Page 34 of Heart of Stone

"Speaking of, you should head to bed," I say finally, noting the shadows under her eyes.

"Probably." But she makes no move to leave. "You okay? Really?"

The concern in her voice undoes me. "Yeah. Better now." I tap a finger against the now empty plate. “This was great. Thanks.” She stands, gathering my plate. "Any time. Though maybe next time try to make it home before the food gets cold."

"Yes, ma'am.”

Her free hand brushes my shoulder, the touch brief but warm. "Get some sleep, Hawk. Those knuckles need rest."

I watch her move to the sink, the quiet domesticity of her rinsing the plate hitting me right in the chest. She fits here, in my clubhouse, in my kitchen, in my space.

I stay up, nursing a beer long after she’s retired. The ghost of her touch lingers on my skin.

Andi is a dangerous woman.

I find I like it.

9

ANDI

"What do you mean you won’t accept payment over the phone?"

I pace Duck's office, phone pressed to my ear, trying not to curse out the utility company’s fourth representative.

Ginger had arrived that morning with Steel in tow.

“You need to work and I have a free day,” she said, bundling up the kids and hustling me out of the house with a cheerful wave. “Go! We’ll be fine.”

I don’t know what it says about me that I left babysitting duties to a woman I barely know and a biker prospect. But I need the cash.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but for this account, we can only accept payment by check."

I stifle a scream. I’ve been fighting with the utility company for over an hour, pacing back and forth in Duck’s tiny office atthe garage as I’ve been passed through person after person who doesn’t seem able to help me.

"That makes no sense. You’re really telling me you won’t accept my cash, and I have to wait until you get a fucking check in the mail before you’ll turn my shit back on?"

"Language, ma’am. And yes. The account status has been changed. We can only accept checks or in-person cash payment for this account."

Through the window, I see Duck and Hawk talking by a restored Harley. They’ve been hovering all morning, taking turns finding reasons to walk past the office.

Normally I’m out the back of the garage, elbow deep in engine. I rarely see the customers during the day—and if I do, it’s normally because I have to be the one to tell them the bad news.

"Changed by who? Why?"

"I don't have that information, ma'am. If you'd like to mail a check?—"

"It’ll take five days to process! I have three kids in that house."

"I understand your frustration, but?—"

"No, you don't. Because if you did, you'd take my damn payment." I grip the phone tighter. "Let me speak to your supervisor."

"They’ll tell you the same thing. Check or cash only."

"Fine. Where’s the closest office front?"

"One moment, let me check."