Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(46)

He chuckled. “Tell Judge Harvey I said hello.”

I did not tell the judge hello. Instead, I stood in front of him and received a lecture that put thirty-five years’ worth of Mom’s lectures to utter shame.

Luckily, the lecture about my responsibility as an adult and member of the press was the worst of it. Judge Harvey made me swear to always obey school hours and ask for permission before entering a library, to which I promptly agreed. My punishment for trespassing at the high school was time served—plus the lecture. It was arguably the worse of the two.

Wiped and ready for an evening alone, I didn’t go back to work after leaving the courthouse. I swung by the grocery store and bought ingredients to make homemade enchiladas. Then I skipped the gym and went home.

I’d just convinced myself to double the cheese in my enchilada recipe—screw the calories, I needed cheese—when I turned onto my street. All thoughts of dinner went out the window. A gleaming black Harley was parked in front of my house.

Its owner was sitting on my porch.

I pulled into the driveway and got out of my car. Then I loaded up my arms with the grocery bags and walked to the front door. “What are you doing here?”

“What’s in the bags?”

“Dinner.”

“Enough for two?” Dash stood and took the plastic sacks from my hands, his biceps flexing. The bags weren’t heavy but a lickable vein popped on his forearm, making my mouth water.

Pathetic. I was pathetic.

Sex with him two nights ago had turned me into a hormonal mess. I was achy. Squirmy. I couldn’t stop thinking about those long fingers digging into my curves. Those soft lips on my bare skin. And his eyes, those vibrant hazel eyes that saw way beneath the surface. I couldn’t be around him and not think about what had happened in the garage. Had I not been so furious with him last night, that ride on his motorcycle would have brought me close to an orgasm.

“Did you just invite yourself over for dinner?” I slid the key into the lock, hoping to hide my flushed cheeks.

“What are you making?”

“Enchiladas with extra cheese.”

“Then yes, I did.” He trailed behind me into the kitchen, depositing the bags on the counter. As I put the groceries away, he showed himself around my living room. “Nice place.”

“Thanks. What are you doing here? Besides encroaching on my meal.”

“You said something I didn’t like last night.”

“Really?” I tossed a bag of shredded cheese onto the counter. “And what was that?”

“You said, ‘Fucked. Singular. Past tense.’”

“I did.” Impressive he remembered it word for word. “Your point?”

“I didn’t like it.”

“Too bad. I don’t like you.”

“Huh.” He stared out the window from the living room for a long moment, his hands planted on his hips. Then he gave the glass a single nod, turned and stalked my way. The temperature in the kitchen went up twenty degrees as he approached. He didn’t stop walking until he was right there, the heat from his chest hitting mine like a wave. His hands framed my face with those rough, calloused palms. “Grammar isn’t my thing.”

“No?” My breath hitched as his mouth dropped to hover above mine. “I love grammar.”

Dash’s breath whispered against my lips. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” The proximity to him made my brain short-circuit.

“Singular.” He placed a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Because we were explosive in that garage. Aren’t you a little curious what we’d be like in a bedroom?”

“No,” I lied.

I wanted to say yes, but my pride was on the line here. My heart. He’d treated me horribly after the hookup in the garage. But it was only sex, right? Casual sex. It didn’t need to mean anything. Because I didn’t care.

I don’t care.

My body, on the other hand, cared a lot about having a decent, non-self-induced orgasm.

Screw it. Yes, I wanted to know what sex would be like in a bed. My hand stretched for the counter’s edge, bracing for Dash to take a deeper kiss. To let him. But a whoosh of air forced my eyes open as Dash spun away and sauntered out of the kitchen.

He reached behind his head, tearing off his black T-shirt as he headed for the hallway that led to my bedroom.

He knew I’d follow.

Bastard.





Chapter Thirteen





Dash





“Dash.” Tucker Talbot shook my hand. “Take it easy.”

“Have a good one, Tucker.” I waved at the Arrowhead Warrior president and climbed on my bike.

Dad gave Tucker one last nod goodbye, followed by the same for the five men he’d brought along to this meeting.

All the men who’d once been in the Tin Gypsy MC.

The six of them stood next to their own bikes, each wearing their cut. On the back of the vests, the patch for the Warriors was stitched into the black leather. The design was an arrowhead framed by their club’s name and year they were founded. It was all in white, simple and plain compared to the artwork of the Tin Gypsy patch.

It had taken me almost a year to stop looking for my cut to pull on before walking out the door. That leather vest had been the most important article of clothing I’d ever owned. It was strange to come to a meeting with another club and not have it on my back.