Page 3 of Sinful Skulls (Rebel Skull MC #9)

Chapter Three

Daisy

H e’s early. I watch him scan the beach for me. I chuckle, because he sticks out like a sore thumb. He’s in jeans and a black t-shirt again. This one features a different band, but it’s also ripped down the sides.

A group of women try to wave him over to join them. He offers them a smile but declines their invitation. He lowers himself to the sand in the exact same spot where I had my easel set up yesterday.

He dusts his hands off on his pants. His aversion to sand makes me laugh. I shift my bag over my shoulder and make my way down to him.

I pause a few feet away, debating on whether or not I should approach him. It doesn’t feel good to lead him on. I’m leaving for Paris in a week.

“Hello, my little flower.”

My shoulders fall. “How did you know I was here?” I take the last few steps toward him and plop down in the sand.

“I could smell you.”

Instantly, I shove my nose into my armpit.

His head falls back, and he laughs. “Not like that. You’re my favorite new scent.”

“Oh.” I look away, embarrassed.

He bumps his shoulder into mine. “You’re not going to paint today?”

“No. I’m not starting any new projects right now. I’m leaving for Paris in a week.” Better I tell him now.

“Paris. Wow, that sounds exciting.”

“Yeah. I’m going to be studying art there for a year.”

He picks up a shell and throws it toward the water. “A whole year, huh.”

I can tell this revelation disappoints him, but I’m not going to put my dreams on hold for him or anyone else. My parents weren’t thrilled about my leaving either, but I’ve never asked for their help, so there wasn’t much they could say.

I’ve managed to get through college all on my own. I know I’m one of the lucky ones. With scholarships and my art sales, I’ve managed to save up a nice cushion for myself. I’m so thankful for the life I have.

“Well, then we better make the most of this week,” Brody says, drawing my attention from the water.

“What?”

“You and me. If we only have a week, we better get busy. So, tell me, where is your favorite place to eat? I’m starving. Which you will learn is pretty much a permanent state of being for me.”

“You still want to hang out even though I’m leaving soon?”

“You’re here right now, aren’t you? And today is all we really have.”

His optimism puts a smile on my face. “There’s the best pizza place just a few blocks from here. They have a deep dish that’s to die for.”

“Sounds good. You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?” he asks as he pulls me to my feet.

I chuckle at this. “No.”

“That’s really hard to believe, because a girl who is as pretty as you and likes pizza …” He puts his thumb and fingers together, bringing them to his mouth then pulling them away in a chef’s kiss.

“Oh, if that gets you going, there’s an ice cream parlor across the street.”

He places his hand on his chest. “Stop. You’re killing me. You like ice cream too?”

“I’m a sucker for a hot extra-fudgy sundae. What’s your favorite?”

He chuckles. “When it comes to food, I don’t play favorites,” he jokes, taking my hand in his as we cross the street.

His fingers are warm, and his grip steady. It’s comforting. I feel safe with him. Which is strange, because I’ve just met this man.

We decide to eat outside, which seems to make him happy.

“Do you like to be outdoors?” I ask, covering my mouth.

“Absolutely. From your tan, I would guess you spend a lot of time at the beach.”

“I do, but I’m not really a beach girl. I’m not a fan of getting in the ocean. It freaks me out.”

He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “I hear you there. Fuck, this place is the bomb.”

“Right?”

Our conversation continues effortlessly. After supper, we jog across the street for dessert.

“Let me get this. You paid for the pizza.” I try to shove him out of the way at the register, but he doesn’t budge.

“Fuck no. That’s not how I roll, sweetheart.”

My stomach does weird fluttery things. Normally I’d be gagging at such a sickening sweet endearment. But for some reason, coming from Brody, it makes me giddy.

We casually walk back, eating our ice cream. He guides us to a picnic table in the small grassy area that overlooks the beach. He helps me to sit on top of it, facing the water.

“So, what are we going to do tomorrow?”

I laugh, but I do want to see him again. Tonight was fun. Easy. “Well, since you like food, we could drive up the coast to this restaurant that has the best fish in all of California.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. We can take my bike.”

There’s that weird fluttery thing again. I hope I’m not getting a stomach bug. “I’ve never been on a bike,” I tell him honestly.

He holds my gaze. “You ready to experience something different?”

Um, yes please … that’s why I’m going to Paris.

“Sure.” I shrug acting like it’s no big deal, but my mind is already fantasizing about being on a motorcycle with him. It sounds dangerous. My parents would shit their pants if they knew what I’ve just agreed to do.

The way this man chuckles has me squeezing my thighs together.

“It’s a date then.”

He takes my empty cup from me, and I watch as he walks over to the trash can to throw it away. He scans the area, turning around several times to make sure I’m okay.

I shiver, remembering how he broke that guy’s nose last night.

Maybe I’m wrong, and it’s not the bike that’s dangerous. It’s the driver.