Fanning the Biker's Flame - Piper Davenport Page 0,12
think?”
“You wanna go grab somethin’ to eat?”
My stomach did somersaults. I’d like to eat you.
Of course, I didn’t say that… “With you?”
He just smiled.
I forced my stomach to calm and asked, “What did you have in mind?”
“Thai?”
“I’m picky about my Thai, so it all depends on where,” I admitted.
“Fat Phat?”
“Oh my god, I love Fat Phat.”
He chuckled. “Me too. You in?”
“Yes, absolutely. I’ll grab my purse.”
I made my way back to my room, brushed my teeth and spritzed a little perfume on, then grabbed my keys and purse and joined Shadow back in my foyer.
“Ready.”
Shadow grinned and preceded me out the door so I could lock up, before leading me down to a big Ford truck.
“You need help getting in?” Shadow asked.
“I can do a handstand, at will, in the middle of an empty room, I think I can haul myself up into the cab of a truck.”
“You can do a handstand that easily?” he asked once we were both in the truck.
“And hold it for more than five minutes,” I confirmed.
“Jesus.”
I grinned as I secured my seatbelt, then flexed my bicep and said in an eastern European accent, “I’m strong as a bull.”
“I believe you mean, ‘I’m strong like bull,’” he corrected, pulling out of my complex parking lot.
“Tomato, tomahto.”
Shadow laughed.
Lordy, he had a nice laugh. And a beautiful profile. He was pretty much the best-looking man I’d ever seen, and I wanted to peel him out of his clothes—
“You okay?”
I jumped a little, forcing my mind out of the gutter and smiling at him. “Yep.”
“You went silent on me. You sure?”
“Yes. Good. Sorry. It’s just such a pretty night,” I improvised.
“Wondered if you were imagining me naked,” he retorted.
“How the—?” I stopped my confession and shook my head. “I wasn’t.”
“Too bad.”
“Oh, stop it,” I growled, and he laughed, pulling into a parking space, and shutting off the engine.
We climbed out and headed into the popular restaurant, and I was surprised when we were led to a table right away.
“It’s packed,” I whispered.
Shadow smiled. “Got some pull here.”
“You do?”
He didn’t respond as we took our seats, and the waiter handed us menus.
“You want somethin’ to drink?” he asked.
“Possibly,” I hedged. “What are you getting?”
“Beer.”
I smiled. “Then I’ll have wine.”
“Red or white?” our server asked.
“Red,” I said, before giving him my order, and he nodded.
“Your regular, Shadow?”
Shadow smiled. “Yeah, Brent, thanks.”
“You have a regular?” I whispered after Brent walked away.
Shadow leaned in. “I do.”
“You really do have some pull.”
He chuckled. “Told ya.”
“How often do you come here?”
“Couple times a week, at least. Depends on work.”
“So you can’t cook either, huh?”
He laughed. “I can cook. It’s just not much fun doing it for one. I cook for the firehouse, and when Willow lets me, I cook for the club.”
“I wish I could cook. Mom tried to teach me, but I just couldn’t get it.” I blushed. “Obviously.”
“Is your mom a good cook?”
“God, no,” I said, and immediately regretted it. “I mean, she can cook, she just isn’t a gourmet. She has half a dozen things she makes well, and we ate all of those things every week.”
“Was it just you and your mom?”
I nodded. “My dad fucked off when I was four.”
Jesus, why did I just tell him that?
I blushed. “Sorry, too much information.”
“No, it’s not,” he countered. “We’re gettin’ to know each other.”
The waiter arrived with our drinks, setting them in front of us, so I took the reprieve to sip the wine.
“What about you?” I asked. “What’s your life story?”
“Born and raised in Cleveland, moved down here when my dad died. I kind of lost my mind for a few years but met Doom and he set me right.”
“I’m sorry about your dad.”
He smiled slightly. “Long time ago.”
“Who’s Doom?”
“VP of the club.”
“I don’t remember him.”
“He wasn’t there,” Shadow said. “His woman’s name is Lyric.”
“The illegally pretty blonde?” I asked.
He grinned. “She’s a little tall and skinny for my taste, but, yeah, she’s pretty.”
“So how did Doom set you right?” I asked, then shook my head. “Sorry, that’s way too personal. You don’t have to answer it.”
“Story for another day.”
I smiled. “Okay.”
His phone buzzed on the table and he glanced at the screen, then answered it. “Hey, Lyric. Were your ears burnin’?” He smiled. “Yeah. You did?” He glanced at me, then sat back slowly. “No shit? Okay. Yeah. Absolutely. Thanks, sweetheart.” He hung up and set his phone back on the table. “Your landlord’s a piece of shit.”
“He is?”
“Yeah. He knows those ranges are defective and has been warned