Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
We cruise along the edge of the harbor, where the air is thick with the scent of salt water and fish. The docks are a flurry of activity, with workers hustling mountains of crates, loading and unloading stacks of goods from around the world. Seagulls circle overhead, adding to the lively chaos of the place.
Eventually, we arrive at a sandwich shop that oozes New York deli charm. Diesel follows me in, receiving warm smiles and greetings from the staff. “Seems like you’re a celebrity here,” I tease.
He gives a nonchalant shrug, his smile playful. “Can’t resist a good sandwich. What about you?” His eyes linger on mine a moment longer before he scans the chalkboard menu. “So, how do you feel about pastrami?”
I lean in slightly, a mischievous glint in my eyes. “That depends. Are we talking rye or sourdough?”
Interest flickers in his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare swap corned beef for pastrami in a Reuben, would you?”
I nod slowly, a teasing smirk on my lips. “Absolutely. Pastrami is the unsung hero of deli meats.”
His smile is slow and hot, and when he smacks his hand on the counter, the spell is, thankfully, broken. “Rudy, two Diesel specials. And some onion rings.”
“You might not be completely terrible,” I tell him and grab a soda from the fridge at the end of the counter.
His laughter rings through the deli, rich and genuine. “I’d take offense from anyone else, but coming from you, that almost sounds like a compliment.”
He has me there. “I give good compliments, just not easily.” I scan the small deli and claim a table overlooking the sidewalk and the quaint little street. “Tell me about the leather vest,” I say, nodding to the Reckless Souls MC patch on his chest.
“That’s my MC, motorcycle club,” he clarifies. “I was at loose ends when my brother became part of the MC and introduced me. Between the brotherhood and fixing cars, it’s where I belong.” His words are sincere, and it’s clear he’s happy with his lot in life. “Lucky got with Aria and now helps her run the family business. Hence, Morgan International.”
I shake my head. “I’ll bet that’s a good story.”
“It is, and Lucky tells it much better than me.” His smile gets wider when the food arrives, smelling delicious and accompanied by the biggest onion rings I’ve ever seen. “And what about you, Cassidy? What’s your story?”
“My story?”
“How’d you end up hauling shit back and forth across the country. Not many female truckers, are there?”
“A lot more than you’d think,” I say. “But I spent most of my summers riding shotgun in my dad’s big rig, and seeing the country to me was like seeing the world. I knew from a young age that’s what I wanted and so far I’ve seen nearly every state.” I still haven’t checked off Hawaii and Alaska yet or Maine and Vermont.
“A daddy’s girl. Unexpected. Tell me, Cass, what was your favorite place to see when you grew up?”
I let the daddy’s girl comment slide because it turns out this good-looking biker is more than a pretty face, not that I’ve noticed his pretty face. Not much.
“Montana,” I finally answer.
Surprise brightens his eyes. “Montana? Not sunny California?”
I laugh. “Offended?”
“A bit, yeah.”
“California is great. What’s not to like about nonstop sunshine? But Montana is big sky country. It’s beautiful up there, and so many things to do outdoors.”
“So you’re an outdoorsy kind of girl? Hiking and shit like that?”
I nod. “Yeah, shit like that. River rafting. Rock climbing. Camping and hiking. All of it. I mean I grew up on the Colorado River, so there’s that.”
“So…you’re an adrenaline junkie?”
I frown. “Not at all. Case in point, your motorcycle.”
He waves me off. “You’ll love it before the day is over. I guarantee it.”
I finish my sandwich and the onion rings while eyeballing Diesel with wariness. “Doubtful.”
He wipes his mouth and tosses the napkin down with a smile, a challenge gleaming in his eyes. “Wanna bet?”
I shake my head. “No. Growing up in a casino town, the last thing I wanna do is throw away money on gambling.” Riverbend isn’t Vegas, but I’ve seen more than enough gamblers down on their luck to know I want no part of that life.
“Another thing I now know about you,” he says with a proud smile. “We don’t have to bet money, Cassidy.”
“What then?” I ask, my heart racing. Please don’t let him ask for a kiss. Not that I’m opposed to kissing him. I’m not, but guys betting on kisses are just gross.
“Dinner. If you love being on my bike by the end of the day, you let me take you out for real.”
I think about it carefully. Spending time with Diesel is no hardship, and I’ll be leaving Angel Harbor as soon as my truck is ready to go, so there’s no risk of getting too attached. “What if I lie?”