Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 41918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 210(@200wpm)___ 168(@250wpm)___ 140(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 210(@200wpm)___ 168(@250wpm)___ 140(@300wpm)
She's so fucking gorgeous that I want to snatch the book from her hand and back her into the bedroom, forgoing dinner reservations and any other plans just to have her to myself in bed. But Emma needs to be romanced, and while romance has always seemed like a foreign concept, she brings the possibility out in me.
"I hope you're ready because the longer we're in this house, the closer I am to locking you in and never leaving," I joke, but neither of us misses the note of seriousness in my tone.
"I'm ready," she chirps, putting the book down and closing the guest room door behind her. "I'm starving."
Walking her out to my bike, I grab her the spare helmet and slide my own over my head. I feel a rush of pride looking at my motorcycle—a customized Harley Night Train—a far cry from the used bucket of bolts I bought out of the newspaper classifieds decades ago. Emma rode with me last night, but it was so late, and we were both drunk on adrenaline. Now I know she can really enjoy the experience.
The engine comes to life with a deep rumble, and Emma throws a leg over the seat, her sundress riding high on her toned thighs. I lean back into her, breathing deeply. It feels right to have her on the back of my bike, and it's only taken me forty years to figure out.
The restaurant isn't far, so it doesn't take us long to reach it. Parking my bike, we make our way into the restaurant where we're greeted warmly and shown to our seats. The table is small and intimate, perfect for a romantic meal, but we don't talk about what this all means. I want to be with her. She's here. That's enough for right now.
After a meal filled with lighthearted banter and playful flirting, the conversation takes a serious turn.
"What did you do today while I was at school?"
"Interviewed some Iron Guardian hopeful." I shake my head. "He's probably hopeless. I've been doing this for a long time. I can tell when someone just doesn't have it in them to do the work we do. Sometimes that's because they're just too scared, but sometimes they’re just bad." The food arrives and we pause as the server sets the dishes down, giving our thanks before turning our attention back to each other. "I see it more and more with these younger guys. It makes me worried about the future of the club."
"But you still want to lead the Iron Guardians? Even if the new generation isn't up to the task?"
The answer is easy. "Yeah, I do. We just need to branch out a little farther. Find those untapped areas. I think there are still good people up to the task. People just have to be willing to try."
We focus on our meals. Emma ordered a huge garden salad with grilled chicken, and I went with the seared steak dinner with baked potatoes and sauteed broccoli. I don't miss the way Emma looks at my plate, and I make sure to give her a few bites.
I've always taken care of everyone, but this is something new. The feeling I get when Emma accepts the offered bites is intoxicating, a desire to nurture and protect welling up inside me.
Our conversation meanders from the Iron Guardians and the work I do as a custom bike builder and mechanic to our lives growing up. Emma had a quiet upbringing with her mother and siblings, while mine was chaotic and unstable, but neither of us was ever really happy. I've spent the better part of forty years just surviving, and I know it's time for more.
When the light starts to change outside, I know it's time to go so I can put the second phase of my date into action. The other Guardians might laugh at me and my newfound romantic streak, but I don't care. Anything to put that look of adoration in Emma's eyes.
I pay the bill, taking a second to talk to the chef who was our ward a year ago, watching Emma head outside into the late sunshine absentmindedly. She's only away from me for a few minutes, but her absence starts to bother me immediately. I cut the conversation short, a bad feeling starting to churn in my stomach. Being the leader of the Guardians has taught me to trust my gut, and when I turn the corner to the parking lot, I see that once again my gut was right.
Emma is standing next to my motorcycle, her arms crossed and her body language anxious but annoyed. In front of her, too close for my liking, is a man. He's leaning towards her, crowding her against the bike, and even at a distance, I know he's trying to hit on her.