Cocky Biker: A Stand Alone MC Romance Novel (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 2) Read Free Page A

have guessed she’s from Mexico, Guatemala, or maybe even Cuba. You never know in L.A.
    “Gimme your number and I’ll be on my way.”
    “That smile of yours…” she mutters, irritated as shit. “…tells me you think this tactic is going to work. It won’t.”
    Someone honks at her from a passing Buick and makes sloppy kissy sounds.
    “Fuck you!” she calls to the taillights.
    I watch the car leaving. See the hand waving out the window. My eyes land back on her tight-lipped expression. It’s gotta be a pain in the ass being this beautiful when there’s a world full of cocks who’d love to dive into you. That those douche bags honked with me here, wearing this patch and clearly not someone you’d fuck with, says it all about her. If they weren’t protected by moving metal, they wouldn’t try that shit right now.
    But she inspired them to do it.
    They practically couldn’t help themselves and took a chance, knowing I couldn’t chase them down.
    This gives me insight into what she deals with daily. Which means she’s right. This tactic ain’t gonna fly.
    I walk closer to her, changing my tone to a more intimate one, friendlier and less asshole-who-gets-a-ton-of-ass. I don’t want to scare her away and I just realized I was about to.
    Fuck, we guys sure can be stupid.
    “Sunshine, forgive me. I was being a dick. I won’t force myself on you.” I lean in really close to her. A few more inches and we’d be kissing. The feral beauty holds her breath, dark eyes searching mine like she’s confused why she’s not punching me. “You don’t want to tell me your name, you don’t have to.” Without warning, I kiss her nose and smile, “I’m sure I’ll see you again,” right before heading off, back to the diner.
    “No…” I turn around. She’s looking over her shoulder at me, holding the strap of that beat up backpack. “You won’t.”
    I feel like I’m standing on a cliff, that moment where you decide if you’re jumping, or if the mountain will make the decision for you.
    She heads away. I turn around and walk off, too, to meet her chess move and see if she’s bluffing. I keep expecting the sound of footsteps, or a shout of my name, if she even remembers it.
    My chest tightens as the distance grows between us.
    Those footsteps never come.
    I may see her.
    I may not.
    The odds aren’t in our favor.

    * * *
    F use , Scratch, Honey Badger and Tonk are all strapping on their helmets and looking for an answer to what happened on my end.
    “Next move?” I ask Scratch, changing the subject.
    Our salt and pepper-haired MC Vice President smacks my shoulder as hard as I smacked his in the diner and announces, “Motel, Striker. ”
    I pull my keys out with the chain that keeps them attached to my faded blue jeans. My head is still on the girl. I’m only half paying attention when I mutter, “Striker?”
    Fuse laughs and shakes out his longish hair before he straps on his helmet.
    I don’t like the sound of that laugh. “What? What am I missing here?” I ask him, then look around at all their amused faces.
    Tonk’s not sure if he should be the one to spell it out for me, since I give him so much shit all the time. He decides to be brave. “You struck out, Jett.”
    “ Striker, ” Fuse chuckles. “It might stick.”
    Grinning, I mount my bike, feeling the warmth of a sun-heated seat on my balls. “Fuck you guys.”
    “She was worth the try,” Honey Badger laughs, his large belly bouncing as he jumps on his ride. His little helmet on that big head and body is always an interesting contrast, but no one would ever say that aloud. Despite his rotund appearance, Honey Badger earned that name. He can be vicious. Not with us. But we don’t get on his bad side…like pointing out how he should get a bigger helmet.
    “We’re only gonna be here a couple nights,” Scratch tells me from his hog. “That woman? She’s the type who’d make you stick around.”
    “Let’s drop it. We’ve got better