![]() ![]() “It just perplexes me,” I say, sinking my gaze into the steely depths of Grayson’s eyes. ![]() It doesn’t matter that I’ve worked at Fireside Bar and Grill for two years or that I’ve spent countless hours behind this very bar while Grayson sits on the other side, I can’t think straight when he looks at me. Grayson lifts his beer bottle, and as if it pains him to do it, he slides his gaze to mine. It will be both my personal and professional downfall. Women who understand them or, at the very least, the games they play. Guys like Grayson Blake? They go for women like Natalia. I’ve mentally filed that away because it’s something I’ll (sadly) never know for myself. Word has it that he has flames inked on his right hip, and when he moves, they dance as if they’re alive. ![]() Black hair, scruffy beard, tall, and oh-so muscular with tattoos etched into his tanned skin. My gaze fixes on the man-the only man-occupying a barstool on this side of the restaurant. “I don’t get it,” I say again, louder this time. An unlit cigarette is perched between her cherry-red lips, threatening to topple to the floor as she catches me looking and smirks. Natalia Barlow leans across the end of the bar, putting her ass and the top of her thong on full display for the table of bikers behind her. ![]()
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