Chapter 8 Hayley
EIGHT
HAYLEY
I panicked. Even though I tried to keep my cool on the outside, I felt like raging ocean waters on the inside.
I couldn’t believe I’d left. I still couldn’t believe I’d fled the scene like that.
But something in the pit of my gut told me to.
And that was something I’d listened to my entire life.
When all else failed, my gut never steered me wrong.
Not once.
I looked into the dark green eyes of the man glaring at me through my driver’s side window. I wasn’t sure what to do. He kept motioning for me to roll down my window, and I was hesitant to do so. But he looked mean. Mad. Bad. And I wasn’t sure what he’d be capable of doing to me if I didn’t listen.
Fucking hell, I wished my father was with me to help me through this.
I rolled my window down just as the light turned green. Yet again, cars started honking. The damn mating call of San Diego, it seemed. The man looked down into my lap before his eyes slowly rose up my body, and I felt a flush cover my cheeks.
What the hell was he looking at? And why did he look so pleased with himself?
I debated on flying away again. On pressing down the gas pedal and speeding away.
People swerved around us and shouted all sorts of nonsense I didn’t listen to because my eyes were hooked on this man who kept staring at me from behind his helmet.
I watched his arm move, his leather-coated arm, as it slid into my car.
He breached the threshold of my rolled-down window and wrapped his hand around my steering wheel.
His very large, scarred, callused hand.
“Press the gas. I’ll drive,” he said.
My stomach jumped at the sound of his voice.
A shiver worked its way up my spine. I shook it away, wondering if I should listen.
It would be nothing to press the gas and rip away from him.
To take his damn arm off in the process.
I mean, would anyone care about some beat-up biker?
All I had to do was tell them he was intimidating me or something, right?
No. That was shitty. Running hadn’t worked the first time.
And something told me it wouldn’t work a second time around, either.
I pressed softly down onto the gas, and he drove my vehicle.
He commanded his bike as well as my car and eased us both slowly off to the side of the road.
We pulled into a parking lot, his hand controlling my wheel as well as the steering on his bike.
I watched with wide eyes as I kept my foot on the gas, ready to speed off the second I smelled something fishy about this entire experience.
Like it hadn’t already gotten that way.
I reached my hand over into my purse as he eased us into an abandoned parking lot.
Traffic moved freely and the horns stopped honking.
People stopped cursing at us and continued on with their day like nothing happened.
Like I hadn’t knocked over some biker and run from him only to have him in control of my damn vehicle with his hand.
His hand I couldn’t stop staring at.
I saw the veins running underneath his skin. His tanned, leathery skin. Like the jacket on his body. He had grease underneath his fingernails and tattoos on his knuckles. I couldn’t make out what the black tattoos said. They were old. Worn. Faded with time. Or possibly the sun.
“Off the gas,” he said.
I pulled my foot away from the pedal and smashed on the brake.
I slipped my hand into my purse, pulling out my pepper spray as I put the car in park.
I had no idea who the hell this guy was or what he was capable of.
But I could almost guarantee he was packing.
Men like him always were. At least, that was what my father told me about these kinds of guys.
People who rode with motorcycle gangs like he so obviously did.
That asshole wasn’t putting the barrel of his gun anywhere near me today.
He let go of my steering wheel once I put my car in park.
He moved his arm away from me, away from my body and out of the car.
But his leather brushed against my chest, and I got the smallest whiff of what I could only assume was cologne.
It was musky. Deep. Rich with oak. The slightest brush of his leather against me sent chills throughout my body.
The kind that made their way to my pelvis and warmed my body from head to toe.
My nipples puckered against my bra as I sat there wondering what the hell was about to happen.
I turned my head to face him and took in his form.
He sat there on his bike as he slid his helmet off his head.
His tan skin blended into his brown hair, and those dark green eyes of his captivated me.
The vein on his neck was thick with protrusion, and it fell beneath a black t-shirt.
His legs were long, curled up tightly onto his bike to keep himself and the vehicle steady.
His thighs were strong, and the muscles of his arms bled effortlessly through the leather of his jacket.
And when he turned his torso toward me, I saw the divots of his chest through the tight-ass black shirt he had on.
I was completely derailed by how handsome he was.
“There a problem, officer?” I asked cheekily.
“The hell were you thinking, driving away like that?” he asked.
