Page 16

I can’t shake this man. He owns the only body shop in town? Aren’t outlaws supposed to do like, outlaw things as opposed to working a nine-to-five job like everyone else?

I must be losing my mind because I left my dad’s pride and joy—albeit rusty pride and joy—with the biker president who sucks all the air from my lungs. Especially when he’s all masculine and dirty from working with his strong hands and bike parts all morning. I’m putting myself into an environment where I will see him again tonight.

I text Layla as Mr. Kennedy cruises through town singing to John Prine on the local country station.

I thought you said he’d be ignoring me by now?

PB

He should be.

Well, he’s not, in fact he seems to want to unnerve me every chance he gets

PB

Interesting. I’ve never seen this before. You’re like a shiny new toy.

I roll my eyes

Lucky me.

PB

A science experiment of sorts one would say.

This isn’t funny, he has my dad’s truck. He better not use it to whack anyone.

PB

Oh my god, I promise he won’t whack anyone.

Now can you please just take your pretty ass home and get packing? You should be leaving to come see my stunning royal self in less than four hours.

I barely have myself packed when I get a phone call from Big Mike himself an hour later confirming the price to fix my truck. I’m not even finished that conversation when a text comes through.

W

Change of plans. Pack light and do not leave on your own, understand?

I pull my phone back from my face to look at the text as I finish my conversation with Mike.

I just stare at it for a solid minute after I hang up. I start to type but then stop myself. I’ve seen too much of him in the last two days. I need a little distance to think clearly.

I flip my phone over on the kitchen counter.

I know it’s childish but it's easier to just pretend I didn't see it, and besides, I don’t have to answer to him anyway. As I finish packing, I remind myself there will be women everywhere tonight—lots of them. More than enough to steal his attention. As I make sure everything is clean and ready for me to leave for the night, I settle with the idea that Wolfe is just paying attention to me because I didn’t fawn all over him this morning. And maybe the big, all-powerful president isn’t used to that.

No matter how much I try not to think about him, his words echo in the deep baritone of his voice this morning when he told me to make sure I answer his call.

Whatever. I think I’m sort of done doing every single thing everyone tells me.

He’ll get over it.