Page 28 of Misadventures of a Biker

Devin looked at me like I was nuts. “He was joking.”

Frank laughed and then gestured toward me. “She cool?”

Devin nodded. “She’s good.”

Frank looked right at me. His mouth was twisted into a smirk. “Pretty obvious the only meeting you two are having is a meeting of your uglies.”

“Our uglies?”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “You two are bumping uglies when we go. Good thing, I suppose. You look like you need it.”

He knew? My face flushed hot. “I look like I need it? What does that mean?”

He glanced at Devin.

“Don’t look at me,” Devin said with a laugh.

“You look uptight,” Frank said apologetically.

I cocked my hip. “Uptight?”

He patted my shoulder with his massive hand. “Just a little.”

How did Frank know we planned to “bump uglies”? What about me looked uptight? Did others see me that way? Red-faced, I stared, wondering about the answers. As I stood before them, looking uptight, the two men shared a light laugh at my expense.

A moment later, Frank and Shane bid their farewells, agreeing to return in a few days to start the project. As their truck drove away, I realized what was likely going to happen as soon as the door was closed. In the thirty minutes that we’d wasted, I’d floated back down to earth from the euphoric cloud I’d been perched on. Uncertain of how—or if—to proceed along the same lines as before, I pulled the door closed and checked my nails.

“Grab your purse,” Devin said. “Let’s go.”

My eyes shot from an errant cuticle to him. “Excuse me?”

He gestured to my purse. “Let’s go.”

“Go? I thought. But. We were,” I stammered. “We were going to—”

He shook his head lightly. “Changed my mind.”

Sixty seconds earlier, I was undecided. Now I wanted to fuck.

I gave him a condescending look. “Changed your mind?”

He brushed past me. “Yep.”

I glared as he sauntered toward the kitchen. When he was out of my eyesight, I rushed after him. I stormed into the doorway and put my hands on my hips.

“What do you mean you changed your mind?” I spat. “What is your deal?”

He opened the refrigerator and removed a bottle of wine.

“You brought wine?” I asked.

He dropped it into his weathered leather satchel and turned around. “I did.”

It was Friday night. A few glasses of wine and a mile of dick eight inches at a time would be a perfect night.

“What’s different between now and thirty minutes ago?” I asked, nearly pleading with him to reconsider.

He stepped to three feet in front of me and gazed into my hopeful eyes. “Look. I came here to do two things. One, I wanted to get a good price on the flooring. Two, I wanted to grudge-fuck you until you couldn’t walk out of here. I got the first one—”