counter, and he grins.

“Now you’ve got mine.” He slips his cell in his pocket and dips his head to kiss me. There’s no hesitation. No asking permission. No awkwardness. It just happens naturally, and it feels right.

I tilt my head, and our mouths mesh. I taste tequila and salt and smile inside, knowing I’ll never again drink a margarita without thinking of him. If he never calls, if I never see him again, at least I’ll have this kiss. I slip my hand up and cup his neck, and a purr vibrates from his chest, and his tongue slides against mine. I like that he’s not grabby hands; he’s just letting the kiss happen on its own, not pushing for more.

My phone rings on the counter, and we break apart, both glancing over.

“Do you need to get that?”

“Probably. It might be my family. Dad likes to check on me when I work late.”

He nods. “I’ll let you go, then. It was nice meeting you, Rebel.”

“Thank you for dinner.”

He backs up a step, and I lose his touch, our hands falling away. “I’ll call you. That’s a promise.”

I take a step toward the phone, but I don’t want to break eye contact. Eventually, he turns and walks to his bike, and my gaze drops to his perfect ass, looking fantastic in his worn jeans.

My phone is on its fifth ring when I get to it. “Hello.”

“What took you so long to answer?” It’s my father.

“Just finishing up with something. Why?”

“It’s late. Why isn’t the alarm set? Are you still working?”

I dash upstairs because I know Brayden is going to fire his bike up, and I don’t want my father asking who was at the shop. If it’s a biker, he’ll have all kinds of questions. He already hates that I moved in down here.

I get upstairs and close my door before the Harley fires to life. I move to the window, but with the lights from the neon sign I can barely see more than a dark shadow and a headlight racing away. I press my hand to the glass, watching him disappear, wondering if I’ll ever see him again.

“Rebel?”

“Sorry. I’m closing up now. I’ll text you in a minute.”

“The viewing is at noon tomorrow, followed by the procession to the cemetery and the graveside service at 2:00 p.m. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

“See you tomorrow, honey. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Daddy.”

I go downstairs and lock up, shut the lights off, and set the alarm. Then I whistle for Daisy, and she trots upstairs with me. She curls up next to me on the bed, and I stroke her fur and think about the kiss that rocked my world tonight.