“More than what?”
“More than an arm across the mouth. Might sound a bit arrogant, but I'm pretty sure I'm the sort of guy you'll never forget.”
A laugh escapes her throat as a grin curves my lips.
Remember what you came here for, Royal. My smile falters a little and Lyric notices. Perceptive little Pint-Size.
“Doesn't sound arrogant at all,” she says, but she's looking me up and down, from my boots all the way up to my eyes, locking our gazes together. “Something just crossed your mind. What is it?”
“Am I that transparent?” I ask, trying to keep the mood light. Should be anything but considering all the fucking shite I've been dealing with lately. Landon is dead. That thought springs up for the hundredth time since that big toothed asshole showed up on my doorstep this morning. Like I really need to be reminded.
“Not transparent,” Lyric says, tilting her head to the side. “Just moody?”
“Moody?” I ask, brows raising. “There're a hell of a lot of men who'd be scared shitless to say something like that to me.”
“That's your answer then,” she says blandly, crossing her arms over her ample chest, as if we weren't just lip-locked and rounding second base. “I am not a man.”
“So I noticed when you were on your back yesterday.”
Narrowed eyes and pursed lips.
“You're feistier than I first thought,” I say, sliding my fingers into my pocket and grabbing a smoke. “A wild woman under wraps.”
“You must've come over here for something other than riding,” Lyric says and I feel my face split into another grin. I try to keep good humor in all situations, sure, but this girl … there's something different about her.
“Riding is exactly what I came over here for, but I'm not talking about my bike. I came here to ride you.” Not entirely true, but I wish. “First things first,” I begin, lighting up and taking a drag of my smoke, “do you happen to know a man named Brent Gilman?”
Lyric's entire body goes tense, a definite yes in my book.
Damn it.
I feel my own body tensing in response, my emotions shutting down, all of our playful banter going out the window in an instant. I wanted her to say no. I wanted her to say no so goddamn badly.
“Brent and I went to college together,” she says and then glances away like she's ashamed. I can't tell if it's an act or not. “We dated for a while.” My fingers clamp down tighter on my cig and my jaw tenses. This girl? She dated Mr. Monotone with the bleach blond hair and matching skin? No fucking way. Lyric looks back up at me, her face almost completely makeup free but still gorgeous. Most of the girls I know refuse to leave the house without an entire cosmetics aisle on their face. “Why? How do you know Brent?”
“He paid me a little visit at my house this morning,” I say, testing her reaction as I smoke my cigarette, the cherry burning bright and orange in the early evening light.
“Brent?” she asks, her reaction seeming genuine. “Why would Brent be at your place?”
“That's a question I'm hoping you can help answer. You told me your dad wasn't interested in working with the FBI.” Her eyes widen and I can see the color draining from her skin. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Fuck. No. I wanted to play around with this girl for a while, have a good time.
But if she's working with the feds? The boys would not take kindly to that information.
For a moment there, I hate my position in the club with a passion. It only lasts for a second, but it scares the crap out of me. My brothers, and the club, they come first. Always. Forever. I proved that with Landon last week, and if I had to, with this girl …
“Brent's with the FBI, yeah, but he's here on vacation.”
“Vacation?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at the sky, at the clouds clinging to the air above the ocean. “Why the hell would he want to have a holiday out here?”
“Brent and my brother are friends, and …” Lyric shakes her head and holds up her hands. “I'm not talking about this with you. I told you my dad didn't care about your club or the feds or anything but getting re-elected. What I said was true. Brent isn't on official FBI business.”
I narrow my eyes on her, but her words ring with truth. I'm no human lie detector like my brother, Glacier, but I've got a decent track record at reading people.
“I think he wants me back,” she blurts when I don't say anything for a moment. My fingers pinch tight on the cig and ash falls to the cement walkway. “He asked me out to dinner tonight.”
“So why are you here with me then?” I ask, softening towards her. I know I should keep my guard up, that I should put her through the ringer, scare the shit out of her and make sure she's telling the truth.