pants.”
Blake’s eyes glittered. Leaning in, he lowered his voice and asked, “You checking out my package, teach? Because my pocket might be empty, but I can assure you that bulge you had your eye on is very much still present.”
“You’re incorrigible,” she said with a roll of her eyes. Catching sight of one of the boys shoving his way through the line to the treat dispenser, she shouted, “Marcus, wait your turn!”
As she continued monitoring her class, Gabby felt Blake’s eyes on her, and the little hairs on the back of her neck perked up.
“Getting back on topic, I think you should know that my club and I haven’t broken a single law in over a decade,” Blake informed her, his voice hard. “I’m sure you’re disappointed now that your theory of us all being criminals has been blown out of the water.”
“Not at all.” She shook her head. “I’m glad that you’re all staying out of trouble, but you can’t blame me for being concerned. It’s not as if motorcycle clubs are known for keeping their noses clean.”
“Well, there’s the difference right there. We’re not an MC. We’re a riding club.”
“Where I come from, there’s not much difference. Are you planning to tell me that you all have a clean record?”
“Not even a little bit. Most of us have a couple marks, some more than others. Just depends on how long you’ve worn the cut. Going back to my pop’s time, yeah, a lot of the brothers spent some time upstate. Since I’ve taken the head at the table, only the normal, everyday shit. Misdemeanors mostly.”
That didn’t exactly make Gabby feel warm and fuzzy—a record was still a record—but she could admit that it was marginally better depending on what angle you viewed it from. “Which side of the fence do you fall on, misdemeanors or felonies?”
She met Blake’s dark gaze unwavering. He was intimidating no matter the circumstance, but in this setting, surrounded by a group of happy-go-lucky children and sultry-eyed volunteer mothers, coupled with that unforgettable kiss he planted on her over the weekend that she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up her guard.
Stepping closer, Blake towered over her, his tall frame casting her in shadows as he stared directly into her eyes. A couple of the moms that had been circling nearby peeked over their shoulders, and Gabby tried her best to ignore their curious stares. “My past is mine, teach,” Blake rasped. “You don’t get to judge me on that. Now, you stick around long enough, I might tell you about it, but by then it won’t matter a good goddamn either way, because you’ll already be mine.”
“Yours?” She swallowed thickly, afraid to admit that she liked the sound of that. Mine . It sent a dangerous shiver down her spine.
“Mine,” he growled. “My woman, my old lady, my responsibility, my property.”
“Miss Gabby, the goat is eating Olly’s shirt!” a girl’s voice called. Grouped together, the kids laughed and pointed, getting a real kick out of the goat who was making a fast meal of Olly’s clothing. Thankfully, one of the moms jumped in to handle the situation, because Gabby was still reeling.
Like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head, the interruption served to jolt her back into reality. “I’m no one’s property,” she snapped, then, with a sharp look, she broke away to join her students. Feeding the goats was preferable—and safer—than being caught in Blake Mahone’s orbit.
***
By the time the bus returned them to the school, the dismissal bell had already rung. Relieved, Gabby ignored Blake’s constant, invasive stare that had drilled through the back of her skull the entire ride, choosing instead to absorb herself in taking a head count as she directed the children off the bus.
“If you see your parents, you’re free to go. Those who ride the bus, form a line on the sidewalk and wait for
Blake’s eyes glittered. Leaning in, he lowered his voice and asked, “You checking out my package, teach? Because my pocket might be empty, but I can assure you that bulge you had your eye on is very much still present.”
“You’re incorrigible,” she said with a roll of her eyes. Catching sight of one of the boys shoving his way through the line to the treat dispenser, she shouted, “Marcus, wait your turn!”
As she continued monitoring her class, Gabby felt Blake’s eyes on her, and the little hairs on the back of her neck perked up.
“Getting back on topic, I think you should know that my club and I haven’t broken a single law in over a decade,” Blake informed her, his voice hard. “I’m sure you’re disappointed now that your theory of us all being criminals has been blown out of the water.”
“Not at all.” She shook her head. “I’m glad that you’re all staying out of trouble, but you can’t blame me for being concerned. It’s not as if motorcycle clubs are known for keeping their noses clean.”
“Well, there’s the difference right there. We’re not an MC. We’re a riding club.”
“Where I come from, there’s not much difference. Are you planning to tell me that you all have a clean record?”
“Not even a little bit. Most of us have a couple marks, some more than others. Just depends on how long you’ve worn the cut. Going back to my pop’s time, yeah, a lot of the brothers spent some time upstate. Since I’ve taken the head at the table, only the normal, everyday shit. Misdemeanors mostly.”
That didn’t exactly make Gabby feel warm and fuzzy—a record was still a record—but she could admit that it was marginally better depending on what angle you viewed it from. “Which side of the fence do you fall on, misdemeanors or felonies?”
She met Blake’s dark gaze unwavering. He was intimidating no matter the circumstance, but in this setting, surrounded by a group of happy-go-lucky children and sultry-eyed volunteer mothers, coupled with that unforgettable kiss he planted on her over the weekend that she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up her guard.
Stepping closer, Blake towered over her, his tall frame casting her in shadows as he stared directly into her eyes. A couple of the moms that had been circling nearby peeked over their shoulders, and Gabby tried her best to ignore their curious stares. “My past is mine, teach,” Blake rasped. “You don’t get to judge me on that. Now, you stick around long enough, I might tell you about it, but by then it won’t matter a good goddamn either way, because you’ll already be mine.”
“Yours?” She swallowed thickly, afraid to admit that she liked the sound of that. Mine . It sent a dangerous shiver down her spine.
“Mine,” he growled. “My woman, my old lady, my responsibility, my property.”
“Miss Gabby, the goat is eating Olly’s shirt!” a girl’s voice called. Grouped together, the kids laughed and pointed, getting a real kick out of the goat who was making a fast meal of Olly’s clothing. Thankfully, one of the moms jumped in to handle the situation, because Gabby was still reeling.
Like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head, the interruption served to jolt her back into reality. “I’m no one’s property,” she snapped, then, with a sharp look, she broke away to join her students. Feeding the goats was preferable—and safer—than being caught in Blake Mahone’s orbit.
***
By the time the bus returned them to the school, the dismissal bell had already rung. Relieved, Gabby ignored Blake’s constant, invasive stare that had drilled through the back of her skull the entire ride, choosing instead to absorb herself in taking a head count as she directed the children off the bus.
“If you see your parents, you’re free to go. Those who ride the bus, form a line on the sidewalk and wait for
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