Dirty Little Midlife Disaster: A Motorcycle Hottie Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 4) Read online

  I fight a smile just as the café door opens and my own man strides through. Blake is a movie star in the outside world, but in Heart’s Cove, he’s just Blake. He gives me a broad smile before glancing at my sister’s face, then changing course to hook an arm around my mother’s shoulders. “Lottie, you’re looking lovely this morning. Did you change your hair?”

  “Oh, stop it.” She swats at Blake’s chest. “You know I haven’t.”

  He winks at me, then gently directs my mother toward the kids’ table…and away from Trina.

  My sister lets out a long sigh and leans against the counter. “I think I just fell in love with Blake for that.”

  I laugh. “He’s surprisingly perceptive.”

  She looks back at me. “How’s the house design going?”

  “The architects are taking their time responding to our comments,” I answer. “They have this ultra-modern vision, but both Blake and I want something a bit more subtle. I think it’ll take a while to get the plans approved.” I glance at my sister. “But I heard back from the construction manager at my house, and it looks like they’ll have the last of the fire and smoke damage fixed up within three weeks. You’ll be able to move in before the start of the school year.”

  Trina accepts the coffee that Sven, our barista, hands her over the counter and takes a deep breath as she cups it close to her face. She shakes her head. “Are you sure you’re okay with Mom and me moving into your house? You want to stay in the rental you’re in with Blake and Allie?”

  I shrug. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  My house caught fire three months ago. The damage was localized, but I still had to move to a rental with my teenage daughter, Allie. That was right around the time I met Blake…and right around the time he decided he wanted to stay in town. Now we’re living in a small, two-bedroom rental while the design of the new house on the coast gets finalized. Blake bought the property and told me he was staying, and he’d wait however long it took for me to realize we belonged together.

  Swoon.

  Thankfully, I came to my senses pretty quickly. I keep thinking Blake is going to wake up and realize he’s happier in his swanky Beverly Hills mansion, but he keeps waking up and telling me that Heart’s Cove feels like the only home he’s ever had.

  It’s the fastest relationship I’ve ever been in, but it feels like I’ve known him my whole life. It feels right.

  So Trina, her kids, and our mother will move into my old house when the repairs are done. I’m ready to move on, and I know my sister needs some stability right now. I’m happy to give it to her.

  “Have you heard from the lawyer?” I ask.

  Trina sips her coffee and nods. “This morning. Kevin signed.”

  I arch my brows. “It’s all done? After all his talk about never signing divorce papers?”

  Trina leans a hip against the counter and plays with the edge of her cup with her thumb. “I thought he was going to take his time. Drag it out. He kept complaining about giving me any money even though we had two kids together and he was the main breadwinner ever since his paintings took off.”

  “But you supported him with two jobs for the first four years of your relationship.” I frown. “His paintings didn’t even sell until a couple of years ago. You were the one who introduced him to the gallery manager who gave him his first big show.”

  Trina grimaces. “I don’t know if that’s exactly how Kevin remembers it. He’s made a few speeches about bootstraps.”

  I roll my eyes. “He would never have been successful without you. You did his bookkeeping for years. You bought all his supplies until he could support himself. That asshole owes you.”

  “That’s what my lawyer says,” Trina replies. “That’s probably why Kevin decided to sign the papers. I haven’t asked for anything excessive. Just child support and a fair settlement. He gets to keep the house, the cars, everything. And he was all too willing to sign off on me moving here with the kids. It’s like he wanted us out of his hair, which I guess worked out for me.”

  My brows lower and I glance over at Blake. We don’t have kids together, but I can’t imagine him doing that. Cheating on me. Kicking me out of the house…or letting me leave without even trying to fix it.

  But Kevin isn’t Blake, and maybe this is for the best.

  My sister lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s fine. I’m glad it’s done. I don’t want to turn bitter. Honestly, with the kids and the move and starting at a new school and everything, I’m glad he signed the papers. I just want this to be over.”

  “Oh, Trina.” I reach across the counter and squeeze her hand.

  Her eyes drift to our mother, who’s still safely on the other side of the café and unable to lay into the thousand and one questions I’m sure she has for Trina. Which reminds me—

  “What’s up with the motorcycle man?”

