“I know; there’s no parking.”
“I’ll follow you home and you can ride back with me,” he says, but I don’t know if that’s smart. I’m not sure I will be able to be pressed close to him with my thighs around his, my hands on his body.
“Babe.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll follow you.” I turn around and see him straddling his bike with his cut over a plaid shirt in blues and blacks with the sleeves rolled up, the top buttons open enough to see the tank he has on under it, and a pair of jeans with his black boots.
“Okay,” I whisper, and pull around the parking lot then onto the main road. He follows me the few minutes to my house, and I park in my driveway, getting out quickly and meeting him at the back of my car.
“You wanna get your helmet?” he asks.
I look at my bag in my hand and realize that if I’m riding with him, I need to lighten my load. “Be right back,” I mutter, opening the door to my car and bending across the seat to press the button for the garage.
“Babe.”
“Hmm?” I turn to look over my shoulder at him.
“You look good, baby.”
My stomach starts to turn, not with unease, but with excitement.
“Thanks.” I smile with a shake of my head and go into my garage, pulling the stuff I need out of my purse and shoving it into my bra and pockets before carrying my helmet back out to where he’s waiting.
“Your car good?” he asks, lifting his leg over the seat of his bike and taking my helmet from me.
“Yes,” I whisper as his smell surrounds me. His fingers tuck my hair behind my ears, and then he places the helmet over my head and hooks the button under my chin.
“That okay?” he asks, and I nod as he tosses his leg over the seat once more. I’ve ridden bikes since I was fifteen and begged my mom to teach me to ride. She and I both like riding sports bikes, but my uncles and cousins who ride like Harleys, so I know what I’m doing. But I have never been on the back of a bike with a man I’m attracted too. I slide on, and the moment my ass touches the seat, his hands go to the back of my calves, where he pulls me tighter against him.
“Hold me tight,” he instructs, looking at me over his shoulder. I place my hands on his waist and squeeze him a little tighter as the bike takes off, which is a huge mistake, because I feel hardness like I’ve never felt before right under my palms. I didn’t even know abs were something that actually exist in real life. I try to keep still, even though my hands itch to press into him to see if what I think I’m feeling is really real.
When we pull into the parking lot, I remove my hands quickly and get off the bike. I pull off my helmet and bend over, fluffing my hair before swinging my head back upright.
“You need to watch who’s around when you do shit like that,” Wes says taking ahold of my hip.
“What?”
“That bending over, hair-flip shit you just did.” I look at him and see that his eyes are pointing toward the outdoor eating area, where there is a group of guys all watching us. I ignore his comment and start walking into the restaurant, or try to, but his finger hooks into the back of my jeans and he pulls me into step with him. Then he wraps his hand around my waist, his fingers curling into my side.
“How many?” a cute Spanish girl asks as soon as we enter the restaurant.
“Two,” Wes tells her, and she leads us to a booth near the bar and gives us our menus, telling us our waiter will be right with us.
My gaze connects with his, and I bite my lip and lift my menu up. The intimacy of being in the booth with him is causing me to suddenly feel nervous.
“Wes.”
I turn and look up at a guy who is wearing something similar to Wes, only he has on a red and blue plaid shirt, with his cut over it.
“How’re you?” Wes shakes his hand and they begin to talk about something to do with bikes, or some crap I don’t understand. I look at Wes, and I doubt he even remembers I’m here at this point. I test my theory by saying, “Excuse me,” to the guy, and telling Wes I’m going to use the restroom. His eyes don’t even come to me when I speak. I slip out of the booth and go to the restroom then back to the table. The guy is still there and has now taken my seat, and they each have a beer in front of them. I stand there waiting for a few minutes, wanting to see if Wes realizes I’m not there, but his eyes don’t search the room for me.
“Screw this,” I whisper, suddenly feeling sorry for myself. I pull out my phone, call a cab, walk out to Wes’ bike, and grab my helmet off the seat. It takes three minutes for the cab to show up, and the moment I slip into the back seat, my phone starts to ring. I click the end button, and do it again when it rings two more times. When we reach my house, I give the cabdriver a ten and tell him to keep the change.
I head up my walkway and into my house, when the roar of a motorcycle fills my ears. I go inside, close the door, take the stuff out of my pockets and bra, and set all of it on my entryway table. “Open the door, July. I know you’re in there.” Wes yells from outside but I ignore him and walk back to my bedroom, take off the kimono jacket and my heels, and walk back out to the living room, opening the door when he begins to pound so hard the pictures on my walls shake.
“Can I help you?” I raise a brow and his eyes narrow.
“You wanna be a smartass after walking out on dinner?”
“Oh, honey, you’re confused.” I put on my biggest smile, open my screen door, and step out onto my front porch, shutting the door behind me. “You say I walked out on you, right?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You did,” he growls.
“Interesting,” I mutter, leaning back on the heels of my feet, looking him over. “I sat across from you for fifteen minutes, got up from a table I was sitting at with you, and you didn’t notice. I stood across the room from you for five minutes before I said ‘Screw it’, and left. I don’t know what type of women you’re used to, but I’m not one of them. Good luck in life, Wes,” I tell him, opening my door, stepping inside, and then closing and locking the door behind me.
I plop down on my couch for a minute and put my face in my hands. This was not how I expected my evening to turn out. After a few minutes, I stand and head for the kitchen, scooping up Juice on the way, letting his soft purrs sooth my wounded ego. Then I go to Taser and check on him before placing Juice on the counter, and pull down one of my large mixing bowls from one cupboard and a box of Fruity Pebbles out of another. I fill the bowl half-full and go to the fridge to get milk, and pour some on top of the cereal. I grab a spoon from my cute holder on my counter and take the bowl with me, heading towards my bedroom, when there is another knock on my door.
“What?” I ask, wrapping my arm around the bowl of cereal as I open the door.
“You’re not eating that. I ordered pizza,” Wes says as soon as he spots my Fruity Pebbles.
“Are you drunk?” I ask him as he pushes past me into my house, taking the bowl out of my hand.
“No, and don’t do that shit again, unless you want a red ass,” he says, and I ignore his comment and follow behind him. “Sean had some information I needed, so I didn’t even think; I just went into work mode.” He walks into my kitchen, sets my bowl of cereal in the sink, and turns the water on.