Short Circuit (Riders of Tyr #7)

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Denying

Nathan

I am too old for this shit. I may not be an old man as Stig insists on calling me but sitting in a donut cafe, waiting for someone as if I am some teenage girl on a date with a crush, is not right. Except, when I hear the rumbling of a Harley, I glance out the window with longing.

And right on cue, as it happens in a cheesy teenage movie, everything goes in slow motion. The bike parks right outside and I take in the sight of Stig on it. He is wearing a pair of really tight black jeans that wrap around those thighs of his, a green Henley shirt that has never met with an iron but I am sure will bring out that blue of his eyes. Not a teenage girl, right?

Stig looks at the place. Then he takes his helmet off and messes with his hair and my fingers long to do the same. He lights a cigarette and dismounts taking a drag. Fuck! I bet teenage girls don’t sport boners in plain sight. I can’t help it. He looks so fucking edible right now and all the donuts in the world can’t compare.

He glances at the place once more and when he spots me through the window, he frowns probably wishing I wasn’t here at all. Tough luck. He walks lazily through the door with the cigarette on his lips. The patrons look at him disapprovingly but none dare suggest he put out that smoke. They just look at his cut. I guess Ava was right when she said the Riders own the city. Even students seem to be notified not to mess with a Rider.

The females in the place do not share the sentiment. His cut, his looks, his air is like a walking aphrodisiac to them. They all - an old lady behind the counter included - turn to him and they eye him longingly. He pays no attention. Of course he doesn’t.

The moment I make that thought, he looks at me. He must have read something on my face because he turns to a table occupied by three college girls and winks at them only to earn some sighs. Nice theatrics, I smirk and sit comfortably. That wink had nothing on the way he eyed my back at Valhalla.

Stig beckons at the owner and he rushes to get coffee which he serves the moment Stig sits across me as if he were a trained dog. I guess Stig comes here a lot. Should I be flattered that he shared this place with me or is it where he always has his business meetings? Or it could be the cut on his back which means he will take no shit. Most people here seem to know as much. Though he doesn’t look like the physically violently guy. At least not like Ava’s bear of a husband or that scary tattooed man Tor has on his beck and call. But that doesn’t mean he won’t crush you. He might just do it sitting in that comfortable chair of his, shirtless, his wide torso in display and pulling that lip ring in his... What was I thinking again?

“Thanks, Al,” he says to the man and snaps me out of

“The usual, man?”

“Sure,” Stig smiles at him.

That’s a sight I was spared this far. Stig smiling. And damn me but I was lucky I haven’t seen him. I almost believed that the concentrated scowl he had on was permanent. But seeing him smile makes me smile too. His whole face lights up in a playful way that tells me that he is a boy after all despite the tatts, the big ass Harley and the cut on his shoulders. And above all, he looks so hot. Or hotter since he looked hot already.

“Hm,” I cough to get his attention.

There’s that scowl.

“I am having the eggs and bacon,” I say to that Al guy. “And fresh juice.”

Stig scoffs and finishes his smoke.

“Something funny?

“Old man’s breakfast.”

“A warrior’s breakfast,” I correct him.

“Whatever.”

Silence. Stig looks out the window avoiding my eyes. I make him uncomfortable. Good, cause that’s the name of the game. For some reason, bothering and pushing his very clear limits is the best fun I had lately.

I study his face once more. He hasn’t slept, he wasn’t lying. But it’s not because of the task I asked of him. Something is eating him up, smothering him. And for some reason, I care what that is. I want to see it gone and maybe have him smile once more. Since when do you care? I hear my own self asking surprised.

“So, about that car,” I dig into my breakfast as soon as it arrives to keep me from wandering too far.

He says nothing, just raises a brow, satisfied with what was placed in front of him. A tower of pancakes, bathed in chocolate and sprinkled with colorful M&M’s. I can’t help but laugh at the sight.

“What?” Stig asks angrily.

“A... a,” I am still laughing. “A boy’s breakfast.”

“Shut up!”

Now the correct answer in a teenage romance is “Make me!” and then everyone assumes that the two will kiss though I know for a fact that there are a million other ways to make someone shut up a few of which include broken teeth. By the look he gives, he is more prone to give me the latter.

“M&M’s? Really? What are you 10?”

“Fuck you,” he growls and I see a few heads turning.

I smile at his words way too broadly. It was an insult, I get that but I can’t help but think about fucking right now. Fucking him, slowly at first, to let him adjust to my cock and then I’d ram in him till I fill his perfect ass with me.

Damn it! If anyone looked down my jeans, he would think that I can’t be that excited about bacon and eggs. I wonder what would Stig do if he saw the erection I am nurturing for him. He is not giving me an inch but I would love to see the look on his face. And, why not, have him pick up the glove. I am leaving today after I had lunch with Ava but I would stay for a night with him and be gone tomorrow for good. Bad idea, I decide. Really? How bad? My erection asks. Very bad.

“Sorry, pretty boy,” I smile. “Just messing with you.”

“Again, fuck you, old man.”

“OK, how about that info?”

He reaches in his back pocket and takes out a piece of paper. He slides it across the table and continues to plow through the pancake mountain.

“Wow,” I unfold the paper, “actual handwriting. How did that feel?”

No answer.

I check the address. Somewhere in the bad part of town. He has noted another set of plates so I am guessing they switched cars. What do they want with the kid? They haven’t asked for a ransom and they have made no demands so far.

I am still deep in thought when I hear Stig push away his plate and grab the cup of coffee. With one big gulp he drains it. He then gets up and straightens his cut.

“I hope I don’t have to see you again,” he throws at me and makes a move to go.

For a second there, I enjoy that faint Scandinavian accent in the way he talks. Ava told me that her husband, Tor, and Stig are from Sweden and I hear it clearly now. And it’s sexy as hell. When he and Tor battled in their mother tongue, I barely held back a moan to hear him spill that Swedish. Never knew I had a thing with accents before that. I can join Ava now and we can start a Facebook group or something.

I get up and extend my arm. He looks at it as if it’s infected. He either hates physical contact or he hates physical contact with me. I smile at him provocatively.

He takes my hand and sparks erupt. His hand is so smooth against mine. I wonder if the rest of him is just as smooth. Wouldn’t you like to know? I would, I never denied that. But deep down I know it’s better this way. It would complicate things and I like things simple. Simple helps me focus on work.

“Thank you for your help,” I offer.

“Well, I was ordered to help,” he deadpans.

“Sorry you had to endure that. I, for one, enjoyed it, pretty boy,” I squeeze his hand to mess with him one last time.

His body reacts at the contact and the innuendo but he kills the switch fast. Yet I see the momentary shock mixed with lust in his eyes, the hitch on his breath, the tightness of his shoulders. He licks his lips and that wretched lip ring before letting go and it’s my turn to react. But all I am left with is his retreating back.

Again, damn that ass!

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