Page 5

Dani

“Go.”

“We’re open for another two hours, Stan.”

“And I can handle the next two hours by myself,” he replied. “You just worked the past three days by yourself, so I can handle working two hours by myself. You look tired, honey. Go home and get some rest.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “Don’t you know it’s rude to tell a woman she looks tired, Stan? Now you got me thinking I look like Godzilla after a three-day binge tearing up Tokyo.”

Stan gave a big belly laugh, and his face shone with amusement. “You got a way with words, Dani.”

“Coming from the man who just told me I looked tired,” I sassed and arched an eyebrow.

“Come on,” he sighed, his tone gentle. “You know what I mean. I can tell since the explosion that you’re on edge. I only worked with you today, and you jumped about ten feet in the air when I set a case of cheese on the counter.”

“Dropped,” I pointed out. “You dropped that case of cheese, and it was loud.”

“I didn’t do anything different than I normally do, Dani. Just admit you’re a little on edge. Go home and start your night a little early,” he reasoned and gave me a look that told me he wasn’t going to back down.

I sighed and ran my fingers through the tangled strands of my hair. “I mean, I am fine, but if you’re okay with closing up tonight, I won’t argue.”

“You did argue,” he laughed, “I just won.”

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my purse from behind the counter. I hitched it over my shoulder and pulled out my keys. “I will see you bright and early in the morning, okay?” I may be taking off a couple of hours early tonight, but I won’t be taking off any more time.

Stan nodded and gave me a reassuring smile. “You got it.”

“Goodnight, Stan,” I called over my shoulder and pushed through the door.

The late afternoon heat slammed into me like a wall the second I stepped outside. The parking lot was nearly empty, and the asphalt radiated waves of heat under the relentless Texas sun. My car sat toward the back and shimmered in the golden light like an oven waiting to swallow me whole. Why did I decide a black car was a good idea?

I unlocked the door, tossed my purse into the passenger seat, and slid behind the wheel with a tired groan. The leather seat burned against my skin, and I quickly turned on the AC. The vents blasted hot air before finally cooling down. I put on my sunglasses and tapped my fingers on the screen to put on music.

Fleetwood Mac drifted through the speakers as I pulled out of the lot, and Stevie Nicks’ voice wrapped around me like a familiar embrace. Just as she started singing about taking her love down, the tire pressure light on my dash blinked rapidly.

“What the hell?” I muttered and frowned as I glanced at the display. The car felt fine—no pulling, no odd noises. Maybe the sensor was acting up. I pressed a few buttons and brought up the tire pressure screen to make sure everything was fine.

It wasn’t.

The number for the right rear tire was dropping fast. A heartbeat later, the car started to shudder beneath me, and the steering wheel vibrated in my hands.

“No, no, no,” I cried, and my pulse kicked up as I scanned the road for a safe place to pull over.

Stan was right—I was exhausted. The past three nights had been a blur of restless sleep and nightmares about the explosion. The last thing I needed was a damn flat tire on top of it.

Frustration bubbled up in my chest, but I swallowed it down as I eased the car onto the gravel shoulder of the road. My fingers clenched the wheel as the car came to a stop, and dust swirled around me.

“Just great,” I muttered and rested my head back against the seat. “This sucks.”

I opened the door and stepped out into the sweltering heat, the wave of it slapping me in the face like an oven door left open too long. The thick scent of hot rubber filled my nostrils, acrid and unmistakable. Walking around to the back of the car, I crouched down, brushing the dust off my hands onto my jeans before inspecting the damage.

The tire was completely shot—torn to shreds like it had gone through a blender. Long, jagged gashes ran across the rubber, and bits of it flapped limply in the breeze.

“Perfect,” I mumbled under my breath and wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. There went my extra two hours at home. So much for Stan’s insistence that I needed rest.

I sighed heavily. The day had been long, and now this? Great. Just great.

At least I wasn’t stuck on a busy road. The side road I had taken was quiet, with barely any traffic in sight—just a few passing cars.

I moved to the trunk and popped it open. The heat trapped inside rolled over me like a furnace blast as I pushed aside the mess of reusable grocery bags and an old sweatshirt to uncover the spare tire nestled in its compartment.

I tugged at it, but the damn thing didn’t want to budge. “Come on, you piece of shit.” I gave it another hard yank, but it didn’t budge.

