5 Bikers for Valentines

“I’m fine with it. When does the schedule start?” I asked.

“Tonight,” Jacob said.

His eyes connected heavily with mine as the rest of the brothers started to dig into their food.

“Okay, you two. Simmer down until dinner’s over,” Nick said.

“Yeah. Let’s keep it PG. We’re eating here,” Adam said.

A blush crept over my cheeks as a smile crossed Jacob’s face.

As I sat there and ate my first meal in my new home, everything felt perfect. I was living with five men with whom I’d fallen desperately in love. I had a blossoming business with my best friend, and I was finally done with my mother. Things were on the mend with my body. I was free from the confines of the bar, and I was hurtling toward a life I could be proud of. The kitchen table was filled with talk about the crew and the construction work being done on the business. I talked them through potential timelines and plans and how Lindy’s advertising was working. The six of us even talked about future plans, like parties we could throw and trips I could go on with the crew to rallies they attended.

I leaned back in my kitchen chair as I raised my wine glass into the air.

“I would like to propose a toast,” I said.

The brothers all looked around at one another before they raised their wine glasses.

“To men who choke down wine because they know I like it. I couldn’t have asked for a better family,” I said.

“Does this mean we can do beer next time?” Adam asked.

“It most certainly does,” I said.

“Told you,” Tanner said, grinning.

“Here, here!” Jacob said as we all clinked our glasses.

My smile was so wide that my cheeks ached as I sipped on my red wine. I watched Tyler get up and grab beers from the fridge, handing them out to his brothers. They chugged them down, trying to wash the taste of wine out of their mouth. I giggled at them as they all sighed, leaning back in their own chairs as dinner settled in our stomachs.

Finally, after years of struggling to find my place, I was home.

EPILOGUE

SIX MONTHS LATER

“Emma! Another order up!”

I looked up at Lindy as she slid a piece of paper across the desk.

“What’s this one?” I asked.

“Another one of those pink leather jackets,” Lindy said.

“I can feel your grin. You can stop now,” I said.

“I told you those things would be a hit.”

The shop had been up and running for six months now, and we were making a killing. Each month we had pulled a profit, and each month we saw a thirty percent increase in the money we brought in. Word spread quickly about many of our services, and once the ladies started wearing the pink leather, we had hordes of women at our door. Some wanted pink leather coats with tassels, and some wanted them with studs. Other women wanted pink leather accents on the jackets they already owned, and some wanted custom-made pink leather items.

We quickly became known for two things: the caliber of our leather repair and our fucking pink leather.

It was so popular, in fact, that several biker magazines had featured our shop. From our fully customizable lace-up boots to the repair shop that fixed everything from leather to lace. That exposure prompted us to expand our hours. We started out working a simple nine to five, but those hours were no longer enough once the magazines came along. By the time we were in our fourth month, we had to extend our hours to nine at night, making our days twelve-hour days to serve all our customers.

But Lindy and I were making a killing, and we couldn’t have been happier.

My mother had become a regular customer in our shop. She loved all the handmade jewelry items and the lacy numbers we sold. She had toned down her look some, especially when we introduced the leather leggings. Thankfully, she traded her cut-off daisy dukes for the customizable leather leggings, and she got rid of her crop tops and went with our brightly-colored corset tank tops. She custom-ordered several jackets and was addicted to the heels we stocked in the shop. Even though she was still flaunting her body, she was doing it in a way that was more tasteful.