Page 1 of Trip (Riders of Retribution #3)

Julia

“Julia,” my manager says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I look away from the corner I’ve been staring at while trying to muster up a final burst of energy so I can finish my shift strong.

This is my third double of the week, and the long hours are starting to catch up with me.

I know that it’s worth it, though. The clients here tip well, and with the responsibility for my younger sisters (not to mention all the bills) falling on my shoulders, I wouldn’t dare complain about the hours I’m getting.

“What’s up, Rock?” I ask. Thanks to the computer system, I know it’s not his real name, but I’m still too new to ask how such a small, scrawny man earned such a macho nickname.

“Just wanted to let you know that we’ve got a member of the Riders of Retribution sitting in your section,” he says, and for a second I’m confused.

Then I remember. That’s one of the motorcycle clubs in Rio Lunas.

“We call him Trip. Comp his meal, keep him as happy as possible. He’ll be your last table of the night.

You can go home once you get him taken care of. ”

“Sounds good,” I say, giving him a winning smile. “I’ll head there now.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder.

The smile stays on my face. It’s nice to be openly appreciated here. With most serving jobs I’ve had, I’ve been asked for more, more, more. Of course, I did it with a good attitude. Here, though, management isn’t stingy with their acknowledgment of jobs well done. It’s refreshing, actually.

Armed with my notebook and a bounce in my step, I walk out of the kitchen, rounding the corner to the dining room.

I spot the customer, Trip, immediately, and I’m taken aback by how ruggedly handsome this man is.

There’s a shock of dirty blond hair on his head, and I can tell how muscular he is, even under his leather jacket.

I’ve only got a good look at his side profile, but I can see a smattering of stubble along his jaw.

I’ve nearly stopped in my tracks by how good this man looks. I think I might be blushing. I try to snap out of it and remind myself that I’m at work. I’ve served attractive men before. Maybe not men as attractive as Trip, but I can do this.

As I get closer to the table, Trip turns to look at me, and the air is punched from my lungs. There’s displeasure etched into his deep brown eyes. It’s practically radiating off of him in waves. He might as well be screaming, “Don’t fuck with me!”

Rock’s instructions bounce around my head as I continue to close the distance. I’m supposed to make Trip happy. So, I’m determined to get this handsome man to smile, even if it kills me.

“Hope whatever’s going on can be fixed with food,” I say, stopping at the edge of the table and catching his attention.

He locks eyes with me, and almost instantly the intensity in the air around him seems to soften a little.

I clear my throat, trying to make sure that I stay on topic and don’t get flustered by how handsome he is.

“I’m Julia, by the way. I’ll be taking care of you tonight. ”

“Trip,” he replies, holding his hand out for me to shake.

A spark of electricity runs through me when our palms connect.

I don’t want to let go, and I don’t think that he does, either.

He breaks our connection first and says, “I’m already feeling better just knowing that you’ll be taking care of me. ”

I can’t stop myself from giggling, my ears burning with a deep blush. Then, Trip gets even more gorgeous because the corners of his lips twitch. Apparently, getting him to smile isn’t going to be as hard as I initially thought.

“So,” I say, my voice coming out at a higher pitch than I anticipated, “do you know what you’d like to eat, or would you like me to grab you a drink and give you a few minutes with the menu?”

“Get me the burger special,” he says, handing me the menu that’s sitting unopened in front of him. “Fries extra crispy, burger a little bloody. And I’ll do a water, hold the lemon. Extra ice.”

“A man who knows what he wants. I like that,” I say, the words slipping out before I realize how flirty it sounds.

“Is that right?” Trip asks, quirking his eyebrow as I finish scribbling his order on my notebook.

“I– uh– um–,” I stutter, blinking quickly as I try to get my thoughts straight. “Well–”

He laughs, knocking his knuckles against the wood, keeping his intense gaze on my face. I get even redder. Then he says, “I know what I want, but I wonder if you know what you want.”

