Chapter Three
Addison stood in the center of the living room at the rental house, peering around.
There had definitely been enhancement tools used for the advertising photos.
She’d done her research and was able to find the only rental property for fifty miles.
It was as close to Killcreek as she could get without actually staying in the town.
There was a motel off the highway, but since her stay was a month long, she was more comfortable with a house. Well, I was.
The description was accurate. Two bedrooms, one and a half bathrooms, and a living room with an eat-in-kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder to the next room. The appliances were dated, and the linoleum was reminiscent of her grandparents’ house. But by all accounts, it was clean. I hope.
It had taken her less than thirty minutes to get unpacked and check out her new living space for the next month.
It was a little late to go grocery shopping, and she found a bar only ten minutes away.
She would’ve preferred an actual eatery, but at nine o’clock everything in the small town of Birch was closed.
She grabbed her bag from the hook near the front door and her phone from the table. She hadn’t gotten any calls, only a few notifications that she chose to ignore.
Addison didn’t have any type of plan when it came to contacting Cleo.
She’d figured she’d fly by the seat of her pants and figure it out when she got here.
Now, here she was with zero plans. They’d only spoken a few times on the phone.
Cleo always initiated them. It was Addison’s way of allowing her to call the shots when it came to their relationship.
Pfft…now look at me. She tapped the screen and pulled up Cleo’s contact information.
Technically, she didn’t have to tell Cleo she was there.
Not yet. Addison could ask leading questions and get a read on Cleo’s thoughts about meeting.
That’s how she’d approach it. Addison held the phone up to her ear, listening to the rings.
A nervous energy built in her belly. She licked her lips and blew out a breath.
Voicemail. Secretly, it was what she’d been hoping for. Addison needed a little more time to prepare herself for the conversation.
“Hi Cleo, it’s Addison.” She paused, driving her hand through her hair. “I” —she cleared her throat— “I’m sorry I missed you. Give me a call when you can. If you want to. No pressure.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Why was she so damn nervous? Because you’re about to ambush this woman.
“Anyway, hope to hear from you soon. Bye!” Addison tapped the screen and dragged her hand down her face.
“What the hell am I doing?” she mumbled.
Doubt was coming in hard and fast. Her sister’s words were playing over in her head.
This wasn’t something that should be sprung upon Cleo.
Maybe this had been a mistake. A monumental one.
But she could still back out. Cleo had no idea how close she was.
Addison had time to change her mind and head home without Cleo knowing.
But that was the last thing she wanted to do. She was so close. Not only to Cleo but Knox’s home. A place, according to his sister, he loved. Cleo once told her Knox said he’d never imagined himself happy in a rural area and so far from the city. But living in Killcreek, he’d finally found a home.
Her thoughts of Knox were interrupted.
Her stomach growled. “Alright, alright.” Maybe with food in her belly, she’d be able to think rationally and thoroughly.
She followed the GPS to the bar ten minutes away.
From the outside it didn’t look like anything more than a dive bar.
Inside proved it was just that. There were a handful of older guys crowded in one corner of the bar.
She sat at the opposite end. The bar was old and dated.
The service was much what she’d expected.
A crabby, less than welcoming, balding, potbellied older man who acted inconvenienced when she ordered a burger, fries, and a beer.
Addison randomly checked her phone. Oddly she was relieved she hadn’t heard from Cleo. Her mind was going in a million different directions. This had felt so right weeks ago, days ago, hours ago. But now that she was here?
She popped a French fry in her mouth and reached for her beer. It was slightly stale, but she wouldn’t be voicing her dissatisfaction to the bartender. She lifted the mug and glanced over the rim when a few men walked in. She slowly sipped her beer, eyeing the group of three.
Oh shit! Addison put her mug down and ducked her head. It might’ve been a ridiculous response. They didn’t know her. But I know them. Kind of.
Cleo hadn’t mentioned much about Knox’s motorcycle club.