Just as I was working up a sweat wrestling with the stubborn tire, the low rumble of an approaching engine echoed through the stillness. The sound vibrated through the air, and I paused to glance over my shoulder. Two bikes rolled to a stop a few feet away, and dust kicked up around them. The riders swung their legs over, and their boots crunched against the gravel as they dismounted.

I shielded my eyes with my hand and stared at the two figures. I recognized one of them almost immediately.

Smoke.

Jesus.

Even under the relentless sun, he looked as effortlessly cool as ever. His black T-shirt clung to his tattooed arms, and his leather cut fit him like it was made for him. I swallowed hard and felt an odd mix of relief and nervousness in my stomach.

“You okay?” Smoke called out.

I pushed my hair out of my sweaty face and forced a tight smile. “Uh, well, I’ve been better.”

He stepped closer, and his gaze locked onto mine. I could see the flicker of recognition pass over his face.

Yep. He knew who I was now.

I’m sure I looked about as shocked as he did.

“I guess it’s my turn to help you,” he smirked, his lips tugging up in that way that made it impossible to tell if he was being cocky or just charming.

“You two know each other?” the other man asked and glanced between us with mild curiosity.

Smoke smirked and pushed his sunglasses on top of his head. His dark eyes met mine again. “This is Dani Marie. She owns the wine shop.” He gestured to the other guy. “Dani, meet Dice.”

I gave an awkward wave to Dice and felt suddenly very out of place in my dusty jeans and sweat-soaked T-shirt. “Uh, hi.”

Dice grinned wide. “Wine chick,” he chuckled. “The girls are gonna be pissed that I got to meet you before them.”

Wine chick? Girls? My mind scrambled to catch up.

“Uh, well…” I stammered, unsure of what to say. I always felt a little clueless when these guys talked like there was some inside joke I wasn’t privy to.

“You call for a tow or anything?” Smoke asked and dragged his gaze from me to the mangled tire.

I shook my head, brushing my damp hands on my thighs. “Uh, no. I was just going to put the spare on.”

Smoke crouched down beside the tire and ran his hand over the tattered rubber. “Damn,” he muttered and inspected the damage more closely. “You run over a couple of axes or something, angel?”

I blinked. Angel?

It took me a second to reply because my brain was still short-circuiting over that one little word. It was probably nothing—just something he called every woman, right? But still, hearing it again in his rough voice did something weird to my insides.

“Uh, not that I noticed,” I stuttered.

I moved next to him; the heat rolled off the pavement in waves as I took him in up close. Tattoos crawled up his arms, black ink curling around defined muscles, and disappeared beneath the sleeves of his shirt. The butterfly peeked out from his collar, and the wings hugged the side of his neck. His leather cut sat snug over his shoulders, and the worn patches stitched onto the back were proudly displayed.

Even in the miserable Texas heat with a flat tire and sweat sticking to my skin, I couldn’t ignore just how handsome Smoke was.

“You come from the shop?” he asked, his deep voice cutting through the quiet hum of cicadas in the distance.

I nodded and wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. “Uh, yeah. I was just headed home when all of a sudden, my tire pressure warning light went off.”

“Good thing you pulled over when you did.”

Smoke stood up, and suddenly, we were too close. The scent of leather and motor oil mixed with the heat, wrapped around me. He bumped into me slightly, and before I could stumble back, his hands shot out and gripped my arms to steady me. A flush of heat crept up my neck at his touch, and for a moment, we just stood there, eyes locked. His fingers were warm, steady, and lingered a little too long.

“You good, angel?” he asked, and his lips curved into a smirk.

There was that name again. It had to be something he called everyone. He had said it the day of the explosion, and he had called me it twice today.

“I’ll get the spare,” Dice said, breaking whatever weird spell Smoke and I had fallen into.

I cleared my throat and took a step back. Smoke let his hands fall, and I immediately missed their warmth.

“Uh, I couldn’t get it out.” I pushed my damp hair behind my ear and felt a little ridiculous. “It’s stuck.”

Smoke and Dice moved to the open trunk and peered inside.

“It’s bolted in.” Dice leaned over, his hands moving quickly, and within seconds, he held up a small nut. “Just a wingnut to keep the tire from bouncing all over the place.”

Smoke grabbed the spare and the jack underneath with barely an effort.

“Oh, uh, well...” I stammered and felt my face heat up. I would have liked to have said I knew that there was a nut holding it in, but obviously, I didn’t.

“It’s all good, angel. A lot of people don’t know how to change a tire. That’s good for our line of business.” Smoke leaned the spare against the car by the flat tire and flashed me another smirk.