Whatever playful demeanor had wanted to come out and have a chat tucked itself back in.
I turned my body fully toward him, gazing at him through my window.
He didn’t seem as intimidating as he once had.
Even though I clearly saw the gun on his hip, he made no move to reach for it.
He didn’t even poise himself to quickly grab at it if I pissed him off.
Maybe playing dumb would work.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
His face fell and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
“Why did you drive off after hitting me?” he asked.
“I didn’t realize I’d hit you.”
He pointed. “I’d say the dried blood on your forehead tells otherwise.”
Shit. I forgot about that. Well, at least I didn’t have a concussion.
At all. If it was that easy to fucking forget about.
I lifted my fingertips and felt the dried blood.
I winced at the pain as my skin slid across it.
Oh, it was tender. That would leave a very nice bruise to explain to my father later.
What the hell was I going to tell him?
“I’m not buying it. I know you’re the one that hit me. So, why the hell did you drive off?” the man asked.
My eyes slowly fell down his frame again.
I used a beat of pause as a last chance at admiration because the man was very good looking.
Tight jeans. Tight shirt. Leather that felt good against my skin.
I’d always loved the feel of leather. I owned a pair of leather pants back in college, and they were my fucking favorite.
I eventually got too big for them, but hell. I still had them in my drawer for one of these days when I decided to finally drop the twenty pounds I needed to drop.
“Well, do you want me to call the cops then? Have them sort this accident out?” I asked.
His glare hardened on me. “No. I don’t want to deal with the cops.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“So, what are we going to do about this predicament?”
“I don’t know. I’m not versed in the law. That’s what the police are for,” I said coyly.
I held his eyes, and he held mine. Then, his anger broke. I watched his eyes flicker to my forehead, and I could have sworn worry crossed his stare. Worry? From a biker? Hardly. Maybe I was a bit concussed. Seeing things. Imagining things that weren’t there.
Then, he smiled.
He smiled, and his green eyes lit up. He smiled, and the darkness was chased away.
He smiled, and my gut clenched, because he had the most fantastic smile on this planet.
His strong jawline made those gleaming white teeth more powerful.
The wind kicked up and tousled his hair, giving him a rather boyish look.
I stared up at him as the scowl on my own face lightened, and I watched his eyes drop down my body one last time.
Oh, I liked it when he looked at me that way.
“I don’t think anything’s wrong with my bike. Anything wrong with your car?” he asked.
“Nope. Drives good,” I said.
“I should hope so. You did a pretty good job getting away until you stopped for food.”
I face fell. “Wait, you saw me eating?”
“I did.”
I felt embarrassed in that moment. I wanted to roll up the window and cower in shame. Sure, I wasn’t ashamed of my curves. But I had ways of offsetting my size with men. Like, eating fucking french fries with a damn fork so I didn’t look like a rabid beast.
“Just in case, though, I should probably grab your number,” he said.
I sighed as my hand slipped into my purse.
I felt around for my wallet before diving my fingertips in there, searching for my new business card.
They’d come in the day I moved. The day before I packed up and hauled ass from Los Angeles to San Diego.
I pulled the card out and placed it between my fingers and then held my hand just shy of the window’s opening.
“Thank you,” the man said.
“Call me if something happens to your bike,” I said.
“Or if I want to get french fries with someone.”
My head whipped over to him, and I found him grinning at me.
“What?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I like fries. They’re my favorite. Though, you should’ve gotten two large ones instead of one. So, your fries make it all the way through your drink.”
I paused. “What?”
“I’ve always been a sucker for sweet and salty. Try it next time. Two large fries instead of one, extra salt, and a large soda.”
“I… usually don’t get extra salt if it’s a large.”
He chuckled as he licked his lips, and my nipples puckered harder. Was he… flirting with me? It’d been so long since someone had, I wasn’t sure if it was happening or not.
Then, he winked at me. I saw that. I saw that playful little wink of his, and that solidified it for me. He was flirting with me.
And I liked it.
“I’ll call you if something happens to my bike,” the man said.
“Or if you want someone to eat fries with you,” I said, grinning.
“I knew you were a smart one, catching on like that.”
“Might take me a second, but I always learn.”
“You enjoy learning new tricks?”
My skin puckered at his voice.
“Depends on the trick,” I said.
He nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Then, he slipped my card into his pocket and used his feet to backpedal his way out of the parking space.