Ruined by the Rebel

2. Bess

My dad would groundme for life if he knew I’d ridden into town on the back of a huge motorcycle, especially while clinging to a man who was probably old enough to be my father. Triton was every bad boy biker in every steamy MC romance novel I’d ever read come to life. It was like he’d stepped right off the page and directly onto that dirt road.

I was surprised I’d even been able to speak once he hit me with the full force of his whiskey-colored gaze. Not that I knew much about whiskey. I’d just turned twenty-one a few weeks ago and except for the fruity cocktails my roommate had insisted on buying, I didn’t have much experience with alcohol and even less with men.

That’s just how things were as the only daughter of a small-town preacher.

The bike bounced over a bump in the road, and I tightened my grip around Triton’s waist. Everything about him screamed “off limits”, from how his lips quirked up in a suggestive smile to the way his jeans molded to his muscular thighs. If I hadn’t been pressed up against his back, I would have been fanning myself to keep from spontaneously combusting in his presence.

He pulled into the parking lot of Tater’s Garage way before I was ready to release my grip.

“I’ll be right back. I’m just going to run your tire in so he can get started on it.” Triton got off the bike and turned toward me, his mouth curved up in a contagious smile.

“Thank you.” I watched him saunter through the open garage door then pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Encounters with hot bikers didn’t happen to me.

He was back within a few minutes. “It’s your lucky day.”

I couldn’t agree more, though probably for different reasons.

“He’ll have it ready in an hour. Should we head over to the coffee shop so you can get your work done while we wait?”

As much as I wanted to close my eyes and pretend I lived in a world where I could get swept off my feet by a charming bad boy biker, reality set in. “You’ve already done so much. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”

“It’s no trouble at all. I’m off today and don’t have anywhere to be. Besides, The Roasted Bean makes the best coffee in town. I was planning on stopping by there myself after my ride.”

He was making this too easy. I needed to work on a couple of designs for the summer internship I’d recently accepted, but the least I could do was buy the man a cup of coffee to thank him for saving me on the side of the road. “If you’re sure you don’t mind…”

“Not at all.” He settled back into the seat and the engine roared to life underneath us.

It was reckless of me to ride through the middle of downtown Maplewood with Triton’s backside sandwiched between my thighs, but I shooed away the worry that word would get back to my dad. No one knew me here, at least not yet.

Triton pulled up to the curb right in front of a cute little bungalow with a wraparound front porch. Like many of the shops in downtown Maplewood, The Roasted Bean was located in an old house with brightly painted shutters and baskets of flowers hanging on either side of the front door.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee reached us on the street. I’d become addicted to my morning latte thanks to my roommate last semester, and my parents didn’t even own a coffee pot. It had been five days since I’d had proper coffee, and my mouth watered with anticipation.

Triton took the helmet I handed him then put his hand at the small of my back and guided me inside. Goosebumps pebbled my flesh at the intimate contact while heat pulsed between my legs. He was fire and I was ice. Two things that could exist independently of each other but could never occupy the same space.

When we reached the counter, I stepped to the side. It wouldn’t do any good for people to think we were together. No matter how much he made my heart pound against the walls of my chest, he belonged with someone older who had much more experience, not a college girl who’d barely been kissed.

“Hey Triton, what can I get started for you?” the woman behind the counter asked.

He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “Do you know what you want, Bess?”

I’d barely scanned the handwritten menu on the chalkboard hanging on the wall behind her. “Um, I’ll try the Vanilla Bean Lotsa Latte,” I said. “No whipped cream.”

“No whipped cream?” Triton joked. “That’s the best part.”

The woman arched a brow, and I shook my head. I was used to people judging my food choices based on the circumference of my waist. No way would I slurp down calorie-ridden whipped cream in Triton’s presence.

“For you?” she asked Triton.

“Coffee, black.” He slapped his credit card down on the counter before I could slide my backpack from my shoulders.

“I’m supposed to be treating you.”

