Diesel (Savage Brothers MC-Tennessee 2)

“There’s one thing I’ve learned about life,” I tell her and I hear her gasp and a rustling of the pillows. I don’t bother opening my eyes, instead opting for another drink from my bottle. Once I do that, I hold it loosely around the neck, letting it rest on my lap. “There’s no great power and wishing on the fucking stars is as useless as pissing in the wind and not expecting blowback.”

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion,” the girl says and it’s clear that she’s pissed at me—probably because I laid the law down earlier. I don’t really give a fuck. She can get glad or sad about that shit, she’s nothing to me.

“You didn’t. I’m just offering a little friendly advice,” I tell her with a shrug.

“You said we aren’t going to be friends,” she reminds me.

“And we’re not,” I confirm, taking another drink.

“Then, keep your advice and stick it up your ass,” she says.

That surprises me. I didn’t know what her play would be, but for some reason I thought she’d at least try to talk to me further. It shocks me so much that she didn’t, that I open my eyes to look at her.

She really is pretty, not that it matters. She’s got thick, wavy red-gold hair that falls down her back and she’s wearing a shirt that’s obviously one size too big. The shirt’s black and has gold writing in the middle that declares she’s having a bad hair day—which she’s obviously not, but whatever. She also has these short little black shorts on that reveal long tanned legs that I shouldn’t like looking at—but I do.

“I’ll make note to do that very thing,” I vow, wishing I hadn’t forgotten in the first place.

“Great,” she says, and then she gives me her back before lying back down in her couch of pillows.

I start to say something else, but I don’t. There’s no point. I sure as fuck don’t need to apologize. It’s good she got the message. It will save me a hell of a lot of problems in the long run.

We don’t speak again. After about ten or fifteen minutes, she gets up and walks back in her house. I know because for some stupid fucking reason I’m watching her. I’m watching her… even though I hate myself for doing it.3RoryI’ve finally seen a drawback to the community pool that my complex has.

My new neighbor.

It’s Saturday and it’s almost eighty degrees. Which is nothing new for the summers here. I love the weather here in Montana actually. The nights are cool—even in the summer—and the days have the heat without the humidity I experienced back east. I’m lying on a lounger, enjoying my day off of work and soaking up the sun. I’ve been working so much that I was starting to look as pale as a ghost.

All this, the fact I’m in my bathing suit enjoying beautiful weather, that I have the day off work, plus I managed to pay all of my bills for the month and still have money left over—should make me extremely happy.

And it does—to a point.

There’s one huge shadow preventing total happiness, however.

I adjust my sunglasses, and let the sun try and burn away the stress inside of me. I normally wouldn’t wear sunglasses. I’m playing with fire doing it now. I’m going to have large white circles around my eyes from them. I know it, but I continue to wear them. I don’t have a choice. If I take them off, then my damn neighbor will know I keep staring at him.

And I am staring.

I couldn’t keep from it if I wanted to. I don’t know a woman alive that could. He’s that pretty.

Okay, I know that men aren’t supposed to be described as pretty, but heck there’s not another word that fits him. He’s perfection. He’s got his hair pulled up again and he’s wearing these bright red swim trunks. His body has this golden tan everywhere you look. It’s almost so unnatural you’d think it was fake, but for some reason it’s easy to tell that he got his tan the old-fashioned way. His trunks hang low on him and there’s still no sign of pale white skin—which makes me think the dude has no tan lines at all. Like, where did he come from that he could be naked out in the sun all day? Was he a cabana boy on an island at one of those nude beaches? He doesn’t carry himself like a cabana boy—not that I’ve had the pleasure of meeting any, but still…

One thing that does show with the low hung trunks though…. Those freaking abs!

He has abs that are chiseled out of freaking stone and the indentions are so pronounced you want to run your tongue through each groove.