Gathering up everything he'd bought, he stuffed it all in a bag and walked up the steps. When he got to the door, he lightly knocked on it and waited for her to come let him in. He liked that she wasn't one of those women who just yelled that it was open. She actually came to the window, looked out, and then decided if she wanted to let you into her home.

"Hey, you made good time," she smiled as she moved back to let him in.

"Yeah, I was surprised they weren't very busy," he grinned back at her as he carried everything over to the counter in her small kitchen. The kitchen was so small she couldn't even fit a dining room table there.

"We can set it up in here, but we'll have to eat it out there, I don't even have TV trays. I really am an embarra.s.sment to bachelors and bachelorettes everywhere."

"Nah, you're good. I hope you like chicken."

She watched as he opened the bag and pulled out a black Styrofoam box. As the smell hit her, her mouth watered. This was her absolute favorite. "How did you know I like mine dipped in hot honey mustard? I can smell it."

Happiness bubbled in his chest and stomach. "I see you eat this at Wet Wanda's all the time."

"Just how long have you been watchin' me?" she asked as she dipped a piece of the chicken into the sauce and brought it up to her lips.

"Long enough," he answered evasively.

"There you go, acting like Tyler again." She hit him in the stomach.

He wagged his eyebrows up and down, grinning at her. "It got him the girl, didn't it?"

She couldn't argue with his logic at all.

Chapter Seven.

The two sat in a comfortable silence in her living room. She, working on her paper, he, reading a book on his phone. When they had finished eating, Bianca had grabbed her textbook and told him quickly that she had work to do. Not even bothering to question her, he'd taken off his boots and cut, then he'd gotten comfortable on her couch. With great interest, she watched as he had lain down and pulled his phone out.

"What are you doing?"

"Reading my book while you get your homework done," he explained.

"I didn't know you liked to read," she grinned up at him from where she sat on the floor.

"There's a lot about me you don't know." The way he said it was very matter-of-fact and it stung.

"Ouch," she winced as his retort. "Maybe we should work on getting to know each other better then."

He crossed his ankles, uncrossed them, and then crossed them again. "That's just what I've been tryin' to tell you."

She laughed and went back to writing her paper on her laptop. This was one of the hardest papers she had written since deciding on her course of study. It counted for almost half her grade, and she was nervous about it not being good enough. A psychologist would probably have a field day with her and tell her that the feeling of her paper not being good enough resonated from her childhood feelings of never being from the right side of the tracks. Frustrated, she ran a hand through her hair and blew out a deep breath, she had to get out of her own head.

"You okay?" he asked from where he still lay on the couch.

It was easy for her just to go ahead and nod. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Don't tell me what you think I want to hear, tell me the truth."

That was hard for her. She was used to hiding how she felt from everyone all the time. At the club, she had to hide the disgust she felt when certain men rubbed up against her. She had to hide the look of recognition when she saw regulars on the street. When she was little she had to hide how she felt about using those paper dollar food stamps at the grocery store. People had looked and pointed at her, whispering that her mother had gotten pregnant with her to 'draw a check'. She was very good at hiding her true feelings.

Worry caused her to pull her bottom lip between her teeth. "This paper is so important to my grade, it's making me nervous. I always feel like I'm at a disadvantage."

"Why do you think that?" he asked, his forehead crinkling with the question.

"Because I'm so much older than everybody else."

A gut-busting laugh came out of his mouth. "You are not so much older than everybody else. You're what? Twenty-five?"

"Almost twenty-six, but most everybody in my cla.s.ses aren't on the 'other side' of twenty. Speaking of which, how old are you?"

Being a new member of the club, she wondered if maybe he was younger than she had initially thought.

"I just turned twenty-four. Not that much younger than you."

That was weird; she had never in her life dated a younger man. He was right though, he wasn't that much younger.

"I didn't scare you off, did I?" he asked as he saw the spooked look on her face.

"Not at all. I've just never dated a younger man."

