Rumble: an Opposites-Attract, Fake Relationship, Single Mom Romance

Shop owner Lazarus "Laz" Lowenstein keeps his past carefully concealed, and for good reason. When a friend calls in a favor, he finds himself perilously close to the life he left behind—and to fledgling reporter, Nora Carlton. Helping Nora research a story is one thing; exploring his desire for the sheltered single mom is a definite no-no. Can Nora restore his faith in people… and love?

Lazarus “Laz” Lowenstein leaned his Harley-Davidson Road King onto its kickstand and squinted at the modest bungalow in front of him.
How had he let Roger talk him into this? As the editor of the uber-popular online blog Go Forth, Roger was forever pushing the limits and coming up with unusual—sometimes questionable—stories.
He also tended to take promising reporters under his wing—like the one Laz was here to see.
One who was too attractive for her own good.
Laz hefted a small half-helmet in his left hand, his thoughts shifting to the woman he’d met last week in Roger’s office. Nora was a single mother who had only recently entered the work force, but she seemed determined to get the story Roger was after.
And that’s where Laz came in.
Laz mounted the steps of the bungalow. Before he could knock, the door swung open.
“Lazarus,” she said. “How are you?”
Last week, Nora’s wheat-colored hair had been pulled back from her face by a barrette that looked like it was ready to burst. Today it hung free. The wind would make a mess of that.
Ah, but wouldn’t it be fun to be the wind?
“Fine, thanks,” he said. “And you? Are you ready to ride?”
“I think so.” Her eyes widened as she looked past him to the Harley. “Oh my, that’s big.”
She’d never ridden a motorcycle—which was the whole point, according to Roger. When they’d talked about this in Roger’s office, Nora had seemed calm, but Laz recognized nervous when he saw it. Was it the bike… or him?
He wasn’t the long-haired hard-ass he’d been in his younger days, but he still looked a little rough around the edges (and probably always would).
“I brought you a helmet.” He held it up.
She took it from him gingerly. “Um… thank you.”
She seemed rooted to the spot, so he extended his hand to her. “Let me introduce you to the Road King.”
Laz guided her to the motorcycle and put her purse in a saddlebag. He turned to find that she had a death grip on the helmet.
A direct approach might be called for here.
“You seem a little nervous,” he said.
She burst into nervous laughter. “I’m petrified.”
He placed his hands over hers on the helmet, which seemed to calm her somewhat—although it did the opposite to his insides. What was that about?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought this wouldn’t be a big deal, but…”
“Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t you just sit on the motorcycle for a while?”
“You mean… without moving?”
“Sure,” he said.
When she nodded, he set the helmet on the ground and helped her onto the passenger seat. He gave her a little time to get comfortable, and then he pressed the start button. The bike rumbled to life. Her hands tightened on the edge of the seat, but after a few moments, she gave him a tentative smile. “This isn’t so bad.”
He picked up the helmet and placed it on her head. “I’m going to get on,” he said. “But don’t worry, I won’t put the bike in gear until you say the word.”
She nodded again. He swung his leg over the ‘King and shifted it to an upright position. Her fingers dug into his hips.
“Sorry,” he said. “I should have told you about weight shift.”
“It’s okay.” She kept her hands on his hips. “I just wasn’t ready.”
His eyes met hers in the mirror. “When you ride, you want to lean with the bike,” he said. “That probably seems backward, but after a while you’ll understand.”
“With the bike,” she said. “Got it.”
“How does it feel?” he said.
“Actually, I like it better when you’re on it,” she said.
“Think you’re ready for a very slow stroll around the block?”
She took a deep breath. “Okay.”
He put the bike in first gear.
“Wait,” she said. “Aren’t you going to wear a helmet?”
“Never have, never will.”
“Isn’t it state law?” she said.
“Yep.”
“But you don’t care.” It was a statement.
“Let’s just say I take exception to being told what I can and cannot do,” he said. “Shall we?”
She nodded.
He accelerated as smoothly as he could. Her fingers dug into his hips again, but maybe not as deeply this time.
He made a right turn at the corner. A block later he was forced to put his feet down at the stop sign, then continued on, around the next two right turns until they were back in front of her house. He never got over 20 miles per hour.
He put the bike in neutral and turned his head so she could hear him. “Well?”
“I feel safe with you,” she said. “I don’t know why, but I do.”
That was quite a compliment, considering she didn’t know him. It felt way better than it should.
“I might even start to like this,” she said.
When he found her reflection in the mirror, she was smiling.
“Really?” he said.
She surprised him by putting her arms completely around his torso. “Let’s ride,” she said.