“Seriously? Okay, let’s forget that he’s sixty for a moment—even in his prime he wasn’t anything to write home about. You’re grasping at straws,” I said. “And we’re getting you some therapy for your older man fetish,” I added with concern.
Lexie scowled at me. “Saying one supremely talented actor was once a very handsome fellow in his prime does not constitute a fetish,” she argued.
“Supremely talented? We’re definitely getting you therapy,” I told her seriously.
I remembered our current company. The realization came with an uncomfortable sensation of heat, feeling his eyes on me. Sure enough, black eyes were darting between Lexie and I. Bull was standing, and the tire was changed. He was staring at us with a blank expression.
“Done,” he declared, ignoring our debate.
“Have you seen Dances with Wolves, Mr. Bull?” Lexie asked him, taking the keys and ignoring the fact he looked like he would rather be in Alcatraz than having this conversation.
“Nope,” he bit out.
“Field of Dreams?” she continued, unhindered by his attitude.
He shook his head. I personally thought he was lying. He just didn’t want to hand in his badass card by admitting he watched such a tear jerker. Then again, maybe his hobbies didn’t turn to watching movies. It was more likely he learned how to waterboard for fun, or practiced menacing looks in the mirror. He had that shit down pat.
“You’ve missed out on some cinematic gold. You should come over and watch it one night—you know, as a thank you. Mom and I always have movie nights on Saturdays. Well, actually we don’t need a designated movie night, we use any excuse. But Saturdays are when we go all out,” she rambled slightly with a smile.
My eyes nearly popped out of my head. My sweet, slightly antisocial daughter was inviting a biker over for a movie night? Not just that. One that was hotter than any man I had seen in real life or in movies.
“Lexie, what were we talking about just the other day? You know what happens when a little man underneath a bed gets hungry,” I said under my breath.
Bull’s eyes flicked to me and something passed in them I couldn’t catch. It was probably the fact he thought I was insane. I wasn’t exactly at my best. The attraction I felt for this man was consuming. This made it all the more mortifying witnessing the hardening of his eyes as they met mine.
“I think we deduced that man doesn’t exist, Mom,” Lexie said firmly. “Plus, Bull’s not a stranger. He’s our neighbor, who did something nice which saved our necks,” she finished triumphantly, winking at him. Actually winking at the guy who would chew up and spit out Chuck Norris.
I was at a loss of what to do, so I quickly glanced at my watch. “Frickin’, flippin’, shoot,” I blurted when I realized the time. “We are actually insanely late now. My chances of Shelly’s coffee are seriously low. Your acai bowl is out of the question, unless they pour it into a cup with a straw, which of course turns it back into a regular smoothie,” I teased. “You’re going to have to run into the café while I sit in the car with the motor running,” I declared, my attention on my daughter. My eyes returned to Bull, who had been glowering at me the entire time. I swallowed the terrible taste that came with this look. “Thank you so much for doing that. You really did come to our rescue,” I said sincerely, despite the look.
He stared at me a moment longer. “You need to get a new tire on there soon. Treads shot to shit. It’s not safe,” he clipped.
I stared at him. The scowl I was being treated to was more likely to be accompanied by a death threat than a worry about my safety. I bit my lip in confusion, feeling uncomfortable under such a stare. Uncomfortable because it was vaguely turning me on. Okay, maybe not so vaguely.
“Omigod!” Lexie exclaimed loudly, unaware that Bull and I were in some kind of weird moment. “We didn’t even introduce ourselves. I’m Alexis, but everyone calls me Lexie.” Her perkiness was unusual for strangers, as was the megawatt smile she was giving Bull. It stayed in place even as she elbowed me in the ribs.
“Amelia,” I ground out, rubbing my midsection. I resisted the urge to poke my tongue out at my daughter. This guy already thought we were mad. No need to add fuel to the fire of crazy we had started. “My friends call me Mia though, and I think that I not only consider you a friend, but an immortal saint for saving me the horror of missing out on my morning latte,” I added, trying to defuse the tension. Unfortunately, my comedic genius was lost on such a broody biker. Maybe if I had offered an arm wrestle.…