Page 12 of Misadventures And Ms. Demeanor

"You are a menace to society," he growled. "Did you even look?"

He was mad, but still. I felt insulted. "Of course I looked, but it was in the blind spot." He kept staring at me as if he wanted to lunge across the dead bike and strangle me. "You don't have your Taser, do you?" I asked warily.

"Lady, what I want to do to you doesn't involve a Taser," he replied, a vein pulsing at his temple.

My body heated at those words, even though I was sure he didn't mean anything carnal. It was hard to keep my thoughts from going that way when his jeans were stretched taut over very muscular thighs and his black leather jacket was...wow. He hadn't shaved yet and his dark stubble made him look a little dangerous. Okay, a lot dangerous. I could only imagine what he looked like riding that bike. Thankfully, he wasn't wearing his gun, or at least I couldn't see it, and I didn't know where he'd hide it.

"Dude, your bike got totaled by Silky Tangles. Cool. I know how I'd make her pay for damages," the college kid's friend told McHottie.

McHottie's jaw clenched...again, and he stood to his full height, much taller and broader than the college kid. This was the look of doom he'd given me yesterday on the side of the road right before he tased me. Obviously, it hadn't scared me since he'd had to fry my brain cells, but the college kid looked really freaked out. He practically peed his pants and slinked off to his car with his buddy and left. Others backed away slowly and went about their day.

"I'll pay for the damages." I stood and held up my hands in surrender. "Let's just get it to a mechanic and it will be as good as new."

He just shook his head as if I were an idiot. "You can't just take this bike to a mechanic. It needs to go to Bob, a guy who fixes Harley's. But he's in Sturgis. I'd be there too in about eight hours if you hadn't backed into the bike." He placed his hands on his hips. His narrow hips that looked very nice with a pair of low-slung jeans about them.

Sturgis, South Dakota, hosted an annual motorcycle rally, famous among the motorcycle crowd. I knew nothing aboutmotorcycles and I'd even heard of it. Bikers migrated there like monarch butterflies year after year for a week of fun. I'd never been, so I had no idea what actually happened, but most likely it included a lot of leather and definitely involved a crap load of motorcycles. A bike was pretty much a requirement. And, it seemed, it was happening now. Because of me, without McHottie.

I licked my lips nervously. "I'm really sorry." I felt terrible. I didn't have to like the guy to feel bad that his plans had been messed up. My phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket. Goldie.

"Where are you? We're at the house waiting," she said.

"Oh, um. I ran into a little trouble at the gas station." I nibbled on my lip and glanced at McHottie. He rolled his eyes at my pun. Of course, I hadn't meant it.Right.

"Where are you?"

"On East Main."

"We'll be there in five minutes." Goldie clicked off before I could tell her not to come, but she lived just down the street and wouldn't steer clear of trouble if it was about to run her over. Maybe when Goldie and Aunt Velma showed up,Iwouldn't look quite as crazy. It was a long five minutes, McHottie getting on his cell and talking to someone, gesturing with his hands in ways that indicated several different options for my demise. For once, I was thankful to see Goldie's car squeal into the lot practically on two wheels. The windows were rolled down and the latest Coldplay song blasted. She and Aunt Velma hopped out and assessed the situation, hands on hips.

"Hey, we know you," Aunt Velma said. "You're Officer McHottie."

Oh my god. I should just reach into the guy's jacket pocket, pull out his gun and kill myself. It would be less painful than the mortification of this moment.

"McHottie?" He shut his eyes and just shook his head. Yup, at least now he knew crazy was hereditary. He sighed. "Yeah, I know you, too."

Clearly yesterday's debacle wasn't forgotten by anyone.

Goldie shouldered her way into the group and looked down at the motorcycle. "I'll get Bob on the horn and he'll fix that right up."

McHottie glanced at Goldie. "You know Bob?"

Goldie looked surprised. "Sure. Everyone knows Bob."

I didn't know Bob.

"He's my brother-in-law's nephew on his wife's side's neighbor," Goldie explained.

McHottie froze, processed. And now I knew why I didn't know Bob.

"I've got him on speed dial." She whipped out her cell and dialed him right up. "Hey, Bob, it's Goldie. No, that movie hasn't come in yet. You're first on the waiting list." She listened. "Yes, I know it's got Silky Tangles in it."

I rolled my eyes.

"Look, I need a new front wheel for a Harley Softtail Fat Boy pronto. It looks like"—she leaned in toward the bike to get a better look—"a new front fork, too." She listened. "Uh huh, I see. You're there now, huh? 'Til when? Right."

We all stared at her, including McHottie, stunned she could name a Harley model just by looking at it. She never ceased to amaze.

"Yes, it's JT's bike. Is that so?" She continued her conversation with the infamous Bob, but turned to look at McHottie. "You arranged that for JT? Are you sure that's a good idea? Oh, right, that makes sense. He is on vacation."