Page 16 of Dangerous Attraction

"Says the woman who punched me when I ordered her the wrong milkshake one time," he retorts, pushing the tray of chicken tenders toward Emery.

"Completely reasonable," she mutters, nudging me as a smirk tugs at her lips. "No one in their right mind would want a strawberry milkshake."

We each dig into our food, occasionally throwing verbal jabs at each other, and thankfully keeping the topic of conversation away from me and my disaster of a life.

I plan on telling Emery I'm working at the clubhouse at some point, but for now, it can wait.

Chapter Six

Trix

Today is off to an awful start, and I'm hoping that something will happen to change it around.

It's still the morning, so there's hope, I guess.

By the time I got home from the diner last night, I was exhausted, and after making the bed, I collapsed onto it and passed out; therefore, I forgot to set an alarm.

Thankfully, I didn't wake up too late, but it was much later than I'd planned, which then caused me to run around the trailer like a headless chicken, rushing to get ready.

Because I was in a hurry to leave, I tripped down the wooden steps when I finally emerged from my trailer and scraped the skin off my knee.

Then, after running through the trailer park while calling a cab—hoping to find a car to get me to work on time—I was informed no one would drive me to that location and the operator promptly hung up.

So now, here I am, walking toward the clubhouse, sweat trickling down my back with my battered handbag held over my head, shielding my face from the sun beaming down on me.

Checking the time on my phone, I grumble, then push myself to walk faster, even though I'm already panting like a dog and in desperate need of some water.

Honey told me to be at the clubhouse by eight so I could clean everything down before the members started ambling about for the day.

It's five minutes to eight, and I highly doubt I'm going to make it on time.

I wipe at the sweat covering my forehead, and sigh in relief when I see the turn which leads to the clubhouse.

Surely being slightly late won't be an issue?

I can't imagine these men waking up and immediately wanting to start drinking at the bar.

Although I have no idea what members of a motorcycle club do with their day…

Fuck.

Removing my bag from my head, I sling it over my shoulder, then use the band on my wrist to twist my hair into a high bun before jogging down the lane.

A slight breeze flows past me, cooling my heated skin as I move under the shaded cover of the trees surrounding me, and that's when the wooden house starts to come into view.

Rifling through my bag, I grab the bottle of water I shoved in there this morning, unscrew the cap, and guzzle half of it down as I slow my pace to a brisk walk.

Checking the time again, I see that it's now eight o'clock, and I'm close enough to the house not to have to worry about being exceedingly late on my first day.

I can't afford to make a bad impression this early on.

Jogging the rest of the way, I reach the wooden porch steps and bend over, hands on my knees, while I greedily gulp down as much air as I can.

"Well, aren't you a hot mess?"

A small, almost silent scream makes its way past my lips as I jump, then whirl around to face the man who just startled me.

His long blond hair is unruly, curling over his forehead and falling in front of his crystal blue eyes.