CHAPTER 2
Stella
Lachlan disappears inside his house and I blow out a small breath of relief as I rub my belly to get it to stop quivering. Usually, the only times it does that is when I’m warming up for a big game.
God, I want to take a picture of him and text it to my best friend, Lexie. She’d die when she saw him.
He’s perfect. Okay, well he’s not perfect. The vest he’s wearing when he turned his back says Hell’s Jury. No wonder mom changed the locks.
But he seems nice, except for all the leather and the biker boots, which I like but dad’s probably freaking out over. And Scottish, not first generation clearly, but his name and his beautiful long red hair and beard give him away.
The Mustang in the garage makes my heart leap for joy. I’ve always wanted a candy-apple red ’65 Mustang convertible, and this one fits the bill except it’s blue. I mean my Firebird is okay, but it’s nothing compared to this car. Maybe he’ll let me drive it one day.
Of course he’s got a motorcycle. Gorgeous chrome and a leather seat big enough to carry a passenger. Mom’s heart is probably shattering at the idea of the throttle cutting the peace of the neighborhood.
He’s a dad, has a little girl named Gabby. My heartstrings pull. Dad will have a heart attack when he finds out I’m interested in a guy with a built-in family. I can hear him now. This is not the time, Stella. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you before you start to think about settling down. You need to concentrate on your career.
Uhm, Stella. Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?
Yes, inner self. Yes I am.
I hear Lachlan’s heavy footsteps approaching and get a thrill deep down in my stomach, maybe lower. The one thing neither mom nor dad can complain about is his height. He’s gotta be at least 6’6”. The last guy I dated was shorter than me by a couple of inches. They didn’t like that. Told me to find a guy at least as tall as me. I called them judgy and neither of them denied it.
But I didn’t break up with the guy because he was short. He broke up with me because I wouldn’t put out. He was a turd anyway and I’m sure our babies would’ve been little shits.
The screen door bangs behind Lachlan as he steps outside, a bottle in each of his hands. He passes me one, then parks his big body down on the front step and pats the spot next to him. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks,” I say as I nervously sit next to him, maybe a little closer than good manners dictate, and take a swig of the beer, holding back the grimace threatening my face. I don’t want him to know I don’t really drink. I mean, I guess I do drink sometimes, but mom and dad are helicopter parents. I’m underage, I’m an athlete. My body is a temple. Blah, blah, blah.
I feel dainty next to him. In real life I’m anything but. I’m tall, 5’11” and weigh close to 160. It’s all muscle of course and I tell myself muscle is denser than fat, but I get wistful sometimes when I see models. Only sometimes though. I love being strong, love the ability to run miles without getting winded. Love the fact that I can bench press almost 170 pounds.
Lachlan shifts and clears his throat, his thighs brushing mine making me shiver. He looks down at me with a grin. He knows I’m feeling him and I think he’s feeling me too.
A nervous quiet settles between us. I’m definitely tongue-tied. I like to think of myself as confident, but that’s on the court or with my girlfriends. And guys, well, I don’t date much because of my career and also most guys my age aren’t interested in me because of my height. But Mr. Big next to me has my head thinking things I’ve only read about in romance novels.
“So,” we blurt out at the same time and then laugh. “You first,” we say together again.
“Okay,” I say. “You belong to Hell’s Jury.”
He chuckles, deep and sensuous. A man’s chuckle. Not a boy’s. “I am a member of the club, yes.”
“Club,” I repeat. “Not a gang then.”
“Well, we think of ourselves as a club.”
“So is that what you do? Be part of the club?” I take a cautious sip of my beer.
“Not just that. I have a life outside it.” He swings his hand towards his house. “This, for instance. And I manage an auto body and repair shop. Hawkeye’s.”
“I’ve heard of Hawkeye’s.” Oh god, he manages a car shop, too? Better and better. “So what do they call you?” At his blank stare, I explain, “Like a nickname… or a biker name?”
“Red. They call me Red.”
“Cool,” I reply. Cool? Seriously Stella. You sound like you’re 13. I clear my throat. “I’m in college.”
He looks down at me. “What’re you taking?”
“English degree. I also play basketball for the Wolf Pack. The degree is kind of necessary if I want to play in NCAA.”
“Athlete, hey?” He raises his eyebrows and grins. “I figured.”
I scowl. “Figured I was a basketball player?”
He laughs. “No. A gymnast.”
I can’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed. “I could’ve been a model or something like that.”
He reaches over and tugs on one of my wayward curls. “Doesn’t seem like that would suit you.”
I’m about to reply as my mom drives up and parks in the driveway. I slide the beer cautiously behind me. Don’t need to start the day with her lecturing me about the lethal combination of alcohol and men.
She gets out of her car, peeks into mine, then heads toward the door without looking around.
“Guess she’s home,” Lachlan says as he drains his beer.
“Yeah.” I stand, hesitate. Maybe it’s too early to meet the parents. But it’s not too early to meet the neighbor. “Want me to introduce you to my mom? You know.” I shrug casually. “Since you’re neighbors.”
“Let’s pretend I’m not corrupting their little girl by supplying her with alcohol.” He guzzles what’s left of my beer, sets both bottles behind a bush next to the steps, then pops up beside me.
My face heats. Little girl. I love the sound of it.
We’re almost across the street when Lachlan says, “Hold on.” He grabs my arm to stop me, then plucks at my hair.
“What’re you doing?”
“Bug,” he replies, still rooting through my curls.
I freeze. I hate bugs. “What kind of bug?”
“Spider.”
Oh my god! I hate spiders more than any other bug in the world. Like they are my worst nightmare. I scream like I’m being stabbed and start jumping around. “Get it out! Get it out!”
Then, well, chaos happens.