Scream For me

“Um, hi,” I finally stutter out. “I’m Jenna. My car got a flat, and I’m kind of stranded.” I give a soft laugh, hoping he might quirk a smile or something, but he just keeps giving me that hard look of his.

“You don’t have a spare?”

“No.” I roll my eyes at the pickle I’ve gotten myself into. “Stupid, I know, but there you have it. I have a flat and no spare.”

“Very stupid,” he agrees, and I wince a little at his words. “And what the hell are you wearing? Did you just crawl out of bed and decide to go for a drive in the middle of nowhere?”

I start to bristle at his words. I get it. It was stupid to not have a fucking spare, but what’s done is done. “I just came from a wedding,” I say, keeping my head held high because he’s starting to really piss me off.

He laughs and runs his eyes over my “dress,” lingering on my tits for way longer than is polite, and I can’t help the smug grin that spreads across my face. Not so stony after all, I see.

“What the hell kind of wedding was it?”

“My cousin’s a stripper, not that it’s any of your damn business, and she had a bit of a theme going.”

“I see that,” he says, his lips quirking up slightly in amusement.

“Look,” I say, the night really starting to wear on me. I can feel the crankiness settling in. This man may be hot as fuck, but I don’t appreciate being made to feel even stupider than I already do. “I get it. Not having a spare was dumb, walking around like a half-naked stripper is dumb, seeking help in a biker bar where everyone is grumpy and growly is also not the best idea I’ve ever had, but it is what it fucking is, so are you going to help me or not?”

Before he can even answer, a large man in leather and more tattoos than I can count takes the barstool next to me and gives me the kind of grin that makes me wish I was bundled up in a snowsuit. “I can help you, sweetheart,” he says, running his eyes over my body again. “My bike is right out front. You can hop on the back, and I’ll take you for the ride of your life. I’ll even fix your car when we’re done.”

I’m too nauseated to even muster up a polite smile. Angling my body slightly away from his much larger one, I’m still trying to think of how I can turn down an offer of help when that’s exactly what I was just saying I needed, when the bartender cuts in.

“Back off, Bobby.”RêAd lat𝙚St chapters at Novel(D)ra/ma.Org Only

Bobby holds his hands up in dramatic surrender. “Well, excuse me, Slater, for trying to help a young gal out.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. Slater, huh? I don’t know if it’s his first name or last, but it fits him.

“Yeah,” Slater says with a harsh laugh, “I’m sure your intentions were very pure. All that talk about giving her the ride of her life, which I think I deserve a lot of credit for not laughing at by the way, was purely just you being a concerned citizen.”

I feel Bobby tense beside me, and I scoot a bit further away, pushing myself closer to the edge of the bar and Slater who darts his green eyes to me, letting me know he’s noticed.

After a few tense seconds, Bobby slams his bottle of beer down and mutters something I’m glad I can’t hear and storms off to a group of bikers who are laughing at his failed attempt at taking me for that promised lifechanging ride. He probably would’ve had a heart attack if he knew it would be my very first ride.

I turn my eyes back to Slater, a grateful smile lighting up my face, but when I see his hard stare, it immediately crumples. God, does this man ever lighten up?

Thanks,” I mutter, trying to make myself as small as possible.

“I really wish your cousin had picked out something that wasn’t so goddamn see-through or that you had had enough sense to grab a damn jacket before sauntering in here on your stripper heels,” he growls at me.

“Hey,” I say, starting to lose my patience again. “I don’t see why it matters to you what the hell I’m wearing. All I need you to do is hand me a phone so I can call a tow truck.” I give him another sweet smile. “I’m assuming that’s not too much work for you.”

I thought he looked angry before, but I was wrong. Now he looks angry. Really fucking pissed actually.

Leaning in across the bar so our faces are only inches apart, he whisper shouts over the music, “It’s my responsibility because it’s my bar you decided to march your bare ass into.”

Ah, so not just the bartender. No wonder he acts like he owns the damn place.

“Well, I’ll march my bare ass back out, and you won’t ever have to see me again, if you just hand me the fucking phone and stop yelling at me.”

His eyes narrow at the tone I’m taking with him, and his jaw is clenched so tightly I can see a vein pulsing at his temple. “It’s nearly midnight, and this is a small town in case you haven’t noticed. You’re not going to be able to get another tire until the morning, which means you’re my responsibility until then.”

I laugh at his words, making that vein of his stand out even more, and say, “I’m not your fucking responsibility. I can sleep in my damn car.”