Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“So you’re Wise Biker and Real Estate Mogul Biker?”
He grinned down at her. “Snap’s the mogul. I’m not there yet.”
“You’ve got more than me,” she mumbled.
“Georgie,” he called.
She refocused on him.
And blurted, “I’m thirty-one.”
She said that like it was a dirty little secret.
When she didn’t say more, he prompted, “So?”
“You act older than twenty-eight.”
More prompting from him. “And?”
She was watching him closely when she asked, “Does it bother you that I’m older than you?”
“Did it bother you when you thought I was older than you?”
Her bright smile came back. “So my New-Style American Biker I’m Starting to See is Wise Biker, Budding Mogul Biker and Enlightened Biker.”
He grinned again and gave her another squeeze. “Yeah.”
“Awesome,” she whispered, pressing close.
He was about to kiss her again when they both heard, “Mwrrr!”
She jerked in his hold, looked down and cried dramatically, “Baby!”
She then pulled free of Dutch’s arms and Dutch watched her bend down and pick up a cat that was sitting at the sides of their feet.
She turned it in her arms, cradled it like it was her child and started speaking to the animal, sharing big, but doing it in a cooing voice that was straight-up hilarious.
“You can see, he’s gorgeous, and he’s a good kisser, so there’s reason I forgot all about you. But I’m so sorry I forgot about you. I’ll introduce you to him right away.” Her eyes came to Dutch. “Dutch, this is Murtagh.” She looked to the cat. “Murtagh, this is my New-Style American Biker I’m Starting to See, Dutch Black.”
“Mwrr,” Murtagh replied.
It took some effort, with Georgiana showing him more of the good that was Georgiana, to tear his eyes from her to look at the cat.
But when he did, he experienced a sensation he’d never felt in his life.
Love at first sight.
Big round eyes. Poofy round face. Tons of thick, gray hair. Folded-over ears.
It was the cutest damned feline he’d ever clapped eyes on.
Not even knowing what he was doing, he took the cat from her arms and held it the same way Georgie had been doing.
“Yo, Murtagh,” he greeted.
“Murr,” Murtagh replied.
“You’re gonna hang with me tonight.”
“Mwrr?”
“Yeah. Make sure Mom brings some toys. We’ll live it up.”
“Mwwwwrrrr.”
He turned his attention to Georgie and declared, “We’re all good.”
He then clamped his mouth shut.
Because she was staring at him in a way no other woman had looked at him.
But he’d seen that look.
His ma looked at Hound like that.
Tack’s wife, Cherry, looked at Tack like that.
Shy’s woman, Tabby, looked at Shy like that.
Hop’s wife Lanie.
Joker’s wife, Carissa.
Snap’s wife, Rosalie.
High’s wife, Millie.
This list could go on.
Georgiana was similarly frozen, and like two lovestruck idiots, they stood close, a cat held between them, staring silently into each other’s eyes.
But so many words were flying, all of them full of meaning, it was not funny.
Dutch broke the spell.
“You got a bag and coat, baby?” he asked quietly. “We gotta go.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
She then moved awkwardly, like she didn’t know how to use her limbs, and gave Murtagh a head rub before she moved away.
Dutch started stroking Murtagh’s belly, and Murtagh shared he dug that by starting to purr.
At the same time, Dutch used that opportunity to take his first look around.
He didn’t know what he expected to see, but what he saw was not what he would have thought would be Georgie’s living space from what he knew of her.
Or what he’d assumed.
Erroneously.
And last night, damagingly.
He had thought, career woman, and ambitious, probably often on the road or at least out of the house, her space would not matter and that would show.
He was again wrong.
It was cluttered, but tidy, with a freestanding, open-backed bookshelf that made one room, two: a living area and a dining area.
The space was roomier than he would have guessed. The couch had a gallery wall above it that looked interesting enough he knew he’d take a closer look at what she had up there later. The coffee table had a big wicker basket under it, probably to tuck away throws. There was a chair that was definitely there for looks, not comfort, made of clear plastic. And the look worked, it was sheer cool. Toss pillows that ranged from animal prints to florals that somehow worked.
The coffee table was completely covered. Stacked with books, some in a tray. A small decorative bowl, a squat vase with a pink puff of fake flowers, a single taper candle adding dimension.
The bookshelves were totally books, though artfully arranged, and not clogged, you could see through to the dining area which was a small round table with steel-legged, plastic-seated bucket chairs. With those chairs it was truth, it was kind of a marvel, how she’d made something cheap look chic.
He’d furnished his own crib, so he knew the cost of shit, and the scale of quality that money bought you, and none of this was top-of-the-line or even middle-of-the-road stuff.