Only the name. Addison had done hours of research trying to find any and all information, but she’d come up short on every lead.
There were a few posts people had made but no pictures.
Except a few of their club insignia. The same one the men across the bar were wearing on the back of their vests.
She peeked up and read the name of the club. Killcreek Drifters MC.
Knox’s club.
Ironically, her heart started to pump at rapid speed. Was it her nervousness or something deeper? Does his heart know his family is close? That thought had her emotions running high.
“About fucking time.”
Addison jerked her gaze to the back of the bar. Another man was walking toward the bikers.
Oh, hello!
He was tall with thick, dark hair peppered with silver at his temples.
She’d never been into the silver fox trend, but she was fully appreciating it across the room.
And those tattoos. It was another thing she hadn’t found profoundly attractive about a man, but this guy?
The art trailing down his muscular arms had her eyes lingering over him longer than appropriate.
He was facing her with two bikers in front of him. But she could see him directly between the two men. Unlike the other guys, he wasn’t in Knox’s club. He didn’t have the club vest like the others. But they seemed to know each other. A friend of the club? I wonder if he knew Knox.
He nodded to one of the guys and cupped his mouth, dragging his hand over his jaw.
Addison was now zoned in on another surprisingly, sexy attribute.
Her usual type were clean-shaven guys with the occasional five o’clock shadow.
In fact, in all her years, she hadn’t kissed a man with a mustache and hadn’t thought about it.
Until now. What should’ve been an ode to the 1970s porn star era, a creepy-esque tribute and complete turn-off, had the polar opposite effect on her.
She licked her top lip, wondering if it would be coarse or soft against her mouth.
Without even realizing, she gave in to a smile, shifting her gaze to his neck.
Another tattoo? What should have been red flag number two only intensified her desire.
Who the hell am I? The rough and brutish persona should’ve had her looking away, but she couldn’t help herself.
It had been a long time since she’d been with a guy.
It was a choice. But now, she was acutely reminded of what she’d been missing.
I bet his hands are calloused and rough.
The men she’d dated in the past mostly worked office jobs.
No grease under their nails, no scabs on their hands.
She’d even dated a guy who’d enjoyed getting manicures together.
Addison lowered her eyes to his hands. This man has never seen the inside of a nail salon.
Her gaze trailed up his arm, once again appreciating the tattoos and bulging muscles.
But nothing was more appealing than his face.
Addison glanced up for one last look and froze for a second.
His eyes were no longer on the men in front of him.
They were trained on her. Dark brown eyes, thick brows dipping slightly to form a line between them.
Dammit! She quickly darted her gaze around the room in the opposite direction.
She fixated on the bar signs for a good while.
When an acceptable time had passed, she slyly looked back over at the men.
They were stationed in the same position and sex-stache was still holding court.
Without any warning, his eyes shifted to her.
She gasped and looked down at her half-eaten burger.
It was as if he sensed she was staring at him.
For the next ten minutes, Addison resisted the urge to look again.
The front door opened and a woman walked in, giving her a welcome distraction.
She didn’t seem to be in a rush until she glanced up from her phone.
She gave a sultry smile, making a beeline for the bikers and her newest obsession.
Addison slowly followed her every move, noticing her linger in front of sex-stache.
But Addison refused to look at him. It was probably his girlfriend.
As the woman walked toward the back, Addison grabbed her beer, taking a sip and watching her.
Long dark hair fell over her back in waves down to her perfectly rounded ass.
I could do a hundred squats a day for the rest of my life and still not have an ass like that.
When the woman glanced back at the bikers, Addison expected to see all their attention on her.
Who wouldn’t look? Hell, I’m looking. Instead, she came into direct contact with sex-stache, and he was staring, but not at the woman.
Instead of looking away, Addison was caught in a trance. Men gawked at women all the time. Maybe this was her way of taking a stand and giving him a taste of their own medicine. Or maybe I like looking at him. She gave in to a smile, and surprisingly, the corner of his mouth curled.
It was a fleeting moment.