Fan the Flames by Katie Ruggle

standstill. “So, is this a…date?”
    â€œOf course not. It’s training.”
    â€œAnd dinner.” Rory eyed his innocent expression with suspicion.
    â€œWe both have to eat. Look at it more as a biological need than a social interaction.”
    The term “biological need” did not soothe her ruffled nerves in the slightest. “This is a bad idea. Why do you want me to go to training, anyway?”
    â€œYou might find volunteering interesting.” His expression was ultrasincere, but she didn’t trust his motives for a second. “We learn lots of fun stuff at training.”
    â€œUh-huh.” Eyes narrowed, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s the real reason?”
    His choirboy expression dropped away, and his frown returned. It was a relief to see that familiar scowl. “I don’t want you here alone.”
    â€œWhat about the locks and alarms and cameras?” she mocked. “Didn’t you just talk about how safe it was?”
    Ian leaned on the counter, adding forearm smudges to the fingerprints already there. “All this”—he jerked his chin, indicating the shop—“is replaceable. You’re not. There are too many people who wouldn’t hesitate to kill you for what’s in your shop.”
    â€œBut if I’m here, pointing my Python at some intruder’s face, neither this”—she swept a hand toward the shop’s contents—“nor I need to be replaced.”
    â€œRor. Quit being stubborn and go do your chicken thing. I’m hungry.”
    She didn’t move at first, but she was hungry too, and she knew that Ian was not going to leave until she agreed to go with him. Plus, although she didn’t want to admit it, a big part of her was thrilled at the thought of spending more time with Ian—though if she called it a date, even in her head, nervous excitement would short out her brain. But going to a restaurant with a good friend—that was something normal people did, wasn’t it?
    Taking a deep breath, she accepted that she was going to be eating a meal with Ian Walsh at a place that was not home. For tonight at least, she was going to be normal .
    â€œFine.” Pivoting toward the exit, she stomped outside. When the cold air hit her face, she realized she was just in jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt. Muttering to herself, she reentered the shop. As she hurried to the back room to get her coat, she tried her best to ignore Ian’s smirk.
    * * *
    â€œIsn’t the whole point of a motorcycle club to, you know, ride motorcycles ?” Rory asked, eyeing Ian’s SUV. The older Ford Bronco sat alone in the shop’s parking lot.
    Instead of taking offense, he gave an amused snort. “Out here, we get four months to ride, six if we’re masochistic. Either way, March is not one of those months. I tried on that nice afternoon last week and ended up spending most of the day at an arson call in borrowed bunker gear.” He opened the passenger door and waited. Jack, the traitor, followed and sat on Ian’s foot. Her dog, apparently, had a full-blown crush on the man. Honestly, Rory couldn’t blame him.
    â€œUm…I think I’ll take my pickup.” Rory’s nervous gaze darted toward the pole barn where her vehicle was stored. Ian had opened her door. That was intimidatingly date-like.
    â€œRor. Get in.”
    With a last, longing look at the pole barn, she moved toward the Bronco’s open door. She blamed her compliance on all the survival drills her parents had run. When Ian barked orders in that drill-sergeant tone, she had to obey, thanks to twenty-two years of her parents’ conditioning. Rory ignored the tiny part of her that said she got in the SUV because she actually wanted to go on this not-date date.
    After Rory climbed in, Jack put his front feet on the running board, prepared to jump into the SUV with her.
    â€œJack.