Claiming the Two Biker Brothers in Thirty Days

Jane

“Buying a bike is a one-way ticket to a brain soup.” Jane muttered her complaint as she shimmed and squeezed and wormed her way through the row of fans seated in the open arena, struggling to balance her large coke order and an overflowing popcorn bowl.

Her best friend since high school, Amanda, was wearing a crop top that barely covered anything, with glitter on her cleavage spelling out the name of her favorite biker.

She was the reason Jane was here—in a crowd of overzealous fans that were screaming their heads off, begging her eardrums not to go kaput.

Because of a stupid bet she made.

Amanda plopped down two seats beside an overweight man wearing a trucker hat and a hi-vest. Jane fought the urge to roll her eyes when he winked at her.

Eugh.

She could clearly see the cheap wedding ring on his finger.

“…you know,” she turned to Amanda as she managed to squeeze herself into the chair without bumping arms with the man—who clearly didn’t understand the concept of not inconveniencing others, “…if I manage to get out of here without getting trampled on, I’m never letting you plan my summer itinerary ever again.”

“Oh, come on,” Amanda pushed her lips out in an exaggerated pout. She wriggled her shoulders, practically shoving her cleavage in Jane’s face. “You need to live a little, Janie. You’ve been cooped up in your little studio for the last two weeks, watching reruns of your sitcom.”

“It’s better than being out here,” Jane argued, wrinkling her nose as the sound of a million engines being revved at the same time nearly took out her eardrums. She leaned closer while the crowd erupted in shouts, cheering them on. “Some of us don’t want to get caught by the cops, because…you know, underground racing is very much illegal.”

Her best friend shook her head, her brows furrowing. “What?”

Jane rolled her eyes.

She always said Amanda was deaf in one ear…now she knew why. “I said—”

Amanda shook her head before she could finish, “I can’t hear you.”

Jane took a deep breath, her patience wearing thin. A cloud of dust went up in the air as a bunch of bikers chased each other in circles. Two girls behind them jumped up before she could repeat herself, squealing and crying and waving their banners around.

She bit her tongue as she settled back into her chair, taking a long, cold sip of her soda. How long did Amanda say it was again?

Two hours.

She could take two hours of screaming and yelling—and the dust storm that had definitely gotten into her drink—in exchange for two more weeks of silence.

And solitude.

So far, she’d allowed Amanda drag her to—

A strip club. The men were hot, she had to give her best friend that. And maybe it felt empowering tucking notes into their sparkly…ahem, but one of them had been very intent about giving her a lap dance.

He had an accent thicker than she could make out over the music. The only part of their conversation she understood, other than his continued eyebrow wriggling, was when he told her that she could—

“Take all of him, because she had enough fat to hold his weight.”

Then, they went indoor rock climbing.

The one-month of Pilates she paid for a year ago, prepared her for absolutely nothing. Jane had fallen flat on her face three times before finally giving up.

This—

She frowned as she looked into the middle of the arena pit, at the flashy bikes and the men in full getup, waving at the crowd.

This was the last straw.

She reached into her bowl of popcorn as something came whizzing from behind. She tilted her chin in mild curiosity, only for it to plop down on her face. A round of snickers followed.

Jane gritted her teeth as she slowly retrieved it, holding it up by her fingertips.

“What the flip?”

A bra. That was what she was holding. An oversized, caricature bra, with one of the cups big enough to cover her entire face.

“Looks like yours, doesn’t it?” She made a disgusted face as she turned to the man seated next to her. “Just perfect,” he whispered, dragging his tongue over his lower lip as his gaze dropped, unashamedly, to her chest.

Okay. She was done.

Jane shot to her feet, sending the popcorn and drink tumbling to the floor.

“You know what?” She threw her hands up, letting out an exasperated sigh as she glared at Amanda. “I tried. I really did. But this isn’t for me.” She drew in a sharp breath. “So I’m just going to go, and I’ll see you…” Her voice faltered for a moment. “When I see you.”

“Jane! Jane, wait—please!”

Amanda scrambled after her, but Jane was already squeezing past the people seated along the row, muttering hurried apologies and earning more than a few annoyed huffs.

She needed to get out of there.

Her mind was already back in her tiny studio apartment. Her body just had to catch up. Head down and determined, Jane burst through the theater doors and straight into a solid wall of muscle.

The impact knocked her backward. “Oh—”

Jane froze as a cold splash drenched the front of her shirt.

Slowly, she looked down as amber liquid dripped from her blouse and pooled around her shoes. An overturned cup rolled across the floor between them.

For one horrifying second, neither of them spoke.

Then she looked up.

The stranger was staring at his now-empty drink with an expression somewhere between disbelief and resignation. “Well,” he said at last, glancing from the ruined drink to her soaked shirt, “I suppose one of us should apologize.”

Jane only heard the last word, setting off her brain like the Fourth of July fireworks.

Apologize???

She scoffed, thrusting her hands on her hips. “You want me to apologize? You’re the one who bumped into me. You should be saying sorry.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah…you’re right. But you weren’t looking up either. So, maybe we accept half the blame? The show’s about to start and I’m sure you don’t want to miss seeing me out there.”

The corner of his mouth tilted with a smirk.

Jane’s brows furrowed as she squinted at him. Brown, shaggy hair that covered his eyes. A dark birthmark, like a dot, just below his left eye. Bright brown eyes. An annoyingly firm jawline that Amanda wouldn’t stop gushing about.

Marcus Wolfe.

Amanda’s crush and the man on the posters covering up every inch of her bedroom wall. And the reason her blouse—her designer blouse that her best friend convinced her to wear—was totally ruined.

It was $300 minus shipping.

Oh, he was going to pay for it. “You know what?” She raised a finger, with her rant brewing. “I know that you have people gushing over you and singing your praises, but I am definitely not one of them.”

His smirk fell off. But Jane wasn’t done. She was just getting warmed up.

“Jane? Jane?”

Amanda had caught up to her and was now rushing up the steps in her rhinestone covered boots. She halted, a wheeze coming out of her mouth when she saw Marcus. “Y-y- oh my god!!”

She shrieked. “Can I get your autograph, please? I’ve been dying to meet you!”

Marcus glanced at Jane with an eyebrow slightly raised. She could smell his smugness like an overpriced cologne. He walked past her, talking softly to Amanda who was totally losing her shit.

The audacity!

She wasn’t going to let him get away with it. She took a step, intending to give him a piece of her mind, but her foot never touched the ground. Her other foot slid on his spilled drink and she lost her balance.

It happened in slow motion.

Her legs gave out from underneath her, her arms flailing in the air as she tried to clutch fistfuls of air to keep her from falling.

Oh no.

Oh no.

Was this how she was going to die?

The headlines flashed through her eyes as she slowly blacked out:

Chubby College Student Takes A Tumble After Slipping On Spilled Drink: Does