ALABAMA

Time is crucial right now and yet here I am trying to decide between mint or peanut butter Oreos. The struggle is real. My arms are cramping from holding all my different assortment of snacks. The bell dings above the door and a very solid, sturdy man with sunglasses on slides by me. I can't help noting how much taller he is then me as the smell of leather and citrus waft over me.

Mhm. Smells good.

A deep chuckle makes me hit my forehead against the pile of snacks I'm holding. Someday I will get a hold of this foot in mouth disease. Anyways, focus Georgie! This is a serious problem here! You have to make a decision. I'm the type that can't stop eating, especially food I can munch on because...

I am the munchie monster...

Yes, I said that in a monster voice.

I try to balance all the snacks in an attempt to grab my choice of Oreo. One of my blond spirals falls in front of my face. I try blowing it over as my overall strap slips off my shoulder. My finger touches the shiny blue plastic but the Oreos fall. Now I have to reach for the next one, which is pretty far back.

I continue to attempt the impossible.

A big, strong hand comes around me and grabs the peanut butter Oreo. I look up, making sure not to drop my snacks. It's the same guy from earlier.

"Do you need some help there, Miss Munchie Monster?"

Crap he heard me.

Wait? How did I not hear him?

And woah mama!

He's the kind of handsome where you have to stop and do a double take, maybe triple, heck maybe several! Or be like me and just stare like a creeper. He's definitely older than me, probably by ten years. His hair is a perfectly messy comb-over that's obviously been created by the wind and is the color of old rusted brass. All the guy does is cock a bold brow and smirk along with it.

Clearly, he's used to this kind of reaction. And here I am in very unflattering overalls that are a little too tight and a white t-shirt with paint splatter all over it. My spiral white-blonde hair is so frizzy it could run this gas station's electricity for months. Also, there's that itch from the dry paint on my cheeks, nose, and certain parts of my forehead.

He holds the peanut butter Oreos and tilts his head toward the cashier. "Can I lighten your load for you?" If it wasn't for those words, and that savory pour-all-over-me southern drawl... I'd still be staring.

"Um, yes, yes, thank you," I sputter out like a moron.

He starts taking some of my snacks and brings it over to the register for me. He's very neat as he places some of my stuff on the counter, which I ruin the moment I dump the rest of my snacks. My arms sigh in the relief and I finally tuck that annoying spiral away.

"Thank you, kind stranger!" I say with a bright smile. I notice he has one thing. "You can go ahead of me."

He nods and moves in front of me handing his soda over to the cashier who stares at him with bug eyes. I watch the interaction with keen interest. The cashier keeps messing up and I swear he's shaking. He's clearly afraid of my kind stranger.

My attention moves back to the guy. His back is to me and I get a shocking view. His worn black vest has a very malicious eagle staring straight at me. It's in a position to snatch its prey with its talons out. The way the light hits it makes it glow deadly, ready to capture and kill. The eyes are hard as stone and set on whoever is watching, like the eagle is protecting his back. The wings are arched around its body, like it's using fictitious wind to thrust it swiftly over to its dinner.

The most intriguing part is how the raptor bird's wings display the American flag. It's worn from obvious years of use. SONS OF SALVATION is stamped on the top with SV ALABAMA on the bottom one and MC to the side.

Ooooh he's part of a biker gang.

Hearing me the guy turns around as the cashier shakes his head at me with those wide eyes. I purse my lips and scratch my eyebrow which is something I do when I'm nervous.

"Yeah, uh, sorry I have this problem you see," I explain while awkwardly using my hands. "I say pretty much everything on my mind. Comes in and goes out, like when you eat tacos and immediately have to go to the bathroom." I cringe. "Wow, I'm saying a lot of things."

The big biker man signals me to come next to him with a beautifully callused finger. I obey without hesitation, which is not me. I'm a rebel. It's literally in my blood to mouth off and do the exact opposite of what's expected of me, but this biker dude has me by my little ducky feathers.

"Ring her stuff up too." My eyes bulge out. "Wait, what? Didn't I, like insult you? I mean—" Him taking out his phone and holding up his finger stops me.

"Don't let him." I turn to the kid behind the counter who's leaning in and whispering to me. "You don't want to be in debt to the Salvation MC."

Here's another quirk of mine. I don't feel fear. Do I get nervous and anxious, yes, but afraid? Not really.

Glancing over at the Mr. Kind Biker, he brushes his large hand in his heavy silky locks. A weird sound echoes in my mind and he turns around, quirking a brow, making me realize I made that noise without even thinking. It was similar to the sound of a very obese person about to open up a delicious box of Girl Scout cookies.

Heating up, I turn my attention back to the kid with his pleading blue eyes and zit filled face. "I'll pay for it all."

He sighs and hurriedly rings me up. Just as I'm about to hand over cash that alluring scent invades my space.

"Put that away. Here." Biker guy gives the cashier his money who looks from me to him but takes his money instead of mine.

Huffing, I look up at him. "Look that's nice of you and all, but I don't need you paying. I don't even know you." He ignores me, scratching his short beard that's rugged yet perfectly trimmed with not a single hair longer than the other. His phone pings and he takes off his sunglasses and my breath catches. The reaction goes unnoticed by him and his face turns giving me a full view.