  She jumps. “Huh?”

  “Katrina.” I cross my arms and pop a brow.

  “What?” is her angelic response.

  “You rode in here on a Harley so loud it made the windows shake, then looked at the hot, leather-clad rider like he just made your whole life. Then he looked at you like you were the hottest little thing he’d ever seen.You did that. My stylish, high-maintenance sister was riding a motorcycle.”

  “High maintenance?” Her voice squeaks. “Who are you calling high maintenance?” She uses a manicured hand to flick her perfectly styled hair over her shoulder. Even after a motorcycle ride, her hair looks like she just walked off a photo shoot.

  My sister is many things…and high maintenance is definitely one of them.

  I don’t mean it as a bad thing. It’s actually one of the things I admire most about her. She’s unapologetically girly. She takes care of herself—always has. She’s always loved clothing and fashion and pampering. Look at this morning! Mom told me she was going to pick up the car, and she’s standing in front of me in figure-hugging jeans, a simple white tank top, and enough silver bangles that she sounds like a wind chime when she sips her coffee. She’s wearing smudged eyeliner, mascara, and a bit of blush across her cheeks. She looks edgy and cool and totally not like a hungover person doing the walk of shame to their car in the pub parking lot.

  No wonder Mr. Motorcycle looked like he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and take her to his lair.

  I grin at her outrage. “You know you’re not low maintenance, Trina.”

  “And there’s nothing wrong with that!” a voice calls out from the doorway. Dorothy and Margaret, the elderly twin ladies who own the town hotel, are standing at the entrance, hands on their hips.

  Margaret cocks a brow. “I’ve been called high maintenance all my life, and always take it as a compliment.” She pats her perfectly coiffed hair with an elegant hand, her silk blouse and pressed salmon-colored trousers adding to the overall effect.

  Her sister, Dorothy, is the wild child of the two, with long silver hair braided over her shoulder and a leopard-print wrap dress. Different style, but no less stylish. She nods at Margaret’s words and tuts at me.

  I just grin and jerk my chin at Sven, who starts making coffee.

  Dorothy glides toward Trina and hooks her arm through my sister’s elbow. “Now, you’re next, mm?”

  Trina frowns. “What?”

  “Your motorcycle man.” She beams.

  Trina, looking slightly freaked that Dorothy already knows about her escapades this morning, shoots me a panicked glance.

  I just laugh. She’ll get used to this town quick enough.

  Dorothy leans her head against Trina’s. “He’s going to sweep you off your feet and ride off into the sunset with you. First Fiona, then Simone, then Candice, now you! We just need to get Jen and Fallon to stop messing around, and everyone will live happily ever after!”

  Trina wrinkles her nose, and for a brief moment looks exactly like her daughter, Katie. “I don’t believe in happily-ever-afters, Dorothy.”

  “Oh, that’s just the divorce tal
king.” Dorothy waves a hand. “Look at Candice. She was mopey for years!”

  Um, excuse me? Mopey? “My husband died, Dorothy,” I deadpan.

  Dorothy ignores me. “Lottie!” She crosses the café to go kiss my mother on both cheeks, then takes her time hugging Blake, squeezing his shoulders, kissing both of his cheeks, patting his hair, stroking his arm…

  I grin and shake my head while Margaret studies Trina.

  “You okay?” Margaret asks quietly.

  Trina nods. “Yeah. Fine. But I’ll probably need a new car in the not-too-distant future.”

  “Get that good-for-nothing ex-husband of yours to pay for it.” The older woman harrumphs, and I hide my grin while she orders a coffee.

  Then, like a hurricane, Simone and Fiona—the two women who co-own the café along with me and Jen—blow through the door. Simone pumps a fist in the air. “Fiona’s venue just confirmed! She’s getting married to the man of her dreams at the old cannery on the coast! It’s happening on the first of December, and we’re going to have the best time!” She squeals and throws an arm around Fiona’s waist, leading the laughing woman to the counter.

  My mother jumps up to congratulate Fiona, who’s already being smothered by Dorothy and Margaret.

