Gypsy king

“We should go.” There was no conviction behind that statement.

“Tomorrow, don’t shower without me.”

I suddenly wished it was tomorrow.

With a playful tug on my ear, Dash dropped his hand from my hair and walked out of the kitchen. This time, his steps were sure and swift. Those of a man ready to get to work.

I closed my eyes and let my heart rate settle to normal, then made us travel cups of coffee while the water ran in the bathroom.

Dash was mere feet away, naked and wet. I unloaded the dishwasher so I wouldn’t go anywhere near the bathroom. Then I readied my purse for the trip, taking out the extra notepads I wouldn’t need for this story. I sat at the island, drinking my coffee until Dash came out wearing yesterday’s clothes and his signature, cocky grin.

“Here.” I held out a travel mug.

“No cup holders on the bike.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“Cup holders.” He went to the front door to pull on a boot. “My bike doesn’t have them.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m driving. My car comes equipped with cup holders.”

Dash straightened. “We’re taking the bike.”

“No, I’ll dri—”

“Babe, the bike is fun. Trust me.”

“You told me not to trust you.”

He gri

“Fine.” I shoved his coffee mug into his belly and tipped mine to my lips, guzzling because I didn’t want to risk falling asleep on the motorcycle.

“That was easier than I thought it would be.” He took a long drink from his own cup.

“Shut up.” Did I secretly want to ride on his Harley? Yes. But I’d die before admitting that to him.

I set my cup down on the island and began digging the essentials out of my purse and wallet. Cash. Credit cards. Driver’s license. Lip gloss. Hair tie. Gum. Phone. The jeans I was wearing were tight and the pockets wouldn’t keep it all, so the hair tie went on a wrist. The gum, money and cards into my jeans. But the other items still needed a new home.

I looked at Dash and smiled. Then I moved into his space, nice and close. My fingers hooked in his jeans pocket, pulling it open as his breath hitched. With my things dropped into his pocket, I patted his thigh before backing away. “All set.”

“Careful.” Dash palmed his zipper, making a blatant adjustment to his cock. “I might make you go in there to get them back.”

My core tightened. “I might insist.”

Outside, the morning air was fresh and clean. We walked to Dash’s bike and he sat on the dewy seat first. “Climb on.”

“Helmets?” I hadn’t minded when it was just a slow ride through town. But the highway? I was insisting on a helmet.

Dash opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he saw the look on my face. I was guessing it was part fear, part excitement.

“Please?”

He sighed. “We’ll stop by the garage and pick them up.”

“Thank you.” I settled into the seat behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. Then he started the motorcycle, roaring away from the curb and down the street.

To my relief, the garage wasn’t open when we arrived. I wasn’t ready to show up on Dash’s bike and get questioning looks from his employees about why I was wrapped around their boss. With the way Dash jogged inside to retrieve a helmet, I guessed he wasn’t ready to address our relationship with his employees either.

After Dash insisted I wear his leather jacket and buckled the matte-black helmet on my head—he refused one for himself—we rode out of town. The crisp morning did more to keep me awake than coffee ever could, and it was a thrill to be behind Dash as he navigated the curved highway.

I felt the shift in his muscles as he leaned us to one side or the other. The power of him and the machine between my legs. A couple of times, he’d let go of the handlebar with one hand to grip my thigh, those long fingers giving it a squeeze to make sure I was okay. I’d tightened my arms around his ribs in a silent yes.

The familiarity of my hometown wrapped around me as we arrived in Bozeman. These were the streets where I’d learned to drive. We passed my high school and the restaurant where we’d always celebrated Dad’s birthdays. We rode by stores and buildings that hadn’t been there during my youth, the changes I’d missed living in the city.

I’d always pictured coming back here and having a family. I’d hoped one day to return to Bozeman and go house hunting with my husband. I’d wanted to send my kids to the same school where I’d gone.

Being here was bittersweet. The memories swirled together with dreams now gone. A pang of sorrow hit and I pushed it away, not wanting to think about my lack of husband and children.

I didn’t need them to be happy.

But I wanted them all the same.

When we reached an intersection, I pointed for Dash to take a left. Then I navigated us through town and toward Amina’s address. I’d pulled it from public records one day and had jotted it in my yellow notepad in preparation for this trip.

Dash slowed down on the residential streets as my eyes sca

“There.” I pointed to a pale peach two-story home.

We parked and I climbed off the motorcycle first, removing my helmet. Dash simply stood and raked a hand through his hair to tame the windblown mess. Two swipes and it looked perfectly disheveled. I pulled my hair tie off my wrist, twisting my mane up into a knot.

“This was her house?” Dash pointed to her place.

“It’s cute.” Her home was located on a pocket park. Bordered by five nearly identical homes, the park had two picnic tables and a playground for kids. The block formed a horseshoe around the park. In front of Amina’s home, there was a For Sale sign freshly staked into the green grass. “I hadn’t expected it to be listed already.”

“Now what?” Dash asked.

“Now”—I held out my hand—“you give me my phone and we go house hunting.”

One call to the realtor and she was on her way to show us into the house.

“Didn’t waste any time getting it on the market,” Dash said as we sat at the picnic table, waiting for the realtor.

“It’s not like she’s coming back. I’m sure her daughter or whoever is settling the estate wanted to get it up this summer so it would sell before winter.”

“Yeah. Nice place.”

“It sure is. All this is new from when I grew up here. This all used to be farmland.”

This subdivision would have been on my short list as a mother. It was exactly the kind of place I would have wanted to have my kids grow up in, where we’d know the neighbors and the children would all play together on Saturday afternoons.

My place in Clifton Forge was a single-story home, like all the others on the street. There was minimal yard area. The HOA took care of shoveling snow from the sidewalks. I’d moved in and learned that I was the youngest person on the block, surrounded by elderly couples and a retired widower.

As the street’s new spinster, I fit right in.

A car door slammed. The realtor from the sign smiled and waved as she came our way. “Hello.”

“Hi.” I smiled. Dash and I both stood, and when we were on our feet, I slipped my hand into his. The arm attached stiffened.

Good to know how he feels about hand-holding. There was no time to let that irritate me because the realtor was speed walking our way, her hand held out the entire time.

After introductions, she led us into the house. “Your timing is perfect. We just put this on the market yesterday afternoon. This neighborhood is so desirable right now. It will go quick.”