Page 6 of Tracked By Sasquatch

Tomorrow would be her first step to digging out the root of that self-loathing. She just hoped when she returned, her brother would forgive her for sneaking away to handle it herself. If she had her way, she could come back and make a life for herself in Utah.

She wouldn’t hold her breath though.

“Girlfriend, if you don’t stop staring off into space and walk your ass over there, I’m gonna shoot my shot. And well, I don’t miss,” Scott hissed in her ear as he slipped around her carrying a case of beer.

Devin mentally put all the baggage she’d been rifling through into a box, then duct taped the fuck out of it and tried to look at Sasquatch through Scott’s perspective.

First thing she noted was how borderline painfully handsome he had become. He’d been handsome when she’d first met him years ago, but he’d aged like fine whiskey.

Rugged but with kind eyes. Soft brown that she’d seen go hard when he felt intense emotion. Sexy barely there laugh lines at the corners of those eyes. His full kissable lips were framed by a dark beard and mustache. Damn, there was a lot more to him than just being a Bastard, her brother’s brother, the club enforcer, the man was downright lickable.

For the first time since that rat fink motherfucker ass chigger chained her to the wall to force her compliance, her libido entered the conversation.

Places on her body were tingling that she thought were dead. Hell, she’d been surrounded by hot bikers for months, including Sasquatch, and nothing, nada. Even when there were visitors from other clubs and they weren’t warned off of her the way the Provo chapter had been. They’d tried, oh how they’d tried. Ran the best lines, spun their best game and not even a spark of desire fired inside her.

But the way Squatch was looking at her had something pulsing deep in the epicenter of her desire.

Devin smiled as she walked his way. Noting how tuggable his longer hair looked and for a moment she wanted to touch it, just to know if it was as soft as it looked.

When she sat down, he slid her beer toward her, tapped his bottle neck to hers, then took a pull. Swigging a drink of her own, she let her eyes linger on his. The intensity had always caught her off guard. That was something she had noticed before. Everything Sasquatch did or felt seemed to be on steroids, amped up. Extreme, one way or the other.

“Why do you look like Little Timmy just kicked sand in your face and swiped your little yellow dump truck?”

The smile that split his lips at her question was blinding.

“I’d have kicked Little Timmy’s ass six ways to Sunday, then eaten his lunch.” He winked and took another swig. “But I would’ve shared his pudding pack with the prettiest girl on the playground. Then she’d hold my hand as we went into third period.”

Devin couldn’t help but laugh. He’d turned her assessment of his sour look into a whole imaginary elementary school victory for himself.

Lord deliver me from alpha men.

“Wow. So you were that much of a ladies’ man, even in first grade?”

He winked and she felt the flutter in her stomach, only tenfold. “Never underestimate the power of a pudding cup.”

Another laugh bubbled up from deep inside her. She hated that she was just now seeing Squatch, really seeing him and of course it was right before she was about to leave without telling anyone.

A slight millisecond of panic reared its head. Why had she brought him here of all places?

Fuck.

Oh, that’s right, it’s probably the whole self-sabotage thing she was trying to medal in, gold to be exact. She couldn’t seem to help herself.

I’ll take self-punishment for five hundred, Alex.

But who was she kidding, he was warned away as much as all the guys were. He’d never cop to being in a bar drinking with her, especially if she could convince him to help her wipe away some memories that just wouldn’t die.

And something told her that his touch could do just that.

“I see your reputation is well earned. The candy stripers haven’t shut up about your… technique.”

“Told you. It’s the pudding cups.”

“You give them pudding cups? Funny, they’ve never once mentioned that. Your dick? Absolutely. Stamina? Ad nauseam. That thing you do with your tongue? Over and over, but pudding? Nope.”

The grin he gave her was downright feral. Like he was the big bad wolf, and she was wearing a red cloak. When he leaned over the table right in her face, his smell washed over her. Spicy with a hint of musk and a touch of smoke and mint.

Damn, he smelled good enough to eat.