I wonder who my babysitter will be today.
Seeing the sexy beard and the wide shoulders encased in tight black fabric, I smile broadly, pleased with my escort for today. I walk straight up to his idling bike, sashaying my hips with each step.
“Good afternoon, Arrow,” I say, grinning cheekily.
He narrows his eyes on me. “You gonna give me trouble today, Anna?”
Probably.
But only because he needs it. The man hardly smiles, so I find myself being more playful around him than I am around anyone else, just to get a reaction out of him.
“Anna?” he repeats, staring at me weirdly when I don’t reply, continuing to study him, lost in my own thoughts.
Fuck, but I love the way he says my name. Arrow must have a good ten years on me, but he doesn’t look it. Not to me. He has a better body than most of the men my age and a beard that looks badass on him.
I do love a good beard.
You can tell that under the beard is a strong, square jaw. I wonder if he has a dimple in his chin.
He also has soulful brown eyes that you just know have seen the world at its worst, but he’s still survived. He has faint crinkles on either side of his eyes, letting me know he once used to laugh a lot. His mouth is full, firm, and entirely lickable.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I tell him with a shrug. I push my blond hair off my face and flash him an innocent look. I have the same green eyes as my brother, and while his incite lust from the opposite sex, mine don’t seem to be doing the same. Arrow’s face turns grumpier, if that’s even possible. What the hell is he so moody about all the time? Yes, I heard he did time in jail, but most bikers do at some point, don’t they? At least the ones I’ve heard of. Okay, I guess I shouldn’t stereotype like that. But Arrow did do time, although I don’t know what for. I overheard my brother talking with Tracker, another member of the MC. I’ve been around these bikers for a month or so now, and out of all of them, Arrow is the one who keeps both his distance and his guard up.
He’s also the one I can’t stop thinking about.
Quite a conundrum.
Well, for me anyway.
Have you ever seen someone for the first time and just wanted them? Something about them attracts you, like a moth to a flame, without rhyme or reason. Every time I look at Arrow I feel that pull. That want, that need. There is something about him, something that draws me to him. Sure, he is gruff and rough around the edges. He is also temperamental, broody, and usually pretty damn grumpy. He is a man of few words—the strong, silent type. The more time he is forced to spend as my babysitter, the more I’ve gotten him to open up. Slowly, little by little, he’s started speaking to me. It is progress, but still, I know I am stupid to hope for anything more. Sure, my heart races whenever he is near, but I try to ignore that little factor as best as I can. It doesn’t change anything. Arrow is my guilty pleasure, something I know I shouldn’t want but want anyway. The thing is, I’ve seen little glimpses of him that make me believe he is more than he shows the world. I’ve seen him playing with Clover, the MC president’s daughter, and sneaking her strawberry candy. I’ve seen him tickling her, her loud giggles echoing throughout the room. I then overheard him telling her that if any boy messes with her, to let him know and he would take care of it because no one hurts the princess.
She’s five.
No one can tell me the man doesn’t have a heart.
“Get on the bike and hold on,” he demands, turning away from me. It frustrates me that he never looks at me for longer than he has to. Is he not attracted to me at all? I’m not vain, but I know that I’m not completely unfortunate in the looks department. Adam has even said I’m too beautiful for my own good, but as my brother, I guess he’s a little biased.
Maybe Arrow sees me as nothing more than Adam’s baby sister. But that doesn’t explain why he always seems so eager to leave my presence. I like to think I’m easy to be around, and sometimes even a little fun.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he hands me my helmet.
“Rake wants to see you at the clubhouse,” he replies distractedly.
“Then why didn’t he pick me up himself?” I ask. Not that I’m complaining, since I secretly covet being around Arrow, but still.
“I was closer to campus, so it just made more sense. Now are you getting on the bike or are we gonna sit around while all these stuck-up assholes stare at us?”
I look around.
Yeah, people are still staring. If he didn’t want the attention, maybe he shouldn’t have worn his cut today. Who am I kidding? People would stare either way. Arrow is imposing. It is in his build, the breadth of his shoulders, the way he carries himself. The sharpness of his gaze. He just commands attention around him, and there is nothing he can do about it. He couldn’t fade into the background if he tried. I slide onto the back of his bike. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I grip the leather in my hands and lean into him. He smells like leather and . . . strawberry candy? I want to ask, but before I can he starts the engine and pulls out of the lot. I hold tight, enjoying both the ride and the feel of my body pressed against his.
I’d never been on a motorcycle until I moved back here. It was a new experience, and one I found that I loved. Nothing felt more freeing, and I found myself wanting to get my own motorcycle license. If being on the back feels this way, I can only imagine how good it feels to be in front, in control of the bike.