Attest (Centrifuge Duet Book 2)(43)
Our father is known as Beast, and is a senior member of a well-known motorcycle club. As his only daughter, I’m a protected species and off limits to most males. Most men will only look at me anyhow, because they know my father, brothers, and any other man belonging to the MC will kick their ass if they mess with me.
As well as my dad, I have four brothers. My twin Benjamin, who turned seventeen two weeks ago with me; a nearly sixteen-year-old brother Joel, who’s becoming as overprotective of me as Dad and Benji; my nerdy twelve-year-old brother Matthew; and little ten-year-old Lachlan, who I swear thinks I’m his mom. We all look out for each other, probably taking it to the extreme sometimes.
Dad’s over protectiveness toward me also stems from the fact that I’m nearly a carbon copy of my blonde-hair, blue-eyed mother. I’m taller than every woman I know, with curves to match my height. I’m not a fan of my height. One of my more superficial wishes is that I’ll miraculously wake up, one day, petite and dainty like Wendy.
When Benji wants to be an asshole—which is most of the time lately—he calls me Malibu Barbie. His teasing results in me beating on him, but he doesn't stop. Reaching puberty early, plus my height and curves, caused me a few problems since men assumed I was older than I was. They’d proposition me without realising my actual age—hence the overprotective father and brothers who feel the need to save me from everyone.
Nowadays, their overzealousness is more annoying than helpful since I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. I was taught, years ago, how to defend myself by my father’s godson, and now fellow MC member. Mik is twenty-five to my seventeen, my best friend, and sometimes, another overprotective brother to contend with. He’s a fellow MC brat; raised in the club like my brothers and I were.
Our parents were best friends. Both of our dads are second generation bikers. Mik’s mum died just before mine, and we bonded over that; along with our mutual love of all things Harley. Our relationship seems weird to outsiders—people constantly comment on it—but I’m mature for my age. The simple fact is that we just get each other. Although, I'm pretty pissed at him for not coming to celebrate with us tonight, and I texted him earlier to let him know just that.
Lost in my thoughts, and eager to get back to my girlfriends, I don’t notice the person crossing the path in front of me until I literally walk into them. Our collision knocks them over. As they fall, they grab my arm to steady themselves, but end up pulling me to the ground with them. My breath rushes from my lungs as I land on top of them. Whomever I knocked over is nearly as hard as the concrete path they’d hit. I'm momentarily winded, forced to rest my head on their chest as I struggle to regain my breath.
“Please excuse me, I am so sorry.” A deep, velvety smooth voice breaks the silence. “I didn’t see you coming.”
Looking up from the chest I’m resting on, I’m greeted by the dark brown eyes of Brendan Taylor, our district’s most eligible bachelor and renowned manwhore. Wonderful, I think to myself with sarcasm. Mentally rolling my eyes, I chastise myself for knocking over the only man in this area whom I find remotely attractive.
Bracing my hands on either side of him so I can get to my feet, I stop when he puts his hands around my waist and holds me to him. My shirt has ridden up so his hands touch bare skin. My skin sparks and catches fire. I feel him draw in a quick breath underneath me, as if touching me affects him as well.
“Are you okay?” he inquires, concern evident in his gorgeous eyes. “We hit pretty hard.”
I wriggle in his grasp, letting him know that I want him to let go of me. Once he releases me, I roll off him and onto my knees, breathing in and out a few times before I stand and answer him. “I’m fine, are you all right?”
Reaching down, I offer my assistance to help him off the ground. He holds my hand in a soft grasp but doesn’t use my offered support to pull himself up. Once he’s standing, I’m forced to take a step back. He’s at least five inches taller than me, and standing so closely that I can’t look him in the face without dislocating my neck. His close proximity causes his cologne to envelop my senses.
It’s one of the most delicious scents I have ever smelled.
“I’m fine as well.” He laughs, still clasping my hand. I tug my hand away twice, but he doesn't let go, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles instead. “Or I will be, if you’d be kind enough to get this crap off my back for me.”
He finally let’s go of my hand when he turns around and presents me with his back. Leaves and small sticks are stuck to the back of his blue dress shirt. Standing on my tiptoes, I brush the debris off of him, starting with his wide shoulders and working my way down to his trim waist. I work as quickly as I can because touching him is making my stomach do funny things—backflips and strange fluttering.
“All done.”
I was aiming for a calm, matter-of-fact tone, so the breathy and higher-than-usual voice that leaves me as I speak two simple words comes as a surprise. Further sabotaging my attempt at cool are my wobbly legs. I don't know if I feel like this because of our fall or if it's Brendan’s proximity. My money is on the latter, even as I try to deny it to myself.
Brendan turns back around, grinning with thanks. Smiling at him, I give him a jerky nod goodbye, and turn to walk away. I need to leave before I make a fool of myself. This wobbly, ditzy person is not me and, frankly, it's embarrassing.