I know Tracker has a playful side to him. It draws people to him, because he’s so easy to be around. He’s fun. However, he also has the roughness necessary to be a part of the MC. I haven’t seen that side yet, and I’m not sure I want to. What if I can’t accept his lifestyle? Is that what I want?
My emotions are all over the place. Thank God no one else lives in my head, they wouldn’t be able to keep track of all my thoughts. I overanalyze everything and second-guess myself a lot. I also tend to replay conversations trying to find hidden meanings in other people’s words.
I’m not as adventurous as Anna. I live through books rather than reality. I don’t know how I’d deal with being kidnapped like she was last year, or if men broke into the clubhouse when I was here. Sounds crazy, but these things have actually happened. This is their reality. I can say no to Tracker all I want, but he knows.
He knows.
One look at me, and he knows.
I do want him.
I have since I first laid eyes on him.
He’s made his move, showed me his cards.
He wants me. For how long, I don’t know. I’m not the kind to take risks. But maybe for once I should live a little, take a chance.
If I did, I could get hurt.
Burned.
Ruined.
Or . . . I could find what Anna and Faye have.
The gamble seems too large, but the feelings are too strong to deny.
As I watch Tracker try and make an omelet, I wonder what it is he sees in me. Not that I don’t think I’m pretty, or anything like that. Just that, I’m not like the other women here.
“You’re not wearing your glasses,” Tracker says, cutting into my thoughts.
“I left them next to your bed.”
He leans forward and brushes his lips against my cheek. “Your eyes are sexy. Big, brown, and soulful. Doe eyes. But you look cute with your glasses on too. Like a naughty librarian.”
“I’m still here,” Anna says in a dry tone.
“Ignore her,” Tracker whispers. “Maybe she will go away.”
Anna slaps him on his shoulder, then grabs the ladle to flip the omelet.
“Are weekend mornings always like this here?” I ask, my tone filled with humor.
“No,” Tracker says, kissing my cheek and then looking behind me. “It’s usually like that.”
I turn to look at where he is pointing. Rake is walking into the kitchen, each arm around a woman. Both are average height and would be attractive if they were cleaned up. As it is, their hair is messy and the dresses they wore, presumably from last night, were trashy and crumpled. “ ’Mornin’,” he rumbles. “Fuck yeah, breakfast.”
Anna narrows her eyes. “Get one of your groupies to cook for you, you burger-stealing fiend.”
Rake looks to me.
I throw up my hands. “She asked where it was. What was I supposed to do, lie?”
“That’s exactly what you were supposed to do,” Rake tells me with a smirk, removing his arms from the women and going to hug his sister. “Don’t worry, Anna, I’ll buy you sushi.”
I roll my eyes, then look at Tracker, who is watching me with a curious look on his face. “Hope you don’t have any plans today.”
I have a book to finish, but I guess I can catch up on that tonight.
“Why?”
“’Cause I’m finally gonna get you on the back of my bike.”
“Hmm, that depends,” I challenge.
“On what?” he asks, a determined look taking over his expression.
“On how good your breakfast is.”
He laughs.
“And what do I do with my car?”
“I’ll get one of the prospects to drop it off later,” he says.
I nod.
The omelet was crap.
But I let him take me for a ride anyway.
* * *
Arms wrapped around Tracker, his back pressed against my front, I have one thought on my mind.
I could get used to this.
Being on his bike is exhilarating.
Sharing this with him is amazing, like he’s giving me a part of him. Not only is this my first ride ever, but it’s my first with Tracker, and I can tell how much he loves to ride. How proud he feels. He loves his life in the MC.
Yes, I was scared shitless at first, but after the first fifteen minutes I calmed down and started to enjoy it. Clinging to Tracker for dear life, my fingers pressing into his ripped abs, I was sitting a little stiffly but still appreciated the feeling of being on a motorcycle.
Or is it just the feeling of being on his motorcycle?
I’d taken a shower and borrowed some of Anna’s clothes—jeans that were a little loose on me and a black Harley T-shirt. Because I can’t exactly wear house slippers on the bike, I’m also wearing her boots. I don’t really look like me right now, but I feel like me.
I feel free.
The wind on my face, my arms around Tracker’s body, and the speed. Every time we come to a stop he rubs my thigh. His earthy scent fills my nose. It feels right. Blocking everything out except the ride, I feel like we are the only people in the world.
Nothing else exists and nothing else matters.
Just him.
Me.
And the open road.
We ride for an hour, then stop at a scenic view overlooking the city. The view is amazing, the company even better. Tracker is attentive and a good listener. He surprises me at every turn. I keep looking to find something I don’t like about him, something to put me off him, but keep coming up empty. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, because he seems almost too good to be true.