I canât shake this man. He owns the only body shop in town? Arenât outlaws supposed to do like, outlaw things as opposed to working a nine-to-five job like everyone else?
I must be losing my mind because I left my dadâs pride and joyâalbeit rusty pride and joyâwith the biker president who sucks all the air from my lungs. Especially when heâs all masculine and dirty from working with his strong hands and bike parts all morning. Iâm putting myself into an environment where I will see him again tonight.
I text Layla as Mr. Kennedy cruises through town singing to John Prine on the local country station.
I roll my eyes
I barely have myself packed when I get a phone call from Big Mike himself an hour later confirming the price to fix my truck. Iâm not even finished that conversation when a text comes through.
I pull my phone back from my face to look at the text as I finish my conversation with Mike.
I just stare at it for a solid minute after I hang up. I start to type but then stop myself. Iâve seen too much of him in the last two days. I need a little distance to think clearly.
I flip my phone over on the kitchen counter.
I know itâs childish but itâs easier to just pretend I didnât see it, and besides, I donât have to answer to him anyway. As I finish packing, I remind myself there will be women everywhere tonightâlots of them. More than enough to steal his attention. As I make sure everything is clean and ready for me to leave for the night, I settle with the idea that Wolfe is just paying attention to me because I didnât fawn all over him this morning. And maybe the big, all-powerful president isnât used to that.
No matter how much I try not to think about him, his words echo in the deep baritone of his voice this morning when he told me to make sure I answer his call.
Whatever. I think Iâm sort of done doing every single thing everyone tells me.
Heâll get over it.