Glancing over my shoulder, I questioned, “What?”
“I want to know more about the motorcycle shop you want to open.”
I shook my head. “I said we had to tell a secret, not go into a bunch of bullshit detail about the secret.”
“But you answered my questions about boxing. Why won’t you answer this one?” Stepping closer to me, she said, “Is the big, bad biker boy afraid to share?”
“I share myself just fine,” I countered with a smirk.
“Physically I bet you spread yourself around, but I’m talking about emotionally. Would it really kill you to explain to me why you want to open your own shop?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “You’re shitting me, right?”
“I’m not exactly sure what ‘shitting’ is, but I’m pretty sure I’m being sincere when I say that I want to hear about the shop.”
Bringing my free hand to my face, I scratched my chin in surprise. Having a woman interested in something about me other than fucking was certainly a first. From the start of our conversation, Sam had seemed genuinely interested in my life. I couldn’t imagine she was pulling my chain. “You really mean it?”
Samantha grinned. “Yeah, I do.”
I drew in a deep breath. “Okay, then, here it is. I love rebuilding old, broken-down bikes. I love making some former pile of junk into something amazing. So I want to open a shop where I can sell these rebuilt bikes. You know, something that is just mine—nothing to do with my brothers or the club.” Once I finished, I couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eye. I almost jumped when I felt her hand on my shoulder. When I dared to meet her gaze, I found that she was smiling sincerely at me.
“I don’t know why you didn’t want to tell me about that. It sounds like a fantastic idea—one that you could make money at as well as doing what you love.”
I bit my tongue to ask her once again if she was shitting me. Instead, I returned her smile. “Thank you. It means a lot when people take me seriously. I haven’t gotten a whole lot of that from my family over the years. Of course, sometimes I haven’t given them a whole lot of reasons to take me seriously.”
“Being the youngest means you get shit on a lot, huh?”
“How did you know I was the youngest?”
Samantha waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, Marley told me about your brothers, Deacon and Rev, when he was telling me all about the club. He’s really interested in the club and maybe one day patching in. He’s talked about it a lot to me.”
“I’m glad to hear he’s interested. He’ll need to keep up his spirits to get through the prospect phase.”
“It’s a pretty shitty period, huh?”
“Oh yeah, the worst. Especially when your dad is the president and your two older brothers are officers. You tend to catch even more hell to prove yourself.”
“Poor baby of the family.”
“You the youngest, too?”
Shaking her head, Samantha said, “I probably shouldn’t answer your question unless you sink a ball. I hate being a rule breaker.”
I groaned. “I’m regretting coming up with this damn game.” I then leaned over the table. “Red eleven.” Once the ball was securely in the pocket, I turned back to her. “Now answer my question.”
“I understand where you’re coming from because I’m the youngest of my family, too.”
“Go on,” I instructed.
She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Fine. I have an older brother and sister. Growing up, I was never taken seriously by them. Whenever I said what I wanted to do in life, they would tell me I would never make it.”
“Why?”
“Because I was a girl.”
“What did you want to do that being a girl mattered?”
Samantha’s face suddenly flushed, and she ducked her head. It was almost as if she was embarrassed that she had told me so much, which seemed out of place for the confident woman she was.
When she finally looked at me, she smiled. “Your turn.”
“Oh, no. Not until you answer me about what you wanted to do in life. And don’t think you’re getting out of the emotional stuff.”
She twisted the pool cue between her hands while simultaneously twisting her lip between her teeth. “More than anything in the world, I wanted to be like my dad.”
At her vague response, I prompted, “And what did he do?”
Staring into my eyes, she replied, “He took out the bad guys.”
“So you wanted to be a cop?” When she bobbed her head, I said, “I take it you aren’t one.”
“No. I do the books for a construction company.”
The answer she gave felt almost rehearsed, and I could tell she had no passion for the job the way she had for law enforcement.
“A secretary sounds like a good profession. Maybe not as noble as cop, but it’s still important.”
“Interesting to hear you say that.”
“Because I’m supposed to be an outlaw who hates cops, right?”
“I didn’t say that,” she protested.
“While I should be pissed at you for your small worldview of bikers, I’m going to let you off the hook.”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “You are?”
“Yep. Going to bust my ass to prove to you how wrong you are.”
“Is that right?”
“It sure as hell is.”
After staring at me skeptically, Samantha smiled. “Okay. I’ll take your challenge and let you try to change my mind.”