I’d become transfixed, addicted to it.
Last night, awake at three o’clock in the morning, I’d fantasized about him as my fingers took care of my stress level. Moaning into my pillow, I’d imagined Boner’s lean and contoured body over mine, his ringed fingers clamping over my wrists, his long dark hair teasing my breasts, as his mouth traveled down my torso until it finally, finally reached my—
“Jill?” Matt sat up, brushing against me.
Boner’s eyes narrowed, the ridge of his brows shadowing the green depths.
My back snapped up against the seat. “Boner, this is Matt. He’s a physical therapist at the center where Rae gets treated.”
“Hi.” Matt rose to his feet, offering an outstretched hand.
Boner exhaled as he lifted his chin, studying Matt, as if scrutinizing a cockroach he was about to crush.
“This is Boner,” I said.
Matt’s gaze scurried over the many patches on Boner’s worn leather vest.
Boner was a sight to see.
Over six feet tall, he wore faded jeans on his long legs ending in scuffed black boots, a ripped black club T-shirt, a tangle of leather bracelets around each wrist along with his bulky silver rings. A snake tattoo twisted up one of his sinewy arms. Two small silver hoops in one earlobe along with his exceptional hair and beard rounded off the image of the dark-road caballero, the insolent gypsy, the outsider rogue who wouldn’t fit into any peg or give in to any rules, and that was just the way he liked it, damn it. And damn you if you didn’t.
Ah, shit. Me, too. That’s just the way I like it.
My sinful fantasy, my wicked addiction, my secret crush, my delusion.
I cleared my throat. “Working today?” What a master of conversation I am. I swallowed more of my mocha.
His brow furrowed as he shifted his weight. “Yeah, came to get coffee for me and the guys.”
I swallowed him with my eyes as I licked the traces of coffee from my lips.
Holy hell, he’s my mocha.
His large Adam’s apple moved in his throat, his heavy eyes still on me, as if he wanted to say something but was busy talking himself out of it.
“Hey, there you are!” A tall brunette in a pretty light-blue off-the-shoulder asymmetrical top, big bangle bracelets, tight cropped skinny jeans, and high-wedge sandals clasped Boner’s arm. She tossed me a quick look and then just as quickly ignored me.
I slightly slid down in my seat, and Matt’s eyes widened for a second, as if the floor show had just gotten more interesting. Was he envious? He should be.
Mindy was a dancer at the local MC-owned strip club, the infamous Tingle. She was also Boner’s latest woman and younger than me. Her toned, curvy shape pressing against Boner made me bite my lip as my hand went to my belly.
Boner glanced at her. “On a break.”
“All set, Boner!” Erica, the owner of the Meager Grand held a full white paper bag out over the counter.
Boner nodded at her and went over and took the bag. “Gotta get back to work,” he muttered at Mindy.
His eyes slid back to me, and Mindy and Matt faded into a fuzzy background. Boner lifted his chin and strode out of the cafe.
I watched through the big picture window as he headed to his Harley parked out front, Mindy on his heels. He packed up his bag of coffee, mounted his chopper, and seemed to shove at the vintage bike with a slight but cocky motion of his body.
I clenched my jaw.
Man and machine were one.
He flipped on his sunglasses, a pair that suited him so well, and I suppressed the groan rising in my throat. These shades weren’t the athletic-style ones I’d noticed he used when he rode long distances. These glasses had a more delicate, sophisticated frame along with a purplish tint to the lenses, giving a refined, sexy note to his otherwise grungy vibe.
He stared straight at me through those glasses, right through the big picture window. I could feel the heat of his gaze as intensely as if he were next to me, touching me, his breath heating my skin. The clink of cups, the din of chatter, the ringing of the cash register—all of it faded under the power of that gaze.
He gripped his handlebars, and his engine erupted into a roar. Mindy gave him a quick kiss, and then she backed away, coffee cup in hand. Boner took off, pipes blasting, his hair flickering behind him like a dark flame in the wind.
“That guy’s a real biker, huh?” Matt’s voice snapped me back to my dull, cold reality. “There’s a club in this town, isn’t there?”
My eyes unglued from the fading vision ripping down Clay Street and returned to Matt.
Nice Matt. Cute Matt. Conscientious Matt. Friendly all the time Matt. Colorless Matt. Flat Matt.
I cleared my throat. “The One-Eyed Jacks.”
“How do you know him?”
My stomach grew heavy, and my taste buds deadened. I pushed my coffee to the side. “He’s a friend of a friend, that’s all.”
Yes, it was time to get used to that fact of my life. That was all Boner would ever be—a friend of a friend. That was all.
I needed to let go of my little secret obsession.