I smiled. “Tell that to the doctors who cut her out of me sixteen years ago,” I retorted without thinking. “I’d like to think I didn’t undergo major surgery for nothing.”
There was a slight chorus of male laughter at this which I was glad of, considering the weird moment that had happened moments before. Plus, my joke had come out on reflex and I didn’t know how staunch and hot bikers would take it. I was pleasantly surprised that I made them laugh. I would have had to have crawled into a hole and died if I heard crickets.
“To formally introduce you, this is the fruit of my loins, otherwise known as Lexie,” I said to the group at large.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t exactly do introductions, considering I didn’t know the names of the sex gods standing in front of me, and I was sure she was already acquainted with the youngest of the crew who was intently staring at her.
She grinned brightly and did a little wave. “Hey,” she addressed the group, not at all shyly. I was slightly envious of my teenage daughter for a multitude of reasons; her wrinkle-free skin and general youthfulness usually some of the top contenders, but right now it was her unwavering confidence. I feared I acted like a fumbling dork.
There were chin lifts all around and the two hotties directed their gazes at me. The dark one spoke first.
“I’m Cade,” he spoke roughly, but his expression was welcoming, which seemed to juxtapose the entire environment we were in.
The blond one jumped in. “And I’m Brock, pleased to meet you both.” He gave Zane a playful grin. “You seem to already know Zane.” He emphasized the name for some reason and Zane stiffened.
“Yeah, Zane totally saved our skin the other day when we got a flat. Mom can’t change one,” Lexie said happily.
My mouth dropped open. She did not just tell a bevy of hot guys I was unable to change a tire. They would think I was a fumbling idiot. And certainly not a strong, independent, single woman who did not need a man.
“I can change one,” I said to her tightly.
She kept her smile. “Uh no, Mom, hence your suggestion on calling AAA when we saw it,” she informed me and the group at large. The little witch.
I narrowed my eyes. “I had yet to consume an ounce of caffeine that morning, doll,” I said with a tight smile. “I barely had control over fine motor skills, let alone change a tire. I’m sure if the occasion arose again and I was properly caffeinated I could change a tire, no problem.”
Lexie gave me a look. “I’m so sure,” she said smartly.
“Mullet photo,” I threatened out of the corner of my mouth before turning back to the group, who were all regarding us in varying states of amusement. Apart from Zane, of course. I doubt meeting Will Ferrell in person would make this dude crack a smile. “So I’m just going to circle back to the good news portion of this announcement,” I said, directing my attention at Lucky, deciding to ignore Zane altogether. “You mentioned that we could still manage to catch our movie, despite the dire diagnosis of Betty,” I said.
“Betty?” Brock chimed in with a grin before Lucky could answer.
Didn’t these guys have mechanic type jobs to do? Or could they spread their manly hotness somewhere else?
“Betty’s our car,” Lexie decided to answer for me. The mullet warning obviously didn’t guarantee silence.
Brock’s face turned blank. “You named your car?” he asked in an even tone that suggested he was trying to disguise laughter. I failed to be embarrassed.
“I didn’t name her, Lexie did,” I explained. “She was ten and decided that a car such as this required a name.”
“I didn’t technically name her,” Lexie disagreed, leaning against Betty. “I merely broached the concept of the naming of the car. You were the one who christened her Betty.” she glanced at me.
“Only because all of the names you came up with were utterly ridiculous and didn’t suit the car’s personality,” I shot back.
Brock failed to hide his choked laugh. “A car has personality?” he repeated disbelievingly.
I thrust my hand out towards her. “This particular car does. Some obviously do not. Like a Toyota Corolla or a Volvo, any make. A cherry red VW Beetle on the other hand...” I trailed off, my car really speaking for itself.
I ignored the teeniest twinge of embarrassment that was blossoming inside me at discussing the naming process of our car with four (and a half) sexy, bad ass bikers. “Okay we’re getting way off topic, again.” I glared at my daughter. “The previews are lost to us at this rate, so we need to get back on track.”
Cade shook his head. “I’m guessing there’s no such thing as staying on track in a conversation with you two,” he declared, his deep voice sending tingles down my spine. The wedding ring on his hulking hand made me immensely jealous of a faceless woman.