She leans away from me, wipes at her face with a napkin. Slides out of the booth. “I’ve gotta pee.”
I pay the bill while she’s gone, and polish off the plate of fries. The girl did a number on them, to my surprise. The chicks I’ve known wouldn’t have gone to town on something like cheese fries, so watching her eat happily and with obvious pleasure was interesting. And hot. Yes, I’m noticing a pattern here. Anything she does is hot. The way she slipped out of the booth, for example. It was graceful, a sleek, elegant motion. No jerking or hopping or awkward movements, just a smooth slide, and then she was off across the cafe with a sway to her ass.
When she came back, I stood up to meet her. “Ready?” I ask.
She glances at the table, at the small pile of ones I left as a tip. “You paid already?”
“Of course.”
A third time I get the surprised smile. “You’re not what I expected, Oz.”
“What’d you expect?”
She shrugs, blushing. “I don’t know. You’ve got the tattoos and long hair and the motorcycle. I thought you’d be…I don’t know. You’re nice. I misjudged you, so…sorry.”
We’re outside and standing beside my Indian. I touch her chin with the knuckle of my index finger. “I may have manners, sweetness, but I’m not nice.”
“No?”
I shake my head. “Nope. You’ll see.” I swing on, shift forward to give her room.
Oh, man. The way my zipper tightens as she slides on behind me and wraps her arms around me and crushes her chest to my back, holding on a little too tightly…bad. Not good. Warning signs. She’s a good girl with a future. I’m a bad boy with none. Too bad I’m an idiot who never pays attention to warning signs.
She directs me with pointed gestures, and soon we enter a gated community outside Nashville. Huge, huge houses. Brick, lots of glass. Wide driveways and three-car garages. Lincolns, Beemers, Mercedes, a few pickups, Rovers, and Hummers. Manicured lawns, everything in place. I’m intimidated. Two-room apartments are all I’ve ever known. How do you live in places like this? What would that be like? Do you ever get used to such wealth? What’s it like to live in one city your entire life? I can’t fathom it.
She points at a house on the left side of the street. It’s not the biggest on the block, but it’s nice. Beautiful. A wide porch in front, a huge deck in back. An open garage door reveals a huge pickup truck with oversize tires, a small, sleek, black BMW, and a classic Triumph motorcycle. The motorcycle was being worked on, judging by the array of tools around it and the grease rag on the seat.
It was being worked on by the holy-shit-he’s-huge man standing in the driveway, thick, tattooed arms folded over a hard, muscular chest. I’d heard him sing, even seen YouTube videos of him and Nell performing together, but the man in person is scary as f**k. I don’t scare easily, but this guy could do it, if anyone could. I swallow my nerves, call on my reserves of cool. I pull into her driveway, let the bike roll to a stop beside Kylie’s dad, kill the engine. I put the stand down and swing off. He’s glaring at me. At my leather jacket, the spiked helmet, my long hair. Staring me down. I’d be lying if I said I’m not a little nervous. Not scared, just…nervous. Yeah.
Kylie hops off, hangs the helmet on the back of the bike, and slams into her father for a hug. He does it one-arm, the other hand stuffed into his pocket. “Daddy!” She leans up and kisses his cheek. “You’re back!”
He nods. “Yeah, got in this afternoon.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me while he speaks. “Who’s this?”
I step toward him. “Oz Hyde, sir.”
“Colt.” His grip is crushing, but not with intent, simply because his hands are just that strong. “Oz, huh? What kind of name is Oz?”
“Mine.” I meet his gaze levelly. I see where Kylie got her sapphire eyes.
There’s something in his expression. Suspicion? Awareness? I’m not sure. He glances at his daughter. “Ben said you’d gone off with some guy.”
“‘Ben said’?” She says it with a bit of anger. “God, really? Ben is my friend, Daddy, not my boyfriend, not my parent. I don’t have to stay with him just because he says.”
He has nothing to say to this. He looks back at me. “New in town, Oz?”
I nod. “Yes, sir.” I can’t help but be respectful to Colt. He’s dangerous. I can sense it in him. The fighter in me, the survivor in me, recognizes the hardness in him. He’s seen some shit, and he may live a cush life now, but he hasn’t always. Fists remember.
“Where’d you move from?”
“Atlanta.”
He glances at my bike, nodding appreciatively. “Nice bike.”
I grin, and nod at his Triumph. “Thanks. I like yours. What year is it?”
“Forty-eight.”
“Damn. Sure is sweet.”
“Yeah.” He blinks at me, assessing, thinking. “Look. My daughter is old enough to choose her own…friends. But listen to me, boy. You take my daughter on a ride, you ride careful. Got it? You hurt her, you deal with me.”
Kylie blushed, embarrassed, and moved between me and Colt. “Jeez, Dad. Are you gonna get out your shotgun next?”
He doesn’t even twitch. “Who needs a shotgun?”
Not him, that’s for damn sure.
I meet his gaze steadily. “I got you, sir. She’ll be safe.”
I see him glance over my shoulder, and I turn to see Kylie’s friend Ben approaching with another man who has to be his dad. I recognize his dad, too, but I can’t place him. He’s a short, muscular man, and he looks like he’s in sick shape, especially considering he has a teenaged son. I didn’t leave things with Ben on a great note, and I have no desire to rehash the territorial aggression with him, not in front of his dad, and Kylie, and Colt. Talk about outnumbered. Shit. Time for my getaway.
But before I can mount up, they’re behind me. Ben’s eying me with open hostility, and his dad sees this, glancing from him to me to Kylie. He reaches out and shakes Colt’s hand, pulling him in for a man-hug. “Colt! Good to see you. Been back long?”
“Jay. Good to see you, too. No, a few hours.”
Suddenly I know who this is: Jason Dorsey, wide receiver for the Tennessee Titans. He played for the Saints for several years at the start of his career, and he was with them for all three of their back-to-back Super Bowl wins. He was a huge part of the reason they were so good, honestly. The QB was nothing astounding, but he could hit Dorsey from anywhere in the field, and once Dorsey had the ball it was a guaranteed TD. He was acquired by the Titans twelve years ago as a free agent, and he’s been here ever since, racking up numbers that’ll likely get him into the Hall of Fame.