Read Online Longest Night (New Adult Biker Gang Romance) (Night Horses MC Book 1) by Sarah Sorana - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sarah Sorana
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some expert in sad teenagers at truck stops?” I asked. “Weird specialty, man.”
"Everyone needs a hobby," he said.
When I didn't say anything back, he pulled out a cigarette and old lighter and lit up.
“You know,” I said, “Those will kill you sooner or later.”
"So I've heard," he said. He took a deep drag and let it lovingly filled the air as he exhaled. "But you only live once, and quitting's a bitch."
"Why are you here?” I asked.
"Why am I sitting here with you, or why am I at this fine model of retail sophistication?" The stranger asked.
I shrugged "Either. Both."
"Answer’s the same. Why the fuck not? I'm here because I needed gas, I wanted to ride around and feel the wind and the night, but even a pretty slick hog needs something to run on."
He took a long pull on his cigarette and I tried not to cough. The man gave me a sidelong look and stubbed the ember out on the ground away from me. It was those eyes, those long fingers, that first drew me to him.
He used his hands like a man I'd seen on a class trip as a kid that somehow struck me. I had dreams about that conductor and the careful fast deliberate movements of his hands for months, maybe years. This stranger brought the fine deliberation of someone who made a career out of controlling an entire orchestra with his fingertips to even the simplest action.
I wondered what it would be like to have his fingers on my skin and shivered in my silly dress.
His eyes were a simpler story. They were plain gorgeous, huge and expressive and a little hooded. They invited you in on a joke while somehow telling you you’d never get the full story. His full mouth made jokes and promises of secrets that his eyes teased he’d never share. They made a girl like me want to tame them, want to be the focus of that stunning gaze. Eyes like that could fascinate anyone.
"Why am I talking to you? Again, why the fuck not? You looked sad and snotty and I thought you could use a friend for a minute. I don't always gets to be the nice guy. I figured I should give it a shot."
"Why don't you get to be the nice guy?" I asked.
He gave me a crooked grin and turned so I could see his face better in the dim light.
I gasped. I couldn’t help myself.
“I’ve had a rough week,” he said.
“Looks like it,” I managed. There was a fresh black eye spreading into bruising down his cheek and jaw, down to a pretty nasty buckled scar. Something hadn’t healed right.
This man was layers of fighting marks, I told myself. He was not who I should be spending my time with.
Of course, the guy from a good family my mother thought deserved a chance left me alone at a truck stop in a prom dress, and this guy gave me a handkerchief and made me smile.
Nate, that asshole, never made me smile. He didn’t stub out his cigarette when I started coughing, either, just rolled the window down.
“My mother is going to kill me,” I said.
He laughed.
“Now, that’s something I’ve said before. Is she really?” he asked.
I hesitated.
“No,” I said. I was still thinking about the man’s handsome, ravaged face. Answering on autopilot. “She thought Nate was a good guy, she made me go with him because she’s known him since he was a baby and thought he would be a good date. She’ll feel terrible.”
I gestured down at the sea green polyester around my knees.
“She even bought me this, when she didn’t want to spend the money on a dress from a store,” I said.
“So, she didn’t think you’d end up sitting here? Snotty?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Why do you keep pointing out that I’m snotty and gross?” I asked.
“I’m trying to remind myself that I shouldn’t want to kiss you,” he said. “You’re eighteen and just had a shitty prom night. You’re so cute, though, that I sort of want to lean over and kiss you until you smile at
"Everyone needs a hobby," he said.
When I didn't say anything back, he pulled out a cigarette and old lighter and lit up.
“You know,” I said, “Those will kill you sooner or later.”
"So I've heard," he said. He took a deep drag and let it lovingly filled the air as he exhaled. "But you only live once, and quitting's a bitch."
"Why are you here?” I asked.
"Why am I sitting here with you, or why am I at this fine model of retail sophistication?" The stranger asked.
I shrugged "Either. Both."
"Answer’s the same. Why the fuck not? I'm here because I needed gas, I wanted to ride around and feel the wind and the night, but even a pretty slick hog needs something to run on."
He took a long pull on his cigarette and I tried not to cough. The man gave me a sidelong look and stubbed the ember out on the ground away from me. It was those eyes, those long fingers, that first drew me to him.
He used his hands like a man I'd seen on a class trip as a kid that somehow struck me. I had dreams about that conductor and the careful fast deliberate movements of his hands for months, maybe years. This stranger brought the fine deliberation of someone who made a career out of controlling an entire orchestra with his fingertips to even the simplest action.
I wondered what it would be like to have his fingers on my skin and shivered in my silly dress.
His eyes were a simpler story. They were plain gorgeous, huge and expressive and a little hooded. They invited you in on a joke while somehow telling you you’d never get the full story. His full mouth made jokes and promises of secrets that his eyes teased he’d never share. They made a girl like me want to tame them, want to be the focus of that stunning gaze. Eyes like that could fascinate anyone.
"Why am I talking to you? Again, why the fuck not? You looked sad and snotty and I thought you could use a friend for a minute. I don't always gets to be the nice guy. I figured I should give it a shot."
"Why don't you get to be the nice guy?" I asked.
He gave me a crooked grin and turned so I could see his face better in the dim light.
I gasped. I couldn’t help myself.
“I’ve had a rough week,” he said.
“Looks like it,” I managed. There was a fresh black eye spreading into bruising down his cheek and jaw, down to a pretty nasty buckled scar. Something hadn’t healed right.
This man was layers of fighting marks, I told myself. He was not who I should be spending my time with.
Of course, the guy from a good family my mother thought deserved a chance left me alone at a truck stop in a prom dress, and this guy gave me a handkerchief and made me smile.
Nate, that asshole, never made me smile. He didn’t stub out his cigarette when I started coughing, either, just rolled the window down.
“My mother is going to kill me,” I said.
He laughed.
“Now, that’s something I’ve said before. Is she really?” he asked.
I hesitated.
“No,” I said. I was still thinking about the man’s handsome, ravaged face. Answering on autopilot. “She thought Nate was a good guy, she made me go with him because she’s known him since he was a baby and thought he would be a good date. She’ll feel terrible.”
I gestured down at the sea green polyester around my knees.
“She even bought me this, when she didn’t want to spend the money on a dress from a store,” I said.
“So, she didn’t think you’d end up sitting here? Snotty?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Why do you keep pointing out that I’m snotty and gross?” I asked.
“I’m trying to remind myself that I shouldn’t want to kiss you,” he said. “You’re eighteen and just had a shitty prom night. You’re so cute, though, that I sort of want to lean over and kiss you until you smile at
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