“I know how to change a tire. My ex showed me how,” I insisted and crossed my arms defensively. And I did. “I just have never had to get it out of the car.” I motioned to the open trunk. “He left out how to get the tire out.”

Smoke chuckled and kneeled in front of the shredded tire. “Just a small detail he forgot.”

I watched as he and Dice got to work, their movements quick and efficient. Smoke loosened the lug nuts with ease. Dice slid the jack under the car, pumping it up steadily while they exchanged a few words I couldn’t quite hear. It didn’t take long before the old tire was off, and the spare was in place. Dice handed Smoke the lug nuts, and he secured them tightly.

Before I knew it, the job was done. Smoke tossed the destroyed tire into my trunk and slammed it shut.

“Come over to the clubhouse tomorrow, and we’ll get you a new tire.”

“Oh, no. You don’t need to do that. You guys have already done enough for me,” I insisted and shook my head.

Smoke leaned against my car, his dark eyes fixed on mine. “You probably picked up something in the parking lot from the explosion. This goes back to me and the club. I’ll take care of your tire.”

I rolled my eyes. “I could have picked up something anywhere, Smoke. I don’t think you can really blame yourself for this.” I stepped closer and met his gaze. “And besides, you guys made it sound like the explosion wasn’t your fault, so this isn’t your fault.”

Smoke glanced at Dice, and something unspoken passed between them.

The Iron Fiends hadn’t been the ones to blow up the strip mall, but something told me they had been the ones the explosion was targeting.

“Come to the clubhouse,” Smoke said again, and his tone left no room for argument. “I’ll take care of your tire.”

I looked up at him and searched his face. “We’ll see. I have to work tomorrow.”

Smoke’s lips thinned in a way that told me he wasn’t a man who liked hearing ‘we’ll see.’

I stepped back and smiled at Dice. “Thank you for stopping to help. I would still be trying to get the tire out if you guys hadn’t stopped.”

Dice grinned and tipped an imaginary hat. “No problem, doll.” He walked back to his bike and left me alone with Smoke.

Smoke was still leaning against my car, and his hands were shoved deep in his pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow, angel.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

I wrinkled my nose and shrugged. “Later, Smoke.” I took a few steps toward the driver’s door.

“We’ll follow you to your house to make sure the spare holds.”

My step faltered. “I, uh, you do—”

“We’ll follow you,” he repeated firmly, and his tone made it clear I wasn’t getting out of it.

I nodded. “Uh, thank you.” No sense in wasting time arguing when I had a feeling I wasn’t going to win.

I slid into my car and tossed a glance in the rearview mirror just in time to see Smoke straddle his bike. He slid his sunglasses over his eyes and cranked the engine as a deep rumble vibrated through the air.

I couldn’t see his eyes, but somehow, I knew he was looking right at me through the mirror.

Why was this man suddenly in my life? And why, whenever I looked at him, did I get butterflies in my stomach?

With a sigh, I rolled my eyes and started the car. As I merged back onto the road, I couldn’t help but glance in the mirror every few seconds. Smoke rode behind me; his motorcycle kept pace with my little sedan. The deep growl of his engine was a steady presence behind me and a constant reminder that he was watching out for me.

The sun was starting to dip. The road stretched out ahead, but all I could focus on was the gleam of chrome and the figure riding behind me.

I turned onto my street and then into my driveway to my usual spot. My little one-story house looked tiny on the outside and was tiny on the inside, but it was home. It was what I could afford after the divorce, and it was enough.

Smoke and Dice stopped at the end of my driveway with their bikes idling.

I stepped out and waved my hand in thanks. I was torn between wanting Smoke to get off his bike and hoping he would just drive off.

Smoke gave a small nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dani Marie.” He glanced at Dice, and without another word, they revved their engines and took off down the street.

I watched them go until the glow of their taillights disappeared around the corner. I ran my fingers through my hair and let out a heavy sigh.

That was unexpected.

I hadn’t thought I would ever see Smoke again after the explosion, but here he was, swooping in to help me this afternoon. And, apparently, I was going to see him again tomorrow.

I glanced at the spare tire on my car.

I didn’t think it was Smoke’s fault I got a flat. He didn’t need to be the one to help me get a new tire. And I had to work tomorrow.

I knew the spare would be fine for a couple of days, and I could get it fixed on my next day off, which wouldn’t be until Sunday. Smoke had done enough for me.

I could handle my tire.