He sucked in a breath and acted shocked. "For shame. Please baby, whatever you do, corrupt me," he playfully egged her on.

"Stop!" She couldn't help the laugh that came from out of her chest. "I have to keep studying."

"Then do it, n.o.body stopping you here but yourself."

Embarra.s.sment burned her cheeks. He was right. She was the only person in her whole life that had stopped her. She'd pushed everybody else away. When you only had yourself to count on, you only had yourself to blame if things didn't work out.

"You're right. I'm gonna get back to work."

Unbeknownst to her, he watched her instead of reading his book. He liked watching her. She was always so intense with everything that she did. He would watch her at Wet Wanda's and see how intent she was on getting all the orders correct and making sure that the tables she waited on had what they needed. It was the same here. She looked beyond cute with her brow knitted in concentration, the length of a pen sticking out of her mouth, and her fingers flying across her laptop.

He noticed something else about her too. Here, in this setting, without the makeup and the outfit and her hair done just so, she looked so much younger than her years. She really did look like a fresh-faced college student trying to make her way in the world. Not someone who had been hardened by the harsh realities of life. He liked her this way much more than the woman he saw at the club.

"Why are you staring at me?" she asked, not looking away from the screen of her laptop.

"I like looking at you."

"Don't do this to me, Jagger," she pleaded, not looking him in the eye.

"Don't do what?"

"I like you, I'm not going to lie, but I'm not really relationship material. I work at a strip club, and I'm a college student."

He slid from the couch and sat down on the floor next to her. "And I'm a member of a motorcycle club who plays guitar and sings. Let's not forget I'm also one of the only members of the club who lives exclusively at the dorm. If I wanted to take you somewhere else, we'd have to meet here or go to a hotel. I don't even own a car like most of the other members do. So if you wanna talk about somebody not being relationship material? Baby, I think I got ya beat."

She took a deep breath, trying to hide her face with her long dark blonde tresses. He reached in and pushed the hair back from her face. "Don't hide from me. C'mon, we're having a conversation here."

"You really do make me feel like I can do anything that I want to, and for someone like me, that's dangerous."

"It's not dangerous at all. You can do anything you set your mind to." He wasn't sure what she meant with the "someone like her" comment, but he didn't want to bring attention to it either.

"Do you have a second career as a motivational speaker?" The atmosphere was getting so tense and serious that she had to crack a joke.

"No," he laughed. "But I do want to get to know you better, and I do want to spend my time with you. I get the feeling if I let you, you'd run away from me just as fast as the wind could carry you."

She had to be honest with him. "You're probably right."

"But I'm not gonna let you," he told her, giving her a wink. His tone held a promise that she knew he would uphold if threatened.

It was cold when Jagger left her apartment a few hours later. He wasn't exactly ready to leave but knew that she had to get some sleep. As he eased out onto Smallhouse Road, he checked both ways. Nothing coming, he made his way out onto the main thoroughfare. This time of night was the best time, in his opinion, to ride, but it could be dangerous.

As he approached the Covington Woods area, he saw a van come up behind him. Something about the van made him pay attention. Not seeing any cops around, he made the decision to take off at a higher speed than normal. As he came up beside a local park, the vehicle swerved around him, knocking into him as it pa.s.sed. He and his bike went down in a tumble, and with clarity he realized he hadn't bothered to put his helmet on for his little excursion around town.

"f.u.c.k!" he cursed as he tried to push the bike off his leg while trying to get a good look at the license plate of the van that had hit him.

Pulling his phone out, he breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't cracked. He hit a b.u.t.ton and hoped like h.e.l.l somebody would answer. Grimacing, he tried to move his leg, but the bike was heavy and his leg was at an awkward angle.

"Liam?" he asked as the clubhouse phone was answered by their current president.

"Yeah, Jagger, I thought you were out. You sound like something's happened."

