10
“I’ve never had this before,” Willow murmurs, eyeing the spiced chicken and rice. “It smells good though.”
She’s not lying, my whole house smells delicious.
“I made half of it without chili,” he says, then looks at me, a dare in his eyes. “And half of it with chili.”
Guess he didn’t forget about that one.
“Can’t wait,” I say, bringing a bottle of apple juice and placing it on the center of the table with four cups. “Do you want a beer?”
He nods, and I head to the fridge and pull two out. We all start to eat, and as my mouth starts to burn, I pretend it’s absolutely fine. I don’t mind a bit of burn, in fact I enjoy spicy food, but he must have put a whole damn packet of chili into it. It’s tasty though, very much so, and he definitely nailed the meal.
“How is it?” he asks me, chewing his own mouthful.
“Amazing,” I tell him honestly. “In case you want to show off some more, I have plenty of other meals I’d love someone else to make for me.”
His smile is devious, slow spreading, and knowing. “I guess I’ll be back here tomorrow night. Put in your order.”
“Tomorrow?” I ask, coughing as another bout of spice hits me. “That’s awfully soon, don’t you think?”
“No,” he replies a little too cheerfully. “You have to eat, and I don’t like the thought of you having to cook.”
“I’ve been doing that my whole life, I’m sure I’ll survive another solo meal,” I reply in a dry tone.
“That was before you met me.”
Wait, what?
I’ve never met someone so fucking bossy, demanding, and presumptuous in my entire life.
“Don’t you have to work?” I ask him, arching my brow.
“I’m flexible. They need me, they’ll call. And if I have any business to handle, that will get done before I come here for the sleepover.”
“Sleepover?” I ask, eyes going wide. “You can’t be serious.”
I clear my throat, remembering we have an audience and I shouldn’t be saying shit like that in front of his kids. “What I mean to say is, thanks for the offer, but I have plans tomorrow night.”
“What plans?” he asks, cracking open his beer.
“Dinner with my best friend,” I straight-out lie. “So you see, this little rendezvous will have to happen another night.”
The fact that I’m not telling him to fuck off speaks wonders. I’ve done worse to men who’ve pushed me less than he has. I clearly need to see a shrink about my choice in men and why I seem to develop a soft spot for certain people.
“You just got rejected, Dad,” Willow snickers, and I feel terrible they witnessed our immature display.
Feeling the need to defend him for some reason, I say, “I have plans with a friend, Willow. Trust me, I doubt anyone would reject your father.”
“I know, my mom says he’s a ladies’ man,” Westley adds absently. I don’t miss the way Knuckles’s lips tighten at her comment, and I wonder what the deal is there. Is he on good terms with their mother? It seemed that way when she rang him, but I guess it might not always be easy to co-parent with an ex. Westley tries to pour herself some juice but struggles with the big bottle, so I reach over to help her. When I’m done, I can feel Knuckles’s eyes on me, but I don’t look back at him.
“Did I tell you that Celina is a journalist, Willow?” he asks his daughter.
“What? No way!” Willow beams, eyes wide. “I want to be a journalist or a reporter when I’m older! That’s always been my career goal. You have to tell me everything, Celina, like how you got your job and stuff like that. When I have my work experience can I come to your work?”
I open my mouth, then close it, and turn and give Knuckles a chiding look. He knew Willow would love this and want to know everything. This just gave him another in.
The man plays dirty.
And the fucked-up thing is, the way her eyes just lit up at the thought of doing what I do . . . I love that. I live for it. She reminds me of me when I was younger, so determined to make her mark on the world.
“What do you want to know?” I ask, and the two of us share a smile, from one ambitious girl to another.
It looks like tonight won’t be ending anytime soon, and when I don’t overthink it . . .
I’m okay with that.
“Thank you for having us, Celina,” Willow says, giving me a hug. “Will we see you again?”
I glance at Knuckles over her head. “Ummm. Sure, I mean I’m sure your dad will organize something.”
Westley’s arms are around me the second her sister lets go. “I can’t wait to tell my friends about how pretty you are, and about your dogs and how you live in a mansion.”
“Oh,” I murmur, eyes flaring. “I don’t know about all that, Westley, but I’m glad you had a good time.”
The girls disappear into the car, and I watch them close their doors, until something blocks my view. Or someone.
I lift my gaze and stare into those brown eyes.
“About tomorrow—” he starts.
“I told you, I have plans,” I interject.
“Yeah. How about I take you out for lunch on Monday then? You probably get your break around noon, yeah? We can go to Bravo’s,” he decides, and before I can even reply he cups my chin with his rough hands and kisses me, catching me off guard. That must be why I don’t push him away, right?
Oh fuck.
He tastes like mint and sin, his lips fitting against mine perfectly, his fingers moving to my nape as if to hold me in place, but little does he know I’m not going anywhere. He sucks on my lower lip, biting gently, then deepens the kiss, dipping me back. He ends the kiss, leaving me breathless, my back still arched, relying on his strength to keep me upright.
That was the best kiss I’ve ever had.
And it was in front of his kids.
Shit.
“Monday?” I ask breathlessly, and he chuckles and nods, nuzzling my neck and pressing his lips against the sensitive skin there.
“Monday. Message me what time you have your lunch break,” he murmurs, hands moving to my hips as I straighten, then letting go of me. “Give me your phone so I can put my number in it.”
I grab my phone and hand it to him, watching him closely as he saves his number and gives it back to me, flashes me a smile, and then leaves.
“You’ll never get a seat at Bravo’s with no notice,” I call out as he starts to make his way to his car. I mean sure, I could drop my boss’s name and try to get us a table, but I hate doing that.
“Let me worry about that,” he replies, and then orders me to lock my door.
I wave to him and the girls, and head back inside.
And lock my door.
I scrub my hand down my face and look into Kobe’s big googly eyes. “What have I gotten myself into?”
He tilts his head to the side, probably as confused as I am.
I’m having lunch with a biker by the name of Knuckles on Monday, and I’ve never wanted to fuck someone more in my life.
There, I admitted it.
That’s the first step, right?
I head upstairs to bed, all three dogs sleeping in my room on the floor.
And even in my dreams, the bastard finds me.
I stare at the cursor on the blank screen after deleting the same sentence over and over again. It’s not unusual that I come into work on a Sunday, I kind of like that no one is really around. It’s quiet, and it’s a great place for me to come and think, or to get some extra work done if necessary. Today, however, my mind is going places that I don’t like. I keep thinking about a story I want to write. One that would make my career. One that sheds light on a certain infamous motorcycle club that everyday people can’t help but be fascinated with. I could write such a good fucking headline too.
CURSED RAVENS: GANG OR FAMILY?
I delete the words and sit back in my chair, sighing heavily. And then I do some internet research, just to satisfy my curious mind and find out what the rest of the world thinks they know about the MC.
And then I come up with an idea.
What if I wrote a positive story on the MC? About how they are like a family, a huge one with their love of bikes the common thread. What if I focused on the motorbikes and the lifestyle, and educate the public on the fact that they are so much more than just criminals?
CURSED RAVENS: THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MC
I could turn something negative into something positive.
And I could even make page one in the process.