Chapter Eight
“So tell me,” Lucky said as he drew the frosty beer bottle to his lips. “Why the no biker rule? Bad experience?” Man, the ice cold, hoppy flavor was the perfect complement to the spicy salsa and salty chips.
He’d grown up coming to this restaurant. Even worked as a busboy during his misspent youth. Rosita, the matronly owner, had caught him red-handed stealing from a delivery truck. Instead of turning him in, she put him to work. He’d been treated like family ever since.
“Geez,” she said as she ran a fingertip through the salt on the rim of her margarita glass. “Aren’t we supposed to start with simple, get-to-know-you questions? Like, what do you do for a living? Where did you move from?” She brought her index finger to her lips and licked it clean of salt.
Jesus. If she had any idea of the massive hard-on he was hiding under the table, she’d toss that drink in his face and twitch that sexy ass right out the door.
“That would be if we were on a date, angel.” He snagged a chip and sank it into the guacamole. “You made it clear this is not a date. So, I don’t need to stick to any polite date small talk rules.”
Her delicate snort made him chuckle. “Somehow I don’t imagine you do much in the way of politeness on dates. In fact, I bet you don’t even go on dates.”
Well, she had him there. “Point to you,” he said, lifting his beer bottle in toast to her. “But you’re avoiding my question.”
“Okay, cowboy, but you asked, so don’t get offended.”
“Takes quite a lot to offend me, babe.”
The right side of her mouth lifted in a half grin. “I’ll bet it does.” She sighed as though resigned to the fact she couldn’t stall any longer. “My mom is—well, was, I guess.” She cleared her throat and shook her head as though shaking off sadness. “Anyway, for most of my childhood, she was a club…girl with a club near Tallahassee, in Florida. The Red Devils. Ever heard of them?”
Lucky shook his head. There were hundreds of clubs across the country, most weren’t outlaw, but he didn’t know every single club. And for now, he wasn’t sure if she was referring to an outlaw club. “One percenters?” he asked.
She nodded and he believed her. Just the fact that she knew the expression, that one percent of motorcycle clubs were outlaw, was enough to let him know she knew her way around an MC.
“Anyway, I grew up around the club and eventually, when I was about ten, she became an ol’ lady. Was married to the same guy until she passed. The same lying, cheating, scumbag that fucked anything with tits. The younger the better.” Her voice was full of bitterness as she shook her head. “And it wasn’t just him, it was just the culture of the club. No one was faithful. No one gave a shit that the women were treated like garbage. I want no part of that shit. Hence, no bikers.”
He’d love to shoot down her claim, but she was pretty dead on with the culture of most clubs. Sex was easy to come by. Women looking to party flocked to the clubs and to say they were free with their bodies was an understatement. Temptation was rampant. Access was comically easy.
That wasn’t to say Lucky didn’t know plenty of brothers in committed monogamous relationships, but he knew quite a few who weren’t loyal to their ol’ ladies either. “We aren’t all like that.”
She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “We? You saying you’re big into monogamy, Lucky?”
The way she said his name grated on him. Like she was mocking him and his reputation. Unfortunately, her willingness to challenge him and not just say what he wanted to hear for the sake of pleasing him appealed to him in a way he didn’t expect. “No. I’m not saying that. Not at all. Which is why no woman I’m with is ever under the impression that they are in for anything more than a mutually good time. However, I know myself well enough to know that if I did, in fact, make that kind of commitment, I’d be loyal to it. Miserable, but loyal.” He winked.
“Hmm.” She studied him for a moment and he could tell he’d surprised her with his honest answer.
And it was honest. He had no interest in being a one-woman man, however, he also had no interest in hurting anyone. He loved women. What was the point in making one feel worthless? Men who entered serious relationships under false pretenses didn’t impress him. He was blunt and upfront about what he wanted. One or two nights of fun, then done. Kept things clean and easy.
He met her serious gaze across the table and the air hovering between them crackled and popped with electricity. For the first time in his thirty-four years, Lucky wondered what it would be like to spend more than a few torrid nights with one woman. How would it feel to wake up to a familiar face each morning? A face that topped off an incredibly sexy body. A face that also belonged to a sharp, interesting, witty woman. Might be kinda nice.
Thankfully, he was saved from his out of character, runaway thoughts by the pop and sizzle of piping hot fajitas. “Hola, Lucky. It has been too long.” Rosita placed Kori’s fish tacos in front of her before setting his mouthwatering plate on the table. “I do not want to keep you from your pretty lady, but I wanted to say hello.”
“Hi, Rosita. This here is Kori.” He rose and gave Rosita a kiss on her wrinkled cheek.
Kori greeted the older woman and Rosita chatted with them for a few minutes before leaving them to their meals. They fell into easy conversation between bites and before he knew it, they were each sipping a second drink, and plates were being cleared. He found himself enjoying the evening more than any he’d had in quite some time.
A comfortable silence fell between them as they listened to the upbeat Latin music and polished off their drinks. Kori’s attention was on the rapidly filling dance floor and the laughing couples who twirled and salsa danced their way around the room.
She really was gorgeous, but not in the in-your-face way Lucky was used to. She didn’t dress with the sole purpose of attracting a man’s eye, didn’t eye his dick and drop not-so-subtle hints as to her goal for the evening. Nope. She wore a simple red tank top that hugged her full breasts and clung to her curves but kept her cleavage concealed. She enjoyed her food in a way that said she wasn’t trying to impress him with her dainty appetite, and she flat out told him sex of any kind was off the table.
Her eyes sparkled and her foot tapped to the rhythm of the music as she observed the dancers. She probably had no idea, but her body swayed in time with the beat as well. This was one woman who wanted out on that dance floor. Well, it just so happened he could hold his own out there. Rosita made sure of that in the years he’d worked for her. It was the perfect excuse to have her in his arms while maintaining the rules he’d set for the evening.
He could dance with her and keep his hands in appropriate, nonsexual places.
Hopefully.
Lucky held a hand out and cleared his throat. “Okay, I can’t watch you dance in your chair by yourself any longer. Let’s get out there and show ’em how it’s done.”
Kori turned her head and stared down at his hand like it was a trap. Her lips pursed and she looked like she wanted to say yes, but held herself back.
“Please. I’ve been a good boy. Just a few dances, nothing more.”
She lifted her gaze, and excitement burned in her eyes. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a distinctive gleam of lust as well.
Well, damn it. She was supposed to the sensible of the two. How the hell was he supposed to keep his hands in the safe zone knowing her actual wants didn’t match up with what she said?