Keeping Her - Jordan Marie Page 0,4
ignoring us.
“You’re not fooling me, you know,” Jonesy murmurs quietly after I close the door.
“What do you mean?”
“I saw the way you were eye-fucking that red head. You have your own reason for wanting to tail the girls.”
I grunt my answer, because he’s right, but I’m not about to admit it. Jonesy’s loud, obnoxious laughter follows me down the hall.
4
Jasmine
“Is there a reason you’re watching me?” I ask Mr. Broody from the other day.
He’s been following me off and on since the other day. I’ve spotted him each time. I’m not sure if he was trying to hide the fact that he was or not. When you grow up in a biker club, you spot a tail pretty easily. My father taught me that special skill. He doesn’t trust cops. Then again, he doesn’t trust anyone outside of the Savage club. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even trust me, although he does love me. I could complain about that, but I don’t understand myself most of the time, not sure I can expect them to at this point.
He looks down at me—because he literally towers over me. He’s broad and tall. The kind of man that would make a woman weak in the knees—or wet between the legs. Again, I remind myself that I’ve sworn off men. Especially when his lips twitch and move just enough to say he’s almost smiling. I get the feeling that Mr. Broody doesn’t really smile at all. This might be as good as it gets.
Too bad it’s really damn good.
When he doesn’t answer, I give him the look that I give my brother Hawk. The one where I’m annoyed, but he’s not worth the effort or muscle movement to roll my eyes.
“If you’re not going to talk, then maybe you should move on down the road because your stalking is annoying,” I finally mumble before walking back to the picnic table I was at earlier.
“Where’s the girl you’re always with?” he asks, following me. I close my eyes for a second, because his question hurts.
It’s stupid, of course. I mean, I just got done reminding myself that I had sworn off men. I sure don’t want one that has verbal issues and stalking tendencies. Still, I thought he was following me because he liked what he saw and you can say what you want, that’s damn good for a girl’s ego sometimes. At the very least, I thought he might feel some of the attraction I feel toward him.
Not that I’d ever act on it. Ever.
“That explains it,” I mumble, instead of punching him in the balls when he comes to stand over me. I finish settling in on the seat, and don’t bother looking up to acknowledge him. There’s no point.
“Explains what?” he pursues, proving he might have verbal issues, but he definitely doesn’t have hearing ones.
I put down the pencil I just picked up and look at him. I hate that he’s so pretty. He looks like he could be a movie star, or on the cover of a GQ magazine. It’s annoying. When I’m done swearing off men, I’m going to find an ugly guy. That way I don’t have to live with his freaking ego.
“All the guys chase after Gabby. She ignores them all because she only has eyes for one guy. So, if I were you, Mr. Broody, I’d just move along, because it’s a lost cause there.”
“Why do they chase after her?” he questions, making me rethink the whole he’s nonverbal line of thought.
“Gee, I don’t know. Why are you?” I lean back to look at him. He surprises me by sitting down—not on the bench, but on the top of the table, his feet down on the bench part. I take him in, my mind filing away little pieces of his appearance to check out later—if he keeps annoying me that is.
“I never said I was, Red. You did.” He doesn’t move his gaze away from me and, for some reason, I get the feeling that he’s taking notes, too. He’s dressed in a black t-shirt today with black pants, motorcycle boots and a wide black leather strap around his wrist. There’s an insignia ring on his forefinger and I can’t tell what the engraving is, but my interest is piqued. I find myself staring at his hands, probably too long. They’re masculine and sexy, callused and tanned. They tell me that he is definitely used to manual labor and I like that. I’ve always liked that