2. Aimee #2
Levi’s skin is somehow tanner than it was a few weeks ago. Like he’s been soaking up the California sun in the middle of November. His posture is just as stiff and guarded as ever, but a cocky smile makes light of his shadowed expression.
I hate how his amusement makes him even more handsome.
Eighteen-year-old Levi was hard to resist, but at thirty-two, he’s grown nicely into his age.
Doubled in size on muscle alone. And while I’ve always been tall, Levi seems to have never stopped growing because he’s at least a foot taller than me.
Men that gorgeous are nothing but trouble.
I hate it.
I hate him.
It’s a mantra I repeat as my gaze falls to his cut. To that Twisted Kings patch on his chest.
I hate Levi Colson.
I have to. Otherwise, I’ll be stuck admitting to myself how much it hurts to see what he’s become.
My legs ache from how long I’ve been crouched in the same position, waiting for the moment when the clouds part and sunlight hits the sculpture at just the right angle. When it does, the cupid’s wings become sharp lines of highlights and shadows. Every feather is perfectly defined.
I shift until I’m at the perfect angle for a picture, but just as I’m about to take it, the roar of an engine and a flash of metal cuts through my shot.
Lowering my camera, I frown at the motorcycle that stops directly in front of the subject of my senior photography project.
Thick thighs straddle the bike, and as irritated as I am that this guy decided to park directly in my line of sight, it’s impossible not to notice how every inch of his jeans and dark T-shirt hugs his body as he climbs off.
I push myself to standing as he slips off his helmet, and I’m surprised that his face doesn’t appear to look much older than mine. He’s got to be seventeen, eighteen at most. Even if he’s already well on his way to filling out the hard planes of muscle that sculpt his entire body.
Only his face gives away his age. It’s softer, and his eyes are as playful as they are wicked. But if we are the same age, he must go to a different school because I don’t recognize him.
I suppose this is Vegas. There’s no shortage of people in this city.
“Like what you see?” He grins, standing between me and the sculpture I was photographing.
“You’re in my shot.” I narrow my eyes as he rests his helmet on his bike.
But he doesn’t move. He crosses his arms over his broad chest and leans a hip against his bike, watching me. His brown hair is short on the sides and longer on top, covering one of his eyes until he brushes it back.
“And here I thought you were trying to take my picture.”
I roll my eyes. “Are you trying to get me to call you pretty?”
“You’re the one memorializing this moment.”
“Only because you parked in front of the subject of my senior project.” I jut my chin at the sculpture behind him.
But he doesn’t so much as turn to look at what I’m referring to. His eyes stay fixed on me with such intensity that it takes all my effort not to fidget.
There’s no shortage of guys at my school, but something about this one is… different.
It might be the leather vest or the motorcycle. Or maybe it’s the gleam in his eyes. But he’s gorgeous and clearly nothing but trouble .
“So you’re not taking my picture?”
I shake my head.
“Well, that’s embarrassing.” Except his smile isn’t the least bit embarrassed.
In fact, confidence oozes out of him.
“If you could move—”
“So you’re a senior?” he cuts me off, stepping closer.
On instinct, I step back but run into the brick wall behind me, which makes me stumble. “I am.”
He hums, skimming me over.
“And you are?” I ask when he’s been staring at me too long.
“A senior too. Clearly from a different school, though, because I’d sure as fuck have noticed you.”
My cheeks burn at his comment. “I meant your name.”
“Curious about me, firecracker?” He winks.
“More like curious what name I should have them put down in the contact information when I have them tow your bike for stopping in a no-parking zone.”
“Ah.” He chuckles. “In that case, Levi Colson.”
Levi. Even his name is sexy, which only irritates me more.
“And you are…”
“A girl who’d like to get on with her day so she doesn’t flunk her last year of school.” I offer a snide smile, but he grins wider, seeming to appreciate it.
“It’s like that, huh?”
I shrug .
“Sorry to interrupt your day then, firecracker.” He backs up but doesn’t spin, watching me with every step. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll move my bike if you give me your name.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
He shrugs, not answering. But not backing up any farther either.
“Fine. It’s Aimee.” I cross my arms over my chest to match his posture. “Aimee Landry.”
“Aimee Landry,” he repeats, and I hate how good it sounds rolling off his tongue. “Want to go for a ride, Aimee Landry?”
“On that?” My eyebrow hitches, and my gaze falls to his bike.
“Scared?”
He’s taunting me on purpose, and I’m sure with most girls, it works because there’s something intoxicating about the forbidden. But the truth is, I’m not scared. At least, not of his motorcycle.
The flutters kicking up in my belly are another story.
“I’m busy.” I roll my shoulders back.
His smirk says he doesn’t believe me, but he lets it go, slipping on his helmet and climbing on his bike.
“Maybe next time.” He offers a final glance before riding off. And only once I’m staring at his back do I process what he said.
Next time.
Like we’ll ever see each other again.