One Night With The Biker

Chapter 18

Biker’s POV

I should have kept walking.

That was the first thought that crossed my mind when I saw her still sitting at the bar.

The second was that I had no reason to look back.

I looked anyway.

She was staring at the hallway I’d disappeared through.

Not at the people around her.

Not at the drink in front of her.

At the hallway.

I almost smiled.

Almost.

There was something amusing about the way she tried to pretend she wasn’t curious.

She wasn’t very good at it.

I had met plenty of curious people.

Most of them asked questions because they wanted something.

Information.

Access.

Money.

A favor.

She didn’t seem to want anything from me.

She simply wanted to know.

That was different.

I had no idea why that interested me.

I turned away from the bar and continued toward the hallway.

Then I stopped.

I stared at the closed door in front of me.

For a few seconds, I considered going back to my office.

I had paperwork waiting.

Calls to return.

A bed I hadn’t seen in almost two days.

I should have been exhausted.

Instead, I found myself thinking about the woman sitting at the bar.

The woman from the intersection.

The woman with the tired eyes.

The woman who had looked at me as though she was trying to remember where she had heard my voice.

I had noticed her the moment she walked through the clubhouse doors with Lena.

That had been the first problem.

The second was that I hadn’t stopped noticing her since.

She didn’t belong here.

Not because she looked down on the place.

She hadn’t.

She had looked around with the cautious curiosity of someone stepping into a world she had never seen before.

She had noticed everything.

The motorcycles.

The photographs.

The people.

The way everyone moved around one another.

She had taken it all in without making a spectacle of herself.

Then she’d sat at the bar and started drinking.

Too quickly.

I knew the difference between someone enjoying a drink and someone using it.

She was using it.

Not effectively.

But she was trying.

I had seen that before too.

Usually, people came to the clubhouse for one of two reasons.

To celebrate something.

Or to forget something.

She was clearly there for the second.

I pushed away from the wall.

I should have left her alone.

Instead, I turned around.

By the time I reached the bar, she was staring at the office again.

I stopped beside the empty stool.

“You’ll wear a hole through that door if you keep staring at it.”

She turned so quickly that I almost laughed.

Almost.

Her eyes widened when she saw me.

There it was again.

That brief flicker of surprise.

She hadn’t expected me to return.

Neither had I.

“Have I?”

Her voice was calm.

Almost.

“You have.”

She looked toward the hallway.

Then back at me.

“I was just curious.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Her mouth twitched.

She was trying not to smile.

I found myself wondering what she looked like when she wasn’t trying to hold one back.

That thought was unnecessary.

I dismissed it immediately.

She tilted her head.

“I take it curiosity is frowned upon around here?”

“Only when it gets people into trouble.”

“Does it?”

“Sometimes.”

That earned me a smile.

Small.

But real.

I had been right.

She had been sad since she walked through the door.

Not the kind of sadness that made someone cry.

The quieter kind.

The kind that sat behind the eyes.

The kind that made a person smile because they knew other people were watching.

I had seen her do it several times.

Smile.

Then stop the moment she thought no one was looking.

“That’s a very mysterious answer,” she said.

“I’ve been told I have a talent for those.”

She studied me.

I could almost see the thought forming in her head.

She was trying to figure me out.

Most people gave up quickly.

She didn’t.

“You sound like someone I know.”

My eyebrow lifted.

“Should I be offended?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

I laughed quietly.

The sound surprised me as much as it seemed to surprise her.

I didn’t laugh often.

Not because I was incapable of it.

I simply didn’t find many things funny.

Mason was occasionally funny.

Usually by accident.

This woman…

She was different.

“I’ll take that as progress.”

She continued studying me.

I let her.

There was something strangely entertaining about watching her try to see past the mask.

“If you’re the owner,” she said, “why the mask?”

There it was.

The question I expected eventually.

I rested my hand against the bar.

“Would you believe me if I said I value my privacy?”

“Maybe.”

“And if I told you there was another reason?”

“I’d assume you’re trying to keep me guessing.”

“Maybe I am.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

She didn’t like vague answers.

Good.

I didn’t like giving clear ones.

She took another sip of her drink.

Her face immediately tightened.

I noticed.

Of course I noticed.

She was trying to pretend she enjoyed it.

She didn’t.

“You’re not much of a whiskey drinker.”

She glanced at the glass.

“What gave me away?”

“You keep making the same face after every sip.”

Her cheeks flushed.

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“I was trying to be convincing.”

“You weren’t.”

She sighed dramatically.

“So much for my acting career.”

“You should probably keep your day job.”

She looked at me.

“How do you know I have a day job?”

“You don’t look like someone who sits around drinking whiskey all day.”

“That is a very specific assumption.”

“Am I wrong?”

She hesitated.

“No.”

“What do you do?”

“I didn’t say you could ask questions.”

Her eyes widened slightly.

Then she smiled.

There.

That was better.

“You’re right.”

“Good.”

“I’ll just continue being curious in silence.”

I looked at her.

She was enjoying herself now.

Only a little.

But enough.

Then her expression changed.

The smile disappeared.

“If only today hadn’t gone so terribly.”

The words came out before she could stop them.