His eyes are so arresting, I'm held hostage. One is a beautiful, deep forest green that causes my heart to hammer. It reminds me of mythical woods you get lost in if you venture too far. His right eye though is a creamy milky white with no pupil. It droops just a tad because of the scarring that starts from his beard and goes all the way up to his temple. It's puffy with a line that shows something had passed through his face and sprinkled it with little indents.

"Are you blind in that eye?" I ask stupidly. "I mean, you're still gorgeous and all, and if anything, it adds to the whole..." I wave my hand in front of him. "Yeah, I'm going to stop now."

There's no anger, instead his face flashes with amusement. "It's alright, Tater Tot. Yeah, war wound." He points at it with his sunglasses. "Was shot in the face by a rival gang."

Why is he calling me Tater Tot?

"You did it again."

"Did what?"

"Said what you were thinking out loud." A mesmerizing grin dances across that stupid perfectly scarred face of his but what's worse is the dimple that appears.

Boom! Arrow to the heart.

The cashier hands him his change and he in turn gives me my massive plastic bag of yummy goodies.

"Thank you. Still don't know why you did it though."

I eye him suspiciously as he points to my bag. "Why so many?"

"I like food," I answer quickly and realize the bus I was going to take is starting to drive off. "Oh crap. Thank you again!" I yell as I rush out the door. My backpack hits my back as I run like a madwoman.

"Stop! Please, stop! I'm sorry! I was just trying to decide what Oreo to pick, which was stupid because of course it would be peanut butter!"

I stop, breathing heavily watching the bus not hesitate in leaving me behind. "Great."

"Hey, Tater Tot." I turn back around and see Mr. Sexy Biker Guy again with his sunglasses back on. "Need a ride?"

I should say no, but instead I tilt my head at the very beautiful, old school vintage car he's standing at. He has his forearms resting on his car door and he stares at me. "Aren't you supposed to be a biker? Where's your bike?"

He laughs and it's an amazing sound. "I had to pick up some car parts."

"How do I know you're not going to kill me or do something horrible to me?"

He scratches at his beard an amused smile on his striking face. "Trust me, Tater Tot, I know better than to cause you any harm."

"Stop calling me that."

"No."

My head goes back and forth between where the bus once was and him. "I really don't want to sit on that uncomfortable bench and wait for hours until the next bus."

"No, you don't and you shouldn't." His playful expression is gone.

"Why?"

He walks toward me all cocky like with a certain grace only older men have and the kind college boys try to pull off. "This area isn't safe."

Nodding my head, I start backing away because he's a little too close and I have a thing about not liking people to close to me. "Okay, but I would argue back, how it is also unsafe to hop in a very pretty car with a guy who obviously affiliates with some kind of biker gang—"

"Club, not gang." He cuts in.

I hold my palm ups. "Sorry, club. Who for some odd reason paid for my bundle of snacks but won't tell me why."

He puts his hands in his jean pockets. "I can see your point, but like I said earlier I know better than to hurt you. I wouldn't want to either. As for the snacks I was being nice."

"The cashier warned me I shouldn't be in debt to you or any of your affiliates," I counter.

His brow raises but before he can answer I continue to walk backwards. "Here's the thing, you beautiful man you. I do reckless things pretty much all the time and have been in numerous..." I try to think of the right word, "Incidents because of said recklessness. So, no offense to you, but I think this may be the one time where I don't jump into a potentially dangerous situation."

"You're trading one for another though," he retorts.

"Thank you for my snacks and—"

I'm interrupted by the sound of a car horn blaring. My head turns to one coming right for me. Powerful arms wrap around me and my body thrusts into a very firm one. My breath gets knocked out of me as I latch onto biker guy like I'm a spider and he's my web.

His breathing is ragged as the car zooms by and his hold on me tightens. All the guys back in Chicago seem puny compared to this one and that's when I realize... I'm dealing with a man. Not a college frat boy, who throws Frisbees with his loser friends, but a full-blown adult male with a warrior build. He has to be in his early thirties, especially by how he holds himself and...

God, he smells good.

"Thanks."

My hands fist his white long-sleeved shirt as I try to calm my racing heart, but it's not because of the car that almost hit me. Nope. I've never had a man hold me like this before. It doesn't help that he's pure muscle from head to toe. His big broad shoulders block out everything and can you say holy forearms! Let me tell you, if he wanted to, he could probably snap me in half. The man's got a physique to kill, but he's not bulgy or overly huge.

Gathering myself I laugh. "It might be safer for you if I wait for the next bus. I tend to attract trouble."

I push away from him a little and look up, my breathing uneven as those magnetic eyes study me. Even though the milky one is no longer operational, it doesn't matter, he still analyzes every part of me with it. Heat starts to roll off me and take over my skin.

Never have I ever had the attention of the boys at school, so having this man's is, well, intimidating and unfortunately, I don't have his pretty natural tan complexion. Mine is pasty white, which means that the flush radiating off my neck all the way to my cheeks, forehead and ears is very very noticeable.

I have no idea what to say. I'm mush. Finally, I give into my human nature and do something reckless. "Actually, I think I'll take that ride."