Spec (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 2)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THOUGH NO LONGER openly hostile, Scott continued to avoid her, and she returned the favor. With Brooke inviting her to dinner or over to the house nearly every day, Olivia frequently ended up in his presence, but she did her best not to engage. If the others found it weird, they kept their opinions locked down.

There were three problems with the pretend-the-other-doesn’t-exist plan. The first being her constant awareness of him. He entered a room, and she knew. Her stomach went haywire, her neck tingled, and she got turned on, which led to the second problem. She wanted him more and more each time she saw him. The man was sex in jeans. She’d caught sight of him shirtless, sweaty, and walking out of the gym the other day—instant wet panties for the first time in her life.

And the third problem—the man never took his eyes off her.

Never.

Even at this club party, Olivia felt the weight of his gaze tracking her as she chatted with Brooke by the bonfire. His stare burned her as she crossed the field to get a drink. Was it her imagination, or did that gaze grow colder each time a man spoke to her?

Well, fuck him. She could do whatever she wanted and talk to whomever the hell she wanted. Scott didn’t get a single day in her life. Not as her brother’s friend, nor as a big badass biker.

He disapproved of everything she did, from staying on MC property to helping Brooke with the dogs to flirting at a party. For fuck’s sake, he’d sneered with a lip curl and everything the moment he’d caught sight of her at this party the second she’d arrived.

The rest of his club brothers rocked. It’d only taken them a few days to ignore his grumbling and warnings to keep the hell away from her. Now she jogged with Pulse in the mornings, had lunch with Jinx almost every day, and played pool with Ty each afternoon. Most nights were rounded out drinking a few beers in the clubhouse. Brooke quickly became a close friend, and even Curly seemed to enjoy having her around. Only Scott continued to ice her out and act like a royal jerk in her presence.

The only times he’d shown her anything but hatred or neglect had been that five whole seconds of concern after she and Brooke had an encounter with Curly’s old club members, the few minutes he’d spend telling her stories about her brother, and a quick apology at breakfast. Other than that, he remained an ass the past few weeks.

Worst part of it all?

She was so wildly attracted to the jerk. She couldn’t make it through a night without an erotic dream that left her drenched in sweat, aching, and reaching between her legs to get herself off to a man who hated her. How embarrassing.

A wolf whistle had her glancing over her shoulder. “Damn, woman, you’re fine as fuck.”

A smile curled her lips as Tracker approached her, weaving around a few partygoers. Of all the guys, he was her favorite. So unlike anyone she’d known, he was covered in tattoos, didn’t take life too seriously, and flirted with anything that moved. He also had an adorable dog who trotted by his side. “Thanks, Tracker. Hi, baby,” she said to the dog as she crouched down to love on her.

“Uhh, yeah, don’t do that.” Tracker hauled her back up to stand with a hand under her arm.

“What’s wrong?”

“Not about to get my ass kicked because I let you flash the whole party by bending over in that tiny skirt.”

“What are you talking about?” She glanced down at her black denim skirt and equally dark crop top that bared a few inches of her stomach. Combined with the four-inch heels, she felt sexy and powerful. “I love this outfit. And I crouched. I didn’t bend.”

“Yeah, pretty sure every cock at this party loves that outfit. But someone is about to have an aneurysm, and I’m not willing to be the one to pay the price for it.” He stroked a hand over his stubbly jaw. “This mug is too pretty to be all busted.” Then he gestured with his chin in the direction she’d last felt Scott’s stare.

Sure enough, he stood near the fire, drink in hand, lethal gaze locked on her.

A shiver ran up her spine despite the warmth of the night. Why was she so turned on by a man who hated her?

“He can’t stand me,” she said to Tracker. “Trust me, I could strip down naked and dance with every man here, and he wouldn’t give a shit.”

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.” He shuddered. “God, it’d be a bloodbath.”

“I’m serious. He’s just trying to intimidate me. Get me to leave sooner.” Which she’d seriously been contemplating until checking her email yesterday. Lance ramped up the threats, describing in disturbing detail what would happen if she didn’t return to Chicago. If she’d been honest, she felt as though she was in a bubble here with the club. Lance’s threats via email or DM hadn’t seemed real. But something about yesterday’s shocked her out of her mild denial and into gear. It was time to put on her big girl pants and make some life decisions.