Yeah, I was fucking screwed. I knew I’d never let another man watch over her, never let another man touch her, and I’d never let her go.
Alyssa Bartley didn’t know it yet, but she was mine.
2
Alyssa
Even without the distinctive leather vest, I would’ve guessed the guy on the motorcycle in the spot next to mine was part of the Silver Saints MC. He was too old to be one of my peers and too rough to be a teacher. He also wasn’t the kind of man a girl would ever forget. Not with how big and brawny he was and with muscles on top of his muscles. Or the man bun he’d pulled his curly light brown hair into. The beard and tattoos. Then there were his bright blue eyes that reminded me of the gorgeous water I’d seen when my dad had taken me on a beach vacation to Siesta Beach, Florida, last year.
If he’d been on campus before, I would’ve noticed him. And if I hadn’t seen him myself, I would’ve heard about him because every female with a pulse would’ve been talking about him. Memorable wasn’t a strong enough word for this guy. He was hot as sin, and the beast of a bike he rode only reinforced his bad-boy image. Only it wasn’t just a persona—as a member of a motorcycle club, many people would consider him to be bad, period.
And he definitely wasn’t a boy. He was all man. The impact of him was enough to wake my dormant libido and send skitters of feminine awareness coursing through my body. The masculine interest in his gaze sent my senses into overdrive, but I hadn’t missed how he’d reacted when I’d pulled my keys off my backpack.
A member of the Silver Saints waiting next to my car after I’d emailed them about another major threat to our town couldn’t be a coincidence. Not when Leon’s scumbag of a brother had died not too long after I’d sent them my first email. I’d definitely landed myself on their radar.
He had to be waiting for me, but something about me seemed to have surprised him—and not in a good way, judging by how his sexy smile disappeared.
“Alyssa Bartley?”
His deep rumble sent a sensual shiver up my spine, and my voice was squeaky when I replied, “Yeah, that’s me.”
His gaze skimmed down my body, and he shook his head. “Please tell me you have some fucking pants or at least a pair of shorts in your backpack or car.”
My nose scrunched up as I tried to figure out why he cared what I was wearing. “I probably have a pair of soccer shorts in my trunk.”
“Put ’em on under your skirt.” When I just stared at him blankly, he added, “No way in hell I’m going to let you ride on the back of my bike in what you’re wearing. Your skirt is too damn short. You’d probably leave a trail of accidents in our wake as guys forget to pay attention to the road because they’re too busy trying to look up your fucking skirt.”
I wondered if the length of my skirt was what had wiped the smile from his face earlier. And if so…could it possibly be because he was jealous of other men looking at me? The possibility gave me a little thrill, but that wasn’t what I asked. “You’re taking me for a ride on your bike?”
“We have to talk.” He scanned the lot, which was mostly empty by now. “And it’s better if our conversation happens somewhere private.”
“About the emails I sent to—”
My question broke off when he closed the distance between us and growled, “You’ve already gotten your ass into enough trouble, little girl. The last thing you need is to announce to the entire fucking world how you’ve stuck your cute nose into serious business.”
My heart was stuck on the fact that he’d called my nose cute, but I hated that he thought of me as a little girl. Planting my fists on my hips, I announced, “As far as the government is concerned, I became an adult when I turned eighteen last month.”
“Thank fuck, at least one damn thing has gone my way today.” Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he quirked a brow. “Now do me a favor and make it two. Put on the shorts so we can get outta here.”
Something inside me wanted to give him what he wanted, but I wasn’t going to make it that easy for him. “I think it’s only fair that I know your name before you start bossing me around.”
He tapped a patch on his vest. “Bear.”
“Your legal name,” I insisted with a shake of my head.
He heaved a deep sigh. “Haven’t used it in years.”
I shrugged and looked up at the nearest security camera aimed at the student parking lot. “If you want me to go without putting on a show for whoever’s on the other end of that lens, you’ll give me what I’m asking for.”
He glared up at the camera. “Why do I have a feeling that you’re going to be more of a pain in my ass than I already thought you were going to be?”
I flashed him a big grin. “Probably because I will be.”
“That’s what I thought,” he grumbled. “Garrison Shaw.”
My smile widened. “I like it. The name suits you, Garrison.”
Heat flared in his blue orbs, and I expected him to insist that I use his road name instead. He surprised me when he said, “Thanks, now put on your shorts like a good little girl.”
My inexperience with men didn’t stop me from fantasizing about how it would sound for him to call me his good little girl under different circumstances—like while his big, brawny body covered mine in bed. I felt my cheeks start to heat and quickly turned toward my car to pop the trunk open so he wouldn’t wonder why I was embarrassed. However, that plan backfired when I stepped into my soccer shorts and slid them on under my skirt because it felt too much like getting dressed after crawling out of his bed. My blush deepened as more dirty thoughts filled my head.
I dug through my backpack to give myself another minute to calm the heck down before I reached for my jacket. Before I could put it on, Garrison yanked it from my fingers and glared down at the spot where my name was stitched on. “I get that you think my school uniform is too short, but what could possibly be wrong with my letterman jacket?”
His gaze shifted between the soccer ball patch with my number in the middle and the mishmash of gear in my trunk. “Not a damn thing, except you should put it on so you don’t get cold during the ride.”
“That’s what I was about to do when you grabbed it out of my hand,” I grumbled. My irritation disappeared when he twirled his finger in a circle for me to turn around and held out my letterman so I could slip it on with his help instead of just giving it back to me. The air around us practically crackled with chemistry, and I was dying to feel his hands on my arms—and a whole lot more of my body—without so many layers of clothing between us.
“Need to bring anything with you?” He jerked his chin toward his motorcycle. “We can put your shit in my saddlebag.”
I jiggled my keys. “I can drive myself if you’ll just tell me where we’re going.”
“Not gonna happen,” he growled as he snatched the keys from my hand.
As much as I’d love to ride behind him on his bike, it wasn’t the smart choice. “If I don’t take my car, someone is going to notice it’s still here and call my dad. Then our little talk will be the opposite of private because he’ll have every cop in this town looking for me. And it won’t take them long to find me since he has access to the location on my phone.”