Outside the Lines (Sons of Templar MC 2.5)

It hurt my heart just a little to see how dedicated, how in love, Brock was with her. His eyes touched her when she wasn’t looking, and he looked at her like she was the only thing tethering him to this earth. His reason for breathing. Even Bull’s—a seriously scary biker who looked like he had the ability to kill someone with a biting glance—eyes seemed to soften when she smiled at him. She had the love of not only a man who adored her, but his brothers who respected and cared for her.

Her life, minus the life-threatening wounds and traumatic kidnapping, was what I wanted. That kind of dedication. That kind of love. I ignored the voice that told me I might not ever get it. The one that lectured me that my life choices, my place in the club, might rob me of that kind of respect. I pretended that voice didn’t exist. Instead, I did what I always did, I had hope. Positivity that something great was around the corner.

And, at that moment in the middle of the night, when I was creeping out after falling asleep watching movies with Jagger—no funny business, much to my chagrin—I didn’t expect to hit something that didn’t mean happiness only heartbreak.

“Fuck a duck!” I yelled in fright as I half collided with a hard body while I was turning the corner to head out of the clubhouse.

I scuttled back about five feet when I realized who the hard body belonged to. Felt the heat of attraction that came with the contact.

Hansen and I stared at each other in the dim light, me trying to get my breathing under control.

We stayed like that for a moment, before I found my legs and a shaky smile. I walked my way toward him, trying to act like I hadn’t almost climbed a wall to escape his heat. I had no choice, he was standing in front of the only exit. I’d only encountered him a couple of times since his harsh words, and I had vowed to put on a brave face and a smile next time I saw him.

“Where you going?” he barked.

He didn’t seem to make any motion that he was going to move out of my way. I didn’t want to get too close to him either. I felt like my body would betray just how much he affected me.

“Home,” I whispered, on reflex.

His brows furrowed. “At fuckin’ four am?” he clipped, anger in his tone.

“I wasn’t planning on falling asleep, but Jagger insisted on watching a movie with subtitles, I need some magic and elves or interdimensional travel to keep me awake,” I said slowly, trying to keep my tone light. “I’ve got projects I need to do. So I’m going home to brew a bucket of coffee and finish them,” I continued, praying he’d let me past so I didn’t have to struggle with his stare.

He didn’t stop staring at me. I didn’t miss the way his entire body hardened when I mentioned Jagger.

I loved this man. There wasn’t anything for it. Ever since I first laid eyes on him, something in me stirred. It was him. The man for me. It wasn’t just because he was hot. He was. His bald head showed off the fact he had a great shaped skull. A weird thing to notice, I know. It was smooth and accentuated his sharp bone structure and strong features. He wasn’t handsome. No, someone that masculine wasn’t described as handsome. Something radiated off him that screamed man. Something in addition to his tall frame and hulking muscles. Something about the way he held himself and the way he walked. In the end, it was his eyes that trapped me. They were piercing blue, so piercing I felt them penetrate my soul. All I could ever think about was those hard, beautiful, eyes softening for me. For me and me only. That rigid form relaxing in my arms.

Only recently, with his painful dismissal, had I realized that would never happen.

“You’re going home, in your neighborhood, at this fuckin’ time?” he half growled, shaking me out of my fantasy.

“You know where I live?” I said by answer.

He was right. My neighborhood wasn’t exactly Beverly Hills. Far from it. But, thanks to its less than stellar reputation, rent was cheap and I managed to get a decent sized house for less than a matchbox apartments in the ‘better’ parts of town. I wasn’t rolling in cash, but I wanted to make myself a home. Somewhere warm and welcoming. I’d grown up in an even rougher neighborhood and, in the two years I’d lived where I was, I’d been fine. That may have been because of my connection to the club. Even the stupidest criminals knew not to mess with the Sons of Templar. Even though I was only a club whore, I was their property, and no one damaged what belonged to the Sons unless they wanted their jaw wired shut.

I was surprised that Hansen knew where I lived. Even though I was secretly in love with him, he did not betray any interest in me or any of the girls. Well, until the kitchen episode.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, shaking his head.

My back reared up slightly. Maybe it was at the way he acted like the act of me going to the place where I lived made me an idiot. I was a lot of things—I knew that—but an idiot was not one of them.

“I’m fine,” I snapped. “I’ve rolled into my place hundreds of times, yet to be peppered with bullet holes or assaulted.” My sarcasm and irritation shocked even me. I wasn’t a grumpy person. Regardless of what shit was swirling in my life, I was happy. I didn’t take shit from people, but I also didn’t feed into shit. The girls around here said something nasty, I usually let it roll off my back. Life’s too short to hold onto venom and let it settle. He seemed to bring it out in me.