Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(85)

I stared into his eyes, letting all that information sink in, trying not to sniffle like a girl.

“And for the record my favorite color is red,” he said, playing with the strands of my hair. “Now can I run something by you?” he continued.

I nodded, still mute.

“Since it’s Sunday and the garage is closed I got no work today. Plus club business is quiet so I was thinking after breakfast we could take a ride.”

“Where to?” I asked, finding my voice and finding excitement at the prospect of riding with Brock. Wow, I was the new and improved, Amy. Usually I would be grumbling about damage to my hair or limited outfit options.

“Anywhere, down the coast. We’ll stop somewhere for lunch, just ride.”

“That sounds awesome,” I told him, getting excited at the prospect of an entire day with Brock. Then my mind caught up. “But I can’t,” I said, watching his eyes harden slightly. “I’ve got to work at the store at twelve,” I explained, not wanting him to think it was because I didn’t want to.

He relaxed. “Babe, you own the place. I’m sure you can take the afternoon off.”

I bristled slightly. “Yeah, but I’ve been a shitty owner lately. I took off for six weeks and pretty much left Gwen and Rosie to deal. I’ve got a lot to make up for.”

“Well, for a week of that you were being held prisoner, so I doubt they’d hold that against you. Plus you’ve worked all of this week when you should have been f*cking resting. Take the day, babe.”

I contemplated it. It had been relatively quiet lately and we had hired a couple of new girls in addition to Rosie and Lily. I was only there to do some office stuff today so I could take the day.

“Okay,” I said and Brock smiled.

I stared at him a moment. It wasn’t as if Brock didn’t smile a lot. He wasn’t like Bull or Cade. He smiled around me, even laughed at me most of the time. But he had never directed a soft, tender smile at me like the one right now. I almost melted in a puddle at his feet.

He smacked my butt lightly. “Get dressed then, babe,” He kissed me firmly then sauntered over to the chaise lounge in the middle of my closet to sit down.

I followed him with my eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you to get dressed,” he replied.

I frowned, puddly feeling gone. “You can’t sit there and watch me get dressed—you’ll distract me. Go and do some man thing to keep you occupied.” I waved my hand in the direction of the door.

“How much attention do you need to get dressed, Sparky? Plus, I consider watching my woman getting dressed as a ‘man thing’ since I get to check out her rack while she does it,” he said with a playful glint in his eye.

I stood my ground. “Have you seen my outfits? They require careful consideration. I’m not like a guy who can just throw some jeans and a tee on and look like a biker version of a Greek god. This takes work. Plus, I need to find motorcycle appropriate clothing, I doubt couture would cut it.” I glanced at my racks.

Brock smirked full on. “Greek god?” he asked. I glared and he carried on. “I’ve seen what you wear, babe. And as hot as you look in all your fancy shit I’m more interested in what’s underneath it. And I have no f*ckin’ clue what couture is but jeans and a tee would suffice for bike wear. We’ll get you a leather jacket on the way out,” he decided.

“I don’t do ‘jeans and a tee’,” I informed him. “And I’ve already got a leather jacket,” I pulled out a Balenciaga tan biker style jacket that held a special place in my heart.

Brock didn’t say a word. He just raised his sexy but judgmental eyebrows and folded his arms, leaning back on the chaise. I decided to ignore him and turned around to find something else to wear.





Turns out I did do jeans and a tee. So maybe they were three hundred dollar jeans, and the tee shirt was designer. Baby steps. I even wore flats. Granted, they were beautiful biker style boots tucked into my skinny jeans, but it was still a change for me.

After calling Rosie to let her know I wasn’t coming in and eating a breakfast of French toast, Brock and I set out for the day. The feeling of being on the back of his bike, hurtling along the coast was one that rivaled anything else I had done.

The sore butt after an hour of riding was not fun though. Plus, my thighs hurt slightly from being at a weird angle, but I wasn’t telling Brock that.

We stopped every now and then to wander around little towns we passed through. To get the substance necessary for my existence, or as other people called it, coffee. We finally stopped at a little shack on the beach. “What’s this?” I asked, looking at the corrugated iron building that looked like a food truck.

“Lunch,” Brock declared, stowing our helmets.

“Lunch?” I asked disbelievingly.

“Taste the crab cakes before you judge, Sparky. They’ll change your life.” He grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the shack.

“They’ll change my gut bacteria, more like,” I muttered.

“These are the shit!” I declared after swallowing my first mouthful.

Brock merely smirked at me. I was getting used to this fun-loving smile of his.

We were seated at a picnic table on the beach. There were only a few people scattered around, It was peaceful and beautiful.