“I guess you’ll have to treat me next time.” He rolled his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. I could see his muscles flex underneath the thin cotton. Either it was hot in the small coffee shop, or I was about to pass out from overactive imagination exertion. “Why don’t you go grab a table, and I’ll get the drinks? Wi-Fi password is on the wall.”

Following his gaze, I located the password on a small sign. Did he mean a table for the two of us or just for me? I wasn’t sure how to interpret his teasing smile or lingering touch. Feeling like everyone in the entire place was staring at us, probably wondering what a guy like Triton was doing having coffee with a girl like me, I wound my way through a maze of tables and slid into a booth in the back corner.

I pulled my laptop out of my bag and got logged in. Triton stopped at a table where a couple of women sat sipping on iced coffees. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they seemed to know each other pretty well based on the smiles they tossed back and forth. My breath stuttered on an inhale. Those were the kind of women I pictured him with: super stylish with perfect hair and hourglass figures. I knew better than to judge people based on the way they looked, but a fact was a fact. Men like Triton didn’t go for girls like me.

“Here you go. One vanilla latte something or other with no whipped cream.” He set my coffee on the table, then slid onto the bench seat across from me.

“Oh, you don’t have to sit with me.” I kept my eyes trained on the white paper cup.

“What if I want to?”

I lifted my head and made brief eye contact. “If you’d rather sit with your friends, or?—”

“Do you not want me to sit with you?” His eyes crinkled at the corners.

I wanted to reach out and brush the shock of auburn hair away from his forehead, but I didn’t dare. “You can sit wherever you want. I just thought…” My words trailed off. I didn’t want to voice the thoughts that invaded my head.

“Less thinking, more drinking.” He held out his cup to tap against mine. “Cheers to caffeine.”

I gave up trying to make sense of everything. Maybe I’d woken up in an alternate universe or in one of those old black and white episodes of “The Twilight Zone” my mom used to watch late at night.

“Cheers.” I picked up my cup and took a sip just as Triton did the same.

The tart taste of black coffee hit the back of my throat. Strong and dark, it wasn’t what I expected, but I forced myself to swallow.

Triton frowned, his face squishing up like a grape turning into a raisin. “I think I got our drinks mixed up. Can you pass that over?”

I slid the black coffee across the table. He picked it up and took a long gulp. I glanced at the cup holding my latte, wondering if I should drink it or head to the counter to order another.

“You won’t catch anything if you decide to drink that one.” Triton nodded at the cup. “It was my mistake. I’d be happy to get you a new one instead.”

Feeling like a complete rebel, I wrapped my fingers around the cup and held it to my lips. This was as close as I was going to get to kissing a rough and rowdy biker like Triton. The thought sent heat spiraling out from my core.

Just then, my phone pinged with an incoming text. Nothing like hearing from my father to douse whatever fire had been building inside me.

Dad: Are you okay? I just passed your bike on my way home.

Me: I’m fine. It got a flat tire on my way into town.

Dad: Do you need me to come pick you up?

Panic clawed through my belly at the thought of my father walking in to find me sharing coffee and a table with Triton.

Me: No. My tire’s at the garage getting fixed. I’m at a coffee shop getting some work done.

Dad: Did you walk the whole way into town?

I didn’t want to lie, but I couldn’t tell him the truth. Yes, I was a grown woman. Yes, I was independent and could make my own decisions, at least from my dorm room at UT Austin. But every summer when I moved back in with my parents my dad had a way of making me feel like I was twelve years old again and couldn’t fend for myself.

My stomach clenched as I typed a reply, deleted it, and typed it out again.

Me: Yes.

Dad: Well, you’re not walking back. I’ll pick you up while I’m running errands, and we’ll get your bike on the way. Text you when I get close.

Great. It’s not like I expected anything to happen between the gorgeous biker and me, but knowing my dad would be showing up in a bit was one way to make absolutely sure it didn’t. One of these days maybe I’d summon enough nerve to not worry about what pleasing my parents. For today, I’d sip on my latte and enjoy the fact that I was practically sharing a latte with the man sitting across from me. That would have to do for now.