“Maybe I do,” I say breathlessly before bouncing on the balls of my feet. Then, because I’m afraid I’m going to say something to embarrass myself, I say, “I’ll get this put back for you.”

“Thanks, Julia,” he says, my name sounding like a prayer coming from his lips.

With one final nod, I head toward the computer to put in his order. Then, after ensuring the final total due is zero, I pour his water. No lemon. Extra ice. Just like he asked.

The entire time I’m doing this, my hands are shaking and my face is burning. I’ve never been so attracted to someone before. I didn’t even know that men as charming as Trip existed in real life.

There’s something special about the man sitting at that table.

I nearly collide with one of my coworkers as I leave the kitchen with Trip’s glass. Managing to steady myself, I blame my exhaustion rather than my distraction for the near-miss. It’s the long hours I’ve been working and not the fact that I’m bewitched by one of the guests at my table.

Unfortunately, I don’t pay nearly enough attention to what almost happened, because I stumble slightly as soon as Trip’s table comes into view. I try to catch myself, reaching for the edge of the wood. Somehow, I forget that I have a glass of water in my hand, and the bottom catches on the ledge.

It happens in slow motion. The glass tips forward, and the table is quickly coated in ice and liquid. Trip begins to push himself backward, but the mess is approaching him faster than he can move. I watch in horror as water spills into his lap and the glass in question shatters on the ground.

At the sound of glass breaking, time speeds up again. I waste no time going into damage control mode, stuttering apologies as I grab a napkin dispenser from the nearest empty table. I brace myself to be yelled at by this handsome, definitely grumpy man as I continue to apologize.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, soaking up the water on the table and knocking the ice to the ground with the remnants of the cup. “I– this has never happened before. I’ve been here all day and I’m exhausted. I know it’s not an excuse, though. I’m so sorry.”

“Julia,” he says, his deep voice calming the growing anxiety and guilt in my gut. When I look away from the mess I’ve made, there’s no anger in his face. In fact, he’s smiling, really smiling this time, and it makes me a little weak in the knees. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But I spilled it all over you,” I say weakly.

Trip looks down at himself, and I follow his gaze. In truth, the mess from the water isn’t that big. There are a few spots on his shirt and a patch on his outer thigh, but somehow, he managed to avoid a bulk of the mess.

“Well, the good news is I’m not made of sugar, so I won’t melt,” he says with a shrug. Then, he returns his attention to my face, still burning bright red. “If I don’t dry off during my meal, this is nothing a few minutes on my bike won’t fix.”

“Oh,” I say, my body feeling immediately lighter at his easy acceptance of the situation. “You have a bike, huh?” I ask lamely.

He’s so much kinder, so much more patient than I would have initially thought. Though, maybe he’s just like that with waitstaff. A traitorous part of my brain suggests he might not act like this with anyone but me.

It’s too early to be thinking that. But I can’t deny that’s what I’d want.

“That I do. Tell me, Julia,” he says, smirking like he knows the effect him saying my name has on me, “have you ever ridden on a motorcycle before?”

“I haven’t,” I admit, going back to sopping up the water I spilled. Not wanting to end the conversation, I add, “Not that I don’t want to. The opportunity’s just never come up.”

Trip makes a humming noise that comes from deep in his chest. Then, he says, “Well, I think I’m just the kind of guy that can fix that.”

“Huh?” I ask, looking away from my work, blinking rapidly as I try to work out what he means.

“You said you wanted to ride a motorcycle,” he replies, clearly pleased with the effect he’s having on me. God, I’m so obvious. “I rode here on one. How about you let me take you out on a little joyride after your shift?”

“I–”

“Sorry,” he says, that handsome smile of his growing even wider. “I phrased that as a question. What I meant to say is that I’m going to take you on a ride after your shift ends. When would that be?”

“You’re– um,” I say, swallowing around the flutter of excitement in my throat. “You’re my last table today.”

“That’s perfect,” he replies as he grabs the napkin container from me, taking a few and cleaning up the last of my mess. “It’s a date.”

“Yeah,” I say, my heart pounding against my ribs. “It’s a date.”