Page 17 of Bolt's Flame
Without waiting for a snarky reply, I walked away, and as I made my way to the kitchen; I realized something.
I could do this. I could start over and begin again and have the confidence I had before James. Yes, I was always quiet, a little shy, but always confident in who I was, willing to go after what I wanted.
Brenda taught me to stand up for myself against bullies, and Jenny was jealous and trying to intimidate me. The fact that I wasn’t about to cower to the territorial woman was testament to the fact I was finding the parts of me that James forced into hiding.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE SOFT, HUMIDair wrapped around me as I slippedout the clubhouse’s back door, a hint of jasmine from the wild bushes nearby mingling with the earthy scent of the trees that surrounded the clubhouse. The late afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of old oaks, casting long, dappled shadows across the path.
I wasn’t sure what I was doing out here, not exactly. I’d spent the last few days trying to find my place, hovering at the edges of conversations and quietly observing the steady rhythm of life here. But today, something had pulled me outside. A need for air, or maybe something more.
There was a garage that sat tucked behind the main clubhouse, half-hidden by sprawling branches dripping with Spanish moss. The old building was modest, tin-roofed, with tools hanging from every available surface and the scent of oil and rubber permeating the air. I walked slowly, feeling the crunch of the sandy gravel beneath my shoes as I approached, my gaze locked on the lone figure inside.
The man I had seen head down here every morning.
Bolt was hunched over an engine block, his broad shoulders shifting as he worked, grease-stained hands moving with a precision I hadn’t expected. He was shirtless, revealing muscled arms painted with everything from landscapes, old cars, to vintage street signs. The most impressive tattoo covered his entire back. It was the club’s colors, and my dad had the same one.
Sunlight streamed through the open garage door, catching on the strands of his hair, messy but somehow perfect, the sweat on his skin making him look too damn sexy for my liking.
I stopped just at the edge of the door, lingering in the shadows as I watched him. He was focused, completely absorbed in whatever piece of machinery he was working on. There was something almost hypnotic about the way he moved—fluid, confident, as if he knew every bolt and screw by heart. It was strange to think of someone so dangerous looking so... at ease.
My heart gave a small, unexpected flutter, my body coming alive, tingling in places I forgot existed. I told myself it was nothing, just the natural effect of watching a sexy man who knew what he was doing, but even as I thought it, I knew it was more than that. This clubhouse didn’t lack sexy men. There was something about Bolt that drew me in, something that made it hard to look away.
He lifted a wrench, adjusting something with a practiced twist, his biceps flexing under his skin, a trail of sweatdisappearing behind the waistband of his jeans. I bit my lip, feeling a flush rise in my cheeks as I realized just how closely I was watching him. Part of me wanted to turn and walk away, to slip back into the clubhouse before he noticed me, but my feet didn’t move. I stood there, rooted to the spot, mesmerized by the way he worked.
A soft rustling to my left caught my attention, and I glanced up to see Boots coming from behind one of the big oak trees. “Hey sweet girl,” he shouted as he moved toward the clubhouse.
There was no way Bolt didn’t hear Boots call me. This was so embarrassing.
My gaze slowly drifted back to Bolt, and my heart skipped a beat as I saw his head turned, his eyes catching mine. He straightened, reaching for a rag to wipe his hands. I hadn’t realized how tall he was until I saw him standing there, the afternoon light casting a warm glow over his face, catching in the amber of his eyes as he glanced my way.
Our eyes met again, and for a second, I felt like a kid getting caught doing something naughty. I took a step back, my heart pounding, but Bolt didn’t look away. A slow smile spread across his face, and he held up the rag, his voice carrying easily across the garage.
“You gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna come say hi?”
I felt my cheeks flush, but there was something in his tone—warm, inviting—that eased the tension in my chest. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin as I crossed the threshold into the garage.
“Sorry,” I said, feeling awkward but managing a smile. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He shrugged, tossing the rag onto a nearby workbench. “You’re not interrupting. Just puttin’ this old thing backtogether.” He gestured to the engine he’d been working on. “It’s a mess, but... I’ll get it runnin’ again.”
I nodded, glancing at the engine. “Do you work on the club’s bikes, too?”
“When I can, and I rebuild engines for the club’s garage.” He leaned back against the workbench, crossing his arms over his chest. “Keeps my mind busy. And there’s somethin’ about rebuilding things that I like. Gives you a chance to make ‘em better than they were before.”
There was something about the way he said it, like it wasn’t just about the engines, and I found myself wondering what else he’d had to rebuild in his life. Maybe that was part of what drew me to him—the sense that he understood what it meant to be broken and put back together again.
“It’s nice out here,” I said softly, glancing back toward the trees, where the sun was just beginning to dip, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape. “Peaceful.”
He followed my gaze, his expression softening. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
For a moment, we stood there in comfortable silence, the sounds of the world around us filling the space—the chirping of birds, the rustle of the trees, the distant hum of the highway. It felt different out here, away from the noise of the clubhouse, like we were in our own little world.
“Why’d you come out here, Fiona?” he asked, his voice low, but there was a hint of curiosity in his tone.
I looked down, feeling a little embarrassed, but knowing I couldn’t hide the truth. “I... I just wanted to get some air. And... maybe I wanted to see what you were doing.”
His smile widened, and there was something almost teasing in his eyes. “You wanted to watch me work?”