  Trina glances at me, a sad smile playing over her lips.

  Then Jen appears in the doorway to the kitchen. “Have you decided on a cake flavor yet, or what?”

  “Oh, give her a break, Jen!” Simone calls out, laughing as Dorothy hugs her tight. “You made my wedding cake in twenty-four hours! You have like a million weeks to do this one. You’re a master baker. You can do it!”

  Jen purses her lips, but I think it’s mostly to stop from smiling. As congratulations are exchanged and coffees are made, I drift closer to my best friend and the most talented baker I’ve ever met. “You okay?” I ask Jen. “What’s going on with your recipe book?”

  “Amanda is coming back next week to go through the recipes I have so far.” Her lips twist, and her eyes dart back to the kitchen. Fallon, our amazing chef, dances around the space like he was born to make food for people. When Jen looks at me, she lets out a long sigh.

  Amanda works in publishing, and she happens to be Fallon’s ex-girlfriend. With Jen agreeing to work with her, she’s basically torpedoing whatever budding romance was occurring between her and Fallon. Now Amanda visits Heart’s Cove on the regular, and everyone can see the way she looks at Fallon. I don’t blame Jen for stepping back.

  “You don’t know that they’ll end up back together, Jen.”

  She gives me a quick, jerky nod. “Yeah. Whatever. Better get back to work.”

  “Let’s have a celebratory dinner! Our place,” Simone calls out. “Everyone’s invited. Wes will fire up the grill.” She beams at me, then shifts her eyes to Trina. “And don’t think you’re getting off without telling us all about your motorcycle ride this morning, Trina. You’re one of us now. That means you got beans, you spill ‘em.”

  Trina gapes. “How in the world do you know about my motorcycle ride? It happened a few minutes ago!”

  Simone taps the side of her nose. “Welcome to Heart’s Cove, honey.”

  I just laugh, and Dorothy lets out a loud squeal of her own. “I almost forgot! The pottery master class is going ahead on Monday.” She looks me, Fiona, Simone, and finally Trina in the eyes. “You’re all coming. Monday, eleven o’clock in the morning.” She points a finger at Trina. “And I know the kids will be at their day camp every day next week, so you have no excuse.”

  Trina’s shoulders drop. She bites her lip. “Look…pottery? I’m not artistic. That was Kevin’s thing.”

  “Oh, puh!” Dorothy bats the comment away. “You will be there and you will enjoy it, if only for the fact that Mr. Blair is easy on the eyes. His pieces sell like crazy, you know. He’s a big name in the pottery world. Did you hear about the big pop-up gallery opening happening in January?” She doesn’t wait for anyone to answer. “Mr. Blair agreed to show a few pieces.” Dorothy beams. “It’s going to be great. And”—she leans closer to the two of us—“he has the hands of a god.”

  For some reason Trina’s eyes glaze over for a brief moment, and color sweeps high over her cheeks. Then she blinks it away and lets out a breath. “Fine.”

  Dorothy just grins and winks at me. “I’d get him to do classes here year-round, but he works at—”

  “Dor! Come taste Jen’s new recipe,” Margaret calls from the kitchen.

  “Can’t resist a demand like that!” The older woman laughs and sways her hips toward the kitchen. “See you all on Monday.”

  I exchange a glance with my sister, who just blows out a breath.

  “Guess I’m doing pottery then, huh.” Trina shakes her head, resigned, then moves to give Fiona her congratulations.

  4

  Mac

  I ride for over an hour, but it still doesn’t cool the embers burning on my skin. I feel her everywhere. Pressed up against my back, wrapped around my waist, her thighs plastered against mine. I feel the memory of her silky, soft skin against my fingertips.

  Trina.

  I’ve been wanting to learn her name for weeks. All summer, I’ve spent more time than usual at my father’s bar in the vain hope that she’d show up again. It’s pathetic, really.

  But she came back. She has my number. I felt the sharp intake of her breath when I started the bike. I know she’ll want more.

  Or at least, I hope so.

  The engine cuts as I pull in next to my father’s bike in the parking lot of the Cedar Grove. Then I groan as a minivan door opens, and a tall woman with chocolate-colored hair and a sultry smile slides out.