Not bothering to ask his president why the h.e.l.l he was at the clubhouse and not at home with his pregnant girlfriend, he finished in a rush, "A van ran me off the road when I was coming back from Bianca's. I'm on Covington with my bike turned over on my leg. I can't move it, and I think I was. .h.i.t on purpose. I got a decent look at the vehicle, but I'm in some pain right now. I wasn't wearing my helmet, I may have hit my head."

"We'll be there to pick you up in a minute. Try to get that bike off yourself. I'll see if someone's in the area and can offer you some help. We haven't had good relations with the Vojnik lately, so keep your head down."

"Yeah, like I'm gonna be startin' s.h.i.t right now," he mumbled as he hung up the phone.

Using what strength he had left, he moved the bike just enough to alleviate the pressure off his leg. Taking a deep breath to keep from pa.s.sing out, he laid his head down back on the ground and tried his best to remain calm.

Chapter Eight.

Jagger was in agony. He didn't think anything was broken, but it sure hurt to move. It seemed to be taking hours for the guys to get to him, but looking at his phone he saw it had only been about fifteen minutes. If they were hauling a.s.s, they would be there soon. Sighing, he lay his head back down on the ground, thinking about the time he had spent with Bianca. The night had been going so well until this.

The roar of bikes brought him back. He tensed, palming the gun he kept in a holster under his cut. With the number of bikes he heard, it wouldn't be much of a fight. The only thing he could do was pray they were friendly.

"You okay?"

He finally breathed when he heard the voice of his president.

"My leg is all jacked up, I think. Other than that, I've got some b.u.mps and bruises, think I hit my head, but really can't remember."

Relief washed over him as numerous members of the club lifted the bike fully off his body and helped him up. He ground his back teeth as he put pressure on his leg. There was something definitely off with it and his vision clouded.

"We'll get you back to the clubhouse and call Ashley," Liam told him.

For the first time, he noticed that Liam hadn't ridden his bike, he'd brought his truck. The guys loaded his bike up in the bed of the truck and helped him into the pa.s.senger seat. Once he was situated, he released the lever on the seat and leaned back, thankful that it was a quad cab.

"You alright?" Liam pressed, trying to make sure he didn't pa.s.s out.

"I will be."

Liam watched as Jagger grabbed himself around the stomach. "You feel sick?"

"A little bit." He was sweating bullets and it was the middle of January.

"Head hurt?" Liam nudged him again as he noticed Jagger's eyes becoming heavy.

He tried to focus on the question, but it was all running together and he couldn't really make heads or tails of what Liam said anymore. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Maybe we should just take you straight to the hospital."

It was on the tip of Jagger's tongue to say no when he was. .h.i.t with a wave of dizziness that caused him to pitch to the side. "Yeah, I think you should take me."

In the background, he could hear Liam calling Ashley, asking her to meet them at the hospital. As a doctor, she could admit and treat him. Then everything finally, blessedly, went black.

Bianca groaned. Homework would be the death of her, that she was sure. Even after Jagger had left, she knew there were still hours of it ahead of her. Beside her, her cell phone rang, showing Jagger's number. A little smile spread over her face as she answered.

"Hey," she answered, the smile evident in her voice.

"Bianca?"

The voice on the other end was not Jagger. Not at all. He sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. "Who is this?" she questioned.

"This is Liam."

Immediately a bad feeling caused her stomach to sink. Why would Liam be calling her? They were friendly when he came to the club with his girlfriend and when he escorted Wanda's girls to their cars, but they weren't exactly telephone buddies. "What's wrong?"

"I'm calling to let you know that Jagger's been in an accident."

Panic seized her, and she wasn't sure why. They had only been hanging out for a couple of weeks really, but fear squeezed her heart. "Is he okay?" she asked, her voice sounding a little raspy, even to her ears.

"They have him doing a CT scan right now. He lost consciousness in the truck on the way over. They may keep him overnight, I'm still not sure. We've got our doctor working on it."