Motorcycle Man (Dream Man #4)(9)

I will not blush, act like an idiot or a shrew. I will be professional. This is a job. Only a job. He’s my boss. He’s a handsome one but a jerky one and I slept with him but he’s just my boss. I embrace my inner slut. Sluts wouldn’t blush, act like idiots or shrews. They would just go about their business. Therefore, I am a slut and I am proud, I said to myself as I approached.

I stopped close to their huddle and looked at the two bikers. One was huge, tall, blond, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his neck. He had blue eyes, lighter and grayer than Tack’s (which were a blue so pure it was nearly sapphire, no joke), and he was really cute in a rough and ready way. The other was also tall with a full beard that needed a trim and it needed that trim about two years ago. He had long russet brown hair that he’d bunched up at the back of his head in a man-bun. He also, unlike Tack and the blond guy, had a hint of a beer gut.

“Hey,” I said, my eyes pinned to the two other men when I stopped at them. “Sorry to interrupt. Do you mind? I need Tack but this won’t take a minute.”

“Not at all, darlin’,” the brown-haired guy said.

I smiled at him. “Thanks,” I muttered then looked at Tack and wiped the smile clean off my face, something he saw which made him press his lips together at the same exact time his eyes lit with what could not be mistaken as anything other than humor. “The order,” I announced curtly, holding out the papers and pen. “You can look over it. The notes Eloise gave me are on top. And there’s a pen so you can make any changes.”

I knew there would be changes so when he reached out with his left hand to take the papers and pen from me, I took a quick step away and went on, “You can bring it back to the office and I’ll make any changes before submitting it.” I looked at the boys and finished, “Sorry, gents, and thanks. You can go back to talking now.”

I started to turn away and found my progress halted when a strong arm wrapped around my waist and I found myself three feet from where I was half a second before. I also found my front plastered against Tack’s side, his arm an iron band around my waist.

“Brick and Dog won’t mind I look at this here, Red,” Tack told me when I tipped my head up to stare at him.

I heard his words but had no response since I was pretty certain my lips were parted in shock and surprise that he was suddenly holding me plastered to his side. I was also pretty certain my eyes were wide for the same reasons. And lastly, I was definitely certain I forgot just how hard and lean his body was because feeling my soft one pressed to his rock-solid one acutely reminded me of this fact.

Before I could recover, a rough voice came at me and I dazedly turned my head to look at the dark-haired guy. “You the new office girl?”

“Uh… yeah,” I answered as I put pressure on the arm around my waist, something which made the iron turn to steel.

“Brick,” he stated.

I nodded, still putting pressure on the arm. “Hey, Brick.”

“Dog,” the blond man said. My eyes went to his face to see his gaze on Tack’s arm around my waist and a grin playing at his lips.

I’d seen them both at the party but I hadn’t met either of them. I also had a feeling they’d seen me at the party with Tack and very likely had seen me walk to the Compound and disappear inside it for hours, also with Tack. And therefore, standing in the Colorado sun, in the forecourt of Ride Custom Cars and Bikes, pressed to Tack’s side with his arm tight around me, I had the feeling they were getting the wrong impression.

I fought the blush that was creeping along my skin and said, “Hey, Dog.”

Then I said no more.

Therefore, Brick asked, “You got a name?”

My body tensed and my eyes went to Brick. “You can call me Red.”

The steel arm tightened around my waist and my neck twisted, my head tipping back as Tack growled, “Only I call you Red, Red.”

“Why do you only call me Red?” I asked.

“Because only I do,” Tack answered.

I tipped my head to the side. “Is that really your answer?”

“Only one you’re gonna get,” he replied.

I stared up at him and he stared down at me. Then I gave up.

“Whatever,” I muttered, looking away, pulling again at his arm and not getting anywhere.

“So, again, babe, you got a name?” Brick asked and I looked up at him to see he was smiling.

“Is the name on your birth certificate Brick?” I asked a question I was pretty sure I knew the answer to.

“No,” he gave me the answer I was pretty sure I knew.

I looked at Dog. “Is your name really Dog?”

“Nope,” Dog responded, also smiling.

I looked up at Tack and pulled again at his arm and again it was ineffectually.

“And you? Did your parents name you Tack?”

“No,” he answered.

“Okay then,” I turned to the boys, “since it’s nicknames all around, I’ll answer to whatever you christen me.”

“Whatever we christen you?” Dog repeated.

“Sure,” I told him on a shrug. “I invite you to be creative.” Dog and Brick looked to each other and grinned but I looked to Tack and demanded on a request, “Can you let me go? I have an Employee Handbook to write.”