Her Possessive Bikers

11. Indy

11

INDY

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, fussing with my hair for the third time. "What are you doing, Indy?" My reflection offers no answers, just shows me fidgeting with my Metallica shirt, making sure it hits just right above my hips.

The lasagna in the oven fills the house with garlic and herbs. Way too much food for one person, but I kept adding ingredients like some kind of cooking possessed person. My stomach flips when I think about Tres coming over.

"It's just a business transaction," I mutter, but even I don't believe myself. The way he dismissed that woman earlier... I can't get it out of my head. The look on her face when she saw me, like I'd personally offended her by existing.

I check my phone. Twenty minutes until he's supposed to show up. The house is spotless, which is ridiculous because he's here to pick up a motorcycle, not inspect my dusting skills.

"Dad would be rolling his eyes right now." I laugh, touching the framed photo of him on the hallway wall. "Your little girl getting worked up over one of your brothers."

But Tres isn't just any brother. There's something about him that makes my skin tingle. The silver in his beard, the way he carries himself like he owns whatever room he's in. The fact that he's probably old enough to be my... I stop that thought right there.

"This is insane," I say to no one, pacing the kitchen. "He's coming to buy Dad's bike. That's it." But I still check my reflection in the microwave door, adjusting my necklace.

The timer dings and I pull out the lasagna, the aroma making my mouth water. "Well, if he doesn't stay to eat, I'll have leftovers for a week." Who am I kidding? I made this hoping he'd stay.

I toss the cherry tomatoes into the salad, my mind drifting to my last actual date. Six months ago? No, longer. That orthopedic surgeon who kept asking me out until I finally said yes. We had decent Thai food, awkward conversation, and a handshake goodnight. Before that was... God, I can't even remember.

"And now you're making dinner for a biker," I mutter, sliding the bowl onto the counter. "Mom would have a stroke."

The doorbell echoes through the house, sending my heart into my throat. I wipe my hands on my jeans, take a breath, and head for the door.

"Hey," I say, opening it to find Tres filling the doorframe. His grey t-shirt stretches across his chest, and the sunset catches the silver in his beard. "Come on in."

"Something smells amazing." His deep voice sends a shiver down my spine.

"Just threw something together." I lead him through the house, very aware of his presence behind me. "The bike's in here."

The garage door creaks as I push it up, revealing Dad's prized bikes. Tres lets out a low whistle.

"Damn, Brick kept her pristine." He runs his fingers along the chrome. "Used to give him shit about how much time he spent polishing this thing."

"Yeah, he'd spend hours out here." I lean against the workbench, watching him circle the bike. "Said it helped him think."

"That sounds like him." Tres looks up, catching my eye. "You sure about selling?"

"Keep one, sell one - that was my thought." I shrug, trying to ignore how the garage suddenly feels smaller. "Besides, Dad would want it going to family."

The word hangs between us, loaded with meaning. Family. Is that what this is? Because the way Tres is looking at me definitely doesn't feel familial.

I watch Tres secure the bike to his trailer, his movements precise and practiced. The sunset casts long shadows across the driveway, and the smell of lasagna wafts through the open garage door.

"You hungry?" The words tumble out before I can stop them. "I made way too much food for one person."

He pauses, chain in hand. "Absolutely. Whatever it is has been driving me crazy since I walked in."

"Lasagna. Dad's recipe, actually." I fidget with my bracelet. "He used to make it whenever I visited."

"Brick could cook?" His eyebrows shoot up. "That's news to me."

"There's a lot about him that would surprise you." I gesture toward the house. "Want to come see for yourself?"

He grabs a six pack of Yuengling out of the tab of his truck and he follows me inside, his boots surprisingly quiet on the hardwood. I watch his face as he takes in the living room, the way his eyes linger on the family photos.

"Been years since I've been here," he says, stopping at a picture of Dad and me at my high school graduation. "Brick was strict about keeping club business away from this place. Said it was your sanctuary."

"That sounds like him." My throat tightens. "He always tried to keep these two worlds separate."

