Today’s #1lineWed themes is *SOCKS*. I had no WIP with socks in it. And I’d been missing my Nightrider Wolves so I thought I’d dash off a snippet to be used in a WIP to be named later. And when it came time to pick a Wolf, Gunner came to mind. You might remember him from NIGHT MOVES. He’s an enforcer for the Oklahoma Chapter but was up in Kansas City helping out the national chapter. So, without further adieu, I present you with…SOCKS!
I ran outside wearing just my socks. And a T-shirt. A long T-shirt that reached almost to my knees and mentioned something about using coffee for good. Or evil.
The man who’d parked his big ol’ Harley motorcycle on the sidewalk leading to my apartment stared at me, his gaze traveling to my chest and lower. His lips twitched. Was that a smile threatening to break through his scowl? I knew the moment his gaze reached my knee socks. The socks with the smoochie mouths and arrows pointing north. Yeah, about those… I’d won them a bridal shower given by the maid of honor.
One brow quirked and his gaze meandered back up my body, stopping at my crotch this time. His eyes narrowed in speculation and I wasn’t about to give in to the temptation to squeak. If I did, I’d turn tail and dash right back inside my apartment, slam the door, and I’d never get to meet my neighbor.
Yeah, about him. He was a biker. As in a bad-ass, leather-vest-wearing, real-honest-to-god outlaw biker. I loved his patch, the few times I’d glimpsed it. A leaping wolf. I had a thing about wolves. I’d collected them since childhood. I expected the gang’s name to be the Werewolves. Or maybe the Wild Wolves. But no. They were the Nightriders.
“Gonna catch cold standin’ out here with no clothes on.” He growled at me but the words were drawled. A biker and a southern boy? Be still, my heart.
“I…I…” Well, shoot. This was not the time to stand here stammering like the idiot I was feeling like. Time to be bold. To seize the day. To jump in with both feet.
I closed my mouth and stared at him. “Y-yes?”
“Thinkin’ too hard. Go put clothes on. I can’t very well take you for a ride wearin’ nothin’ but what you got on.”
Ride? He was taking me for a ride? On his Harley? I stepped closer.
“Clothes, babe. Or do you want some help?”
Help? That could be… I sucked in air and choked, which made me cough. What was I thinking? Oh, wait. I wasn’t. I couldn’t go for a ride with him.
He sighed and swung his leg over the seat of the motorcycle. I blinked and he was standing in front of me, hands on my shoulders and twisting me around to face the door of my apartment. He nudged me forward. At my door, he leaned down and whispered in my ear.
“When we fuck, babe, you’re going to be wearing those socks. Too fuckin’ cute.”
Fuck? We were going to fuck? I didn’t even know his name—
“Gunner. Now get clothes on, woman. I got places to be and you’re gonna be on the bike behind me when I go.”
His name was Gunner? Touchdown! Pistols firing!
Yeah, she’s an Oklahoma State cowgirl. No clue what her name is, or what her story will be, but Gunner happens to think she has excellent taste in knee socks.
Who else has socks to share?