I saw the regret immediately.

The way her eyes shifted away.

The way she reached for the glass as though she could take the words back.

“I’m fine,” she added quickly.

“I really am.”

“No.”

She looked back at me.

I kept my voice calm.

“You aren’t.”

The denial died before it reached her lips.

That told me enough.

She wasn’t fine.

She was simply tired of explaining why.

I knew that feeling.

Better than most.

My eyes drifted briefly toward her drink.

Then back to her.

“You should slow down.”

She glanced at the glass.

“I’m not drunk.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“I’m perfectly capable of handling three drinks.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t.”

She frowned.

“Then what are you saying?”

“That you don’t look like you’re drinking because you enjoy it.”

She went quiet.

For a second, I thought I had pushed too far.

Then she looked away.

That was answer enough.

I glanced down.

The glass sat between her hands.

She was holding it too tightly.

I knew that grip.

People held things like that when they were trying to keep themselves together.

I had no idea what had happened to her.

I wanted to know.

That was the third problem.

I didn’t like wanting to know things about strangers.

I preferred facts.

Facts were useful.

Feelings were not.

I glanced at her shirt.

The whiskey had darkened the fabric.

“There’s a private office upstairs.”

She looked at me.

“There’s also a restroom.”

Her eyes followed my gaze downward.

“And I think there’s still a spare shirt in one of the cabinets.”

She blinked.

“You keep spare clothes?”

“Accidents happen.”

“Here?”

“Frequently.”

She looked around the clubhouse.

“That is somehow not reassuring.”

I almost smiled.

“You can borrow one.”

She didn’t answer.

I could see the hesitation immediately.

Good.

She should hesitate.

I was a stranger.

A masked stranger.

The owner of a clubhouse she’d never visited before.

Every sensible instinct she had should have been telling her not to follow me anywhere private.

I had no intention of making the decision for her.

So I stepped back.

Gave her room.

“Or you can stay here.”

Her eyes lifted to mine.

The decision was hers.

She glanced around.

At the crowded clubhouse.

At the whiskey soaking into her shirt.

Then toward the entrance.

She was looking for Lena.

I knew that.

“Lena’s around somewhere,” I said.

Her eyes returned to me.

“You know her?”

“She’s been here before.”

That was true.

I didn’t explain that Lena was Mason’s girlfriend.

I didn’t explain that Mason had probably already noticed the two of us talking.

I didn’t explain that half the clubhouse had probably noticed.

She looked down at the stain again.

Then back at me.

I could see the argument taking place inside her head.

Trust the stranger.

Don’t trust the stranger.

Follow him.

Don’t follow him.

I waited.

I had no reason to rush her.

Eventually, her gaze returned to my face.

Or what she could see of it.

There was that look again.

She was trying to place my voice.

I knew it before she spoke.

“You sound familiar.”

I said nothing.

She frowned slightly.

I had heard that voice before.

Not from her.

From someone else.

The thought crossed her face.

Then disappeared.

Whatever name she had considered, she dismissed it.

I wondered who she had thought of.

I wondered why.

“Do I?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Yes.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Maybe.”

That made her laugh softly.

It was a small sound.

But it changed something in the space between us.

I didn’t know what.

I didn’t like that I noticed.

She looked at me for another moment.

Then finally nodded.

“Okay.”

I stepped aside.

She slid from the barstool.

For one brief second, she swayed.

Not enough to fall.

Enough for me to notice.

I didn’t reach for her.

She didn’t need me to.

She steadied herself.

Pride.

I understood that too.

I gestured toward the private hallway.

“This way.”

She followed.

I walked slowly enough for her to keep pace without hurrying.

The clubhouse remained loud behind us.

Music.

Laughter.

The clack of pool balls.

The scrape of chairs.

The familiar noise of home.

A few members looked up when they saw us.

I noticed.

They noticed me.

Then they noticed her.

Nobody said anything.

Nobody needed to.

One of the younger members reached the hallway door before I did and pulled it open.

“President.”

I nodded once.

He stepped aside.

The woman glanced at him.

Then at me.

I could almost see another question forming.

She didn’t ask it.

Good.

We stepped into the private hallway.

The music faded behind us.

The change was immediate.

The clubhouse became a distant pulse.

The hallway was quieter.

Cooler.

The lights were dimmer.

Her footsteps followed mine.

I was suddenly aware of the fact that she was behind me.

That awareness was irritating.

I had walked through this hallway thousands of times.

I had never noticed the sound of another person’s footsteps before.

I reached the office door.

My hand closed around the handle.

For the first time that evening, I wondered if I was making a mistake.

I looked back at her.

She stood a few feet away.

Still cautious.

Still uncertain.

Still looking at me as though she was trying to solve a puzzle.

I opened the door.

The heavy wood swung inward.

She hesitated.

Only for a moment.

Then she stepped inside.

I followed her.

And closed the door behind us.

I had no idea who she was.

I didn’t know what had happened to her.

I didn’t know why she had come to the clubhouse.

I didn’t know why she looked at me like she had heard my voice before.

But I knew one thing.

The moment she stepped into my office…

The night changed.

And I had a feeling neither of us was going to leave it exactly the way we had entered.