Crash (Brazen Bulls MC #1)(16)

Oh, hell yeah. She smiled and tugged on the stub of his ponytail. “I want to try to get to know each other.”

He stood straight but didn’t let her go. After studying her for several weighty seconds, he said, “You sure about that?”

She nodded.

“I’m no knight in shinin’ armor. But if you got trouble, you got to tell me about it. I don’t like surprises.”

She dropped her arm from him, and he let her head go. “I’m not going to stand out here behind a gas station and tell you my life story. And I’m not looking for someone to take over and solve my problems for me. But yes, I will tell you—if you’ll tell me about you, too. That’s part of what I meant by trying again. To talk and get to know each other.”

“Part of it?”

Yeah, part of it. The rest of it was that she wanted to try again just in general. To fill out her life. To stop waiting for Jesse to tear it down. To find someone to trust. To open up again. But that was part of the longer story, so now, she simply smiled. “Are you free tonight? I could make you dinner. I’m a decent cook—country cook, anyway.”

A leery shadow passed through his eyes, and Willa wondered what thought had chased it through. Then it was gone, supplanted by a grin. “I’m not one to turn down home cookin’, but I don’t want you standin’ at the stove on that leg—I’m concerned, you see—so how ‘bout I bring over some takeout instead. Fried chicken sound good?”

“You’re going to carry takeout on your bike?”

“In a pinch, I could, but I got a truck, too. I’ll drive. You in?”

Damn, she hoped she was right about this guy. Because everything about him made her mind sing and her body dance. She wanted it not to be stupid to open up to him.

All she was missing for Tulsa to become her home and her life was someone to share it with.

“I’m in.”





CHAPTER FIVE



What the f*ck was he doing?

Rad sat in his truck, parked on the street in front of Willa’s house, a bucket of Original Recipe and a sack full of sides on the seat beside him, and asked himself that question for about the hundredth time.

And again: What the f*ck was he doing? Going into that house without an answer seemed dangerous business. That tough little cookie had her finger hooked around some part of him, and getting comfortable in her home—her lair—was going to f*ck him up.

He loved women. He loved flirting, f*cking, being sweet, being rough. He loved the way they smelled, the way they felt. Everything about them was soft, when everything about him and his life was hard.

Dahlia had been all that softness and beauty wrapped up in a package of sweet at first. He’d loved the hell out of her, and for a while, he’d had all he wanted in life. But damn, had that turned into a mountain of shit.

He’d been flying solo now for near three years, and it was working. Rarely did he spend a full night alone, because he was most at ease with a soft body tucked to his. He didn’t go to them, and he didn’t let them stay with him, but he got all the play he wanted, and he had his regulars, who knew the score, and he was content.

The woman in the house he was parked in front of, she wasn’t the kind of woman who became somebody’s regular f*ck. And she obviously had some complications in her life. But he was interested. She’d been bopping around in his head since he’d seen her riding next to him. Now that she’d been in his arms, now that he knew the feel and taste of her mouth—well, he’d had trouble thinking about anything else since.

She was in his head, and that was a problem—it should have been, anyway. If his marriage had taught him anything, he’d learned that when he got invested, he gave too much and expected too much back. After Dahlia, that was probably worse. He’d been a possessive bastard before he’d found out his wife was mounting half of Tulsa. Now, he’d probably be f*cking psycho with the jealousy.

Yeah, he knew he would. He’d wanted to put Apollo’s perfect f*cking teeth down his throat at the station today, just for smiling at her in that way he had. This morning. When there was hardly anything between him and Willa to fuss about.

If he went up there, went in, sat down with her and had a meal, got to know her, Rad knew damn well that they’d start something up. She was giving off bright, shiny signals that she was just as interested. But was she the kind of woman who’d deal with a man like him, a life like his?

How could she be? Did such a woman exist?

So what the f*ck was he doing?

Whatever it was, the chicken was going to get cold if he didn’t get off his ass. He’d told her he’d come over with dinner, and he wasn’t such a * he’d turn tail and stand her up. So, okay. What he was doing was having a meal with a good-looking woman. Leave it at that for now.

Not remotely convinced he could leave it at that, Rad got out of his truck and carried dinner up to Willa’s house.

As he stepped onto her porch, the door opened, and Ollie was there, butt wiggling. He hopped from the threshold and stuck his nose on the bottom of the bucket, taking a big noisy whiff of the chicken scent.

“You like chicken, boy?” Rad freed up a hand to give the dog a pat, but Ollie barely noticed; he was much more interested in food than love.

“Ollie, off,” Willa said, standing at the door. The dog obeyed and backed off to sit, crestfallen. Rad was impressed at his training. She hadn’t even used a particularly firm tone.