"Smart man." Tres turns, his eyes meeting mine. "Wanted to protect what mattered most."

The kitchen timer saves me from having to respond. "Hope you're hungry."

"Starving." He settles at the dining table while I plate the food. "This is different from the clubhouse. Quieter."

"No prospects running around?" I set his plate down, catching the slight smile that crosses his face.

"Or half-naked women trying to crawl under my desk."

I nearly drop the salad bowl. "Is that a regular occurrence?"

"More than I'd like." He takes a bite of lasagna, his eyes closing briefly. "Damn, this is good."

"Dad's secret ingredient was red wine." I sit across from him, the candlelight catching the silver in his beard. "In the sauce and in the cook."

"So," Tres takes another bite, his fork scraping against the plate, "what does Indy Cooper do for fun back in Alabama?"

The beer burns a path down my throat as I try to formulate an answer that doesn't sound pathetically boring. "Work takes up most of my time. Paramedic shifts aren't exactly conducive to a social life."

"No boyfriend wondering where you disappeared to?"

My fingers tighten around my beer. The way he's looking at me makes my skin feel too tight. "No boyfriend." I take another sip, buying time. "Unless you count Netflix and my... ba… beta fish." No fucking way did I just about tell this man about my battery operated boyfriend. Jesus fucking Christ Indy.

He raises an eyebrow, probably questioning the awkwardness of volunteering information about a beta fish that I have that doesn't even exist.

"Beautiful woman like you? Find that hard to believe." His voice drops lower, and heat crawls up my neck.

"Yeah, well, most guys aren't thrilled when you have to bail on date night because someone decided to wrap their car around a tree." I force a laugh, trying to ignore how his forearms flex as he reaches for his drink. "Plus, the whole covered-in-other-people's-blood thing isn't exactly sexy."

"Depends on who you ask." The corner of his mouth quirks up.

I nearly choke on my beer. "Right, I forgot who I was talking to. You probably think that's foreplay."

His laugh is deep and rich, sending warmth pooling in my stomach. "You'd be surprised what I consider foreplay."

Oh God. I stand abruptly, grabbing my empty plate. "More lasagna?"

"You trying to fatten me up, darlin'?"

"Just being hospitable." I busy myself at the counter, willing my hands to stop shaking. "Can't let anyone leave here hungry."

"Brick always said you took care of people." There's something in his voice that makes me pause. "Said it was your best quality. Also your most dangerous one."

Before Tres can elaborate on his comment, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen and his expression darkens.

"Shit." He pushes back from the table. "Club business. I need to go."

"Everything okay?" I start collecting plates, trying not to show my disappointment.

"Nothing I can't handle." He stands, his height making the kitchen feel smaller. "Thank you for dinner. Been a long time since I had a home-cooked meal."

"Well, you know where to find more now." I cringe at how eager that sounds.

We walk to the front door, our steps echoing in the quiet house. The porch light casts shadows across his face, highlighting the silver in his beard. He turns to face me, and suddenly the space between us feels charged.

"Indy." His voice is rough. He reaches up, his fingers ghosting along my cheek. My breath catches.

His phone buzzes again. "Fuck," he mutters, dropping his hand.

I lean against the doorframe, my heart hammering. "Duty calls?"

"Always does." He steps closer, and I catch the scent of leather and something uniquely him. His breath fans across my face. "But I'd rather-"

A third buzz. He closes his eyes, jaw clenching.

"Go." I smile, even as disappointment coils in my stomach. "Your kingdom needs you."

"Thanks for the bike, I'll take real good care of her." His eyes lock with mine, intense enough to make my knees weak.

"Promise?" The word slips out before I can stop it.

Instead of answering, he leans in. For a heartbeat, I think he's going to kiss me. His lips hover near mine, close enough I can feel the heat of him. Then he pulls back, leaving me breathless and aching.

"Lock up behind me," he says, voice gruff. He strides to his truck, every movement radiating tension.

I watch until his taillights disappear into the darkness, then press my forehead against the cool doorframe. "Holy shit."