Free Hard Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 1) by Lydia Pax

Paxton. “Keep a good look out. And you,” he said to Theo, “do that thing we talked about, okay?”
    The cops began to clear out, military fashion, obedient to a tee. First Theo left, and then Kyle. June dug into the fridge, looking for a bottle of water, and when she turned back around, she noticed her mother and father were both gone, leaving her alone in the kitchen with Paxton.
    “Hey, June,” he said, holding the brim of his hat over his chest. “You're looking great.”
    “Thanks.”
    This was eerie and gross, and it had her parents' complicity written all over it. Paxton was a decent enough fellow. He had pale blond hair that was thinning on the top of his head, too pale for his comb over to be effective. A small paunch sat at the front of his stomach, but he was otherwise broad-shouldered and in good shape, with a pleasant face.
    In sum, he was breathtakingly average, but not in a dull way. Instead, it was the sort of dependable, heart-of-Texas way that put his sort of man into so many marriages after a girl’s wild times in college were finally “out of her system.”
    June couldn't help but compare him to Ram, though—a living incarnation of every late night, lonely, desperate, dripping wet thought she'd ever had about screwing a bad boy.
    And Paxton simply didn't measure up. If Ram incarnated trouble, then Paxton incarnated safety, and in the worst possible way.
    “I was thinking, now that you're back in town, I could take you out one night. Show you around. There's a new Italian place back from where the movie theater on Rio used to be, and—”
    “I don't know about that,” June blurted. “I'm not...ready for that just yet. I had a relationship end not too long ago, and I'm still dealing with it. You understand, don't you Paxton?”
    Ram wouldn't understand. Ram would barely ask. He would ride up on to her lawn and carve holes into the lawn with his wheels until she got on the back and felt that hot thrill of horsepower thrumming between her legs. He'd take her by the arms and hold her down until she admitted just how brilliantly wet her pussy was for him.
    But Paxton did understand. “Oh,” he nodded. “Right. Sure. Of course. I just meant...as a welcome back. A good night out. But I understand. It's fine.”
    It clearly wasn't fine; he was blushing and disappointment spiked his face, but she couldn't bring herself to care that much. She felt nothing for him four years ago, and she felt nothing for him now.
    He left, and June found her father and her mother sitting in the den, small frowns on their faces. She had little doubt they'd been listening in.
    “Kyle couldn’t stay?” June asked. “Get some family time in?”
    “He’s got a job,” said Colt. “You might have heard of those, even in Austin. You two can socialize later on.”
    Aaaaand, it begins . Super .
    It was little use telling him she'd had a job—she'd worked her butt off at it too. He might start asking her whether she was a waitress or a secretary.
    “I’m just so happy to see you,” said her mother, hugging her tight again. “How was the drive? I thought you would have been here a couple of hours ago. You usually get up so early...”
    “My phone died. And my car died. The radiator blew. But it’s in the shop now. I took care of it.” She said this looking in her father’s eyes very carefully. “So I’ll go take a look around tomorrow and see what the damage is.”
    “That’s a shame,” said Sheila. “That nice car you bought, how old was it?”
    “I’ve had it for two years.”
    “Might as well be two hundred, driving around that Asian junk,” said Colt. “How many times did I tell you to get a good American car? You buy yourself a Dodge, you’ll go fifteen thousand miles without even needing a mechanic, and that’s just the first year. Those things get better with age. Why,—”
    “John Colt,” said Sheila, “if you start lecturing the two of us about vehicles, you are not going to have your