  “Well, if it isn’t Mac Blair. Funny seeing you here.” Belinda sways her wide hips toward me.

  “Were you waiting for me to show up?” I jerk my head to her minivan.

  She rolls her eyes and lets out a coquettish laugh. “Of course not. I was just stopping in. I haven’t seen you in so long, and you know, the kids are in junior high now, so…” She lets the words hang, and I don’t take the bait.

  Belinda was a mistake. A big, big mistake that I do not intend to repeat. Ever.

  See, I’m a teacher at the local elementary school. I teach second grade, and I’m damn good at it. But—not to sound like an arrogant jackass—there are certain mothers who tend to be interested in me beyond my role as their kid’s teacher. They see the motorcycle, they see my age, my body, and they think I can give them a good ride.

  It’s inappropriate.

  Belinda and I…

  I hate admitting this, but it’s true. I slept with her. Her kid was in my class, and on the last day of the school year, she showed up at the school with a bottle of whiskey in her hand and fuck-me shoes on her feet. I took her home and obliged. I won’t pretend I didn’t enjoy it.

  If it had happened even a day earlier and people caught wind of it, I could have been in big trouble. There’s no explicit rule against parents and teachers seeing each other, but it’s highly, highly unprofessional. It was a mistake. Inappropriate, obviously, and the only thing that saved me was that I was no longer teaching her child.

  The problem is, I ran into her all the time for the next four years. School drop-offs, pick-ups, theater nights, sporting events, science fairs…she was always there.

  And now she’s here.

  Four years, this woman has been batting her lashes at me. And she’s not unattractive—not at all—but it’s just not something I want to do again. I can’t handle the whispers, the looks from other mothers, the stain on my reputation.

  “How’s Michael doing? Looking forward to the new school?” I take a sidestep away from Belinda to keep some distance between us.

  “I’m not here to talk about my kid, Mac.” She tilts her head. “Aren’t you going to ask me if I want to take you up on that motorcycle ride you promised me four whole years ago?” Her eyes flick from me to my bike, and there’s no mistaking the heat in her gaze.

&nbs
p; “Listen, Belinda.” I take a deep breath and comb my fingers through my hair, looking for the right words.

  It was never going to be more than sex with her. It’s never more than sex with anyone. I can’t do that lovey-dovey bullshit. It doesn’t make sense to me that people actually want that. To open up. To be vulnerable. Why give someone else the chance to hurt you? Why show someone else all your softest, weakest places?

  Even if Belinda tried to convince me she just wanted sex, I can tell by the desperate edge to her voice that she wants more, and I simply can’t give it to her. I don’t have that in me to give.

  Not to mention she was the first and only time I’ll ever hook up with a parent. It’s not worth the torture afterward, when they inevitably want more than I can give. It’s not worth throwing my job away. My reputation.

  Then, just as I’m wracking my brain for the right way to tell this woman to leave me the hell alone, a car comes screeching into the parking lot and slides into a spot across the pavement from me. Four white-haired ladies shuffle out of it.

  One of them is about four feet tall with eyes that shoot flames as she glances at another woman over the hood of the car. “Dorothy, you wouldn’t know good wine if I smashed a bottle of it over your head.”

  I know Dorothy. She owns the Heart’s Cove Hotel with her twin sister, Margaret. She’s wearing an animal-print dress, cinched at the waist with a belt studded with turquoise. She gets out of the opposite side of the car and plants her hands on her hips. “And how would you know good wine, Agnes? I didn’t know they had sommelier classes in hell.”

  Agnes sticks out her tongue.

  A short-haired woman puts her hands up. “Ladies—” She stops talking when she sees me, points in my direction, and screams, “He’s here! It’s him! It’s the motorcycle man!”

  Belinda lets out a huff. “Do you know these women?”

  “Uh…” I frown, my eyes darting between the three women shuffling toward me, then to the driver who’s following behind. It’s Margaret, Dorothy’s twin sister and co-owner of the Heart’s Cove Hotel. “Yeah,” I finally say. “I do.”