4. Chapter 4
She’s driving me nuts.
“Stop calling it a motorcycle. You sound like you’re on a rumspringa.”
“I’m Catholic, not a Quaker,” X comes back at me.
I hand her a helmet. “I figured that. Mexican and Italian. What else could you be?”
She takes the helmet and shoves it on her head. “Ow,” she exclaims as she runs her hands under the sides and tries to straighten up her ears. “I’m Hispanic, not Mexican.”
I knock her fumbling fingers aside and do up the strap. She visibly shivers and I take a quick peek downward. Her nipples are like heat-seeking missiles. “What the fuck’s the difference?”
“I was born in the U.S., but my mom was from Mexico. Chicano works too. Means Mexican-American.”
I rub my chin as I look at her expressive face. “And what’s the fancy word for Italian?”
“Italian unless you’re from Sicily. They prefer Sicilian. Pops isn’t though. He’s from Campania.” She awkwardly climbs on my Fat Boy.
I have to resist gripping her ass and giving her a boost. “Got it,” I say as I straddle the leather. “Hispanic and Italian. Unless you prefer Chicano.”
She’s not shy about sliding her arms around my waist. “Ximina works.”
I start to get hard as she presses her tits into my back. “No.”
“Mina?” Her voice is muffled.
“X,” I insist. “Mina sounds like a damp dishrag.”
She snorts a bubble of laughter. “Well, then that won’t work.”
“You ride before?” For some reason I haven’t started the bike. Maybe I’m liking the heat of the little meatball, the squeeze of her arms around my waist.
“Never,” she replies as she clutches me tighter. “But I’ve always wanted to.”
She’s a virgin after all and that thrills me for some reason. So’s my bike. It’s never had a girl on the back. “You’re gonna love it.”
She shoves her nose into my hair and takes a deep breath. “Where’s your helmet?”
“You’re wearing it. And stop sniffing me.”
“I gotta breathe, don’t I? Where else am I gonna put my nose?”
Good fucking question. “Hang on tight,” I say as I start the bike and roll it forward. It’s redundant because she’s got her arms wrapped around me like a boa constrictor. She ain’t nervous though, just handsy. Makes me grin.
The ride into Sagebrush goes too fuckin’ fast for my liking. Nice night, wind in my face, hot girl holding me like I matter. I could drive forever.
But it ain’t gonna happen. She’s this vortex of energy, so alive and electric, I can almost see the tornado of chaos whirling around her. I can’t handle that shit in my life. I need space, control, predictability.
I head down Main Street and pull up in front of Belmonte’s.
It’s a block down from Evanee’s vet clinic. Or what’s left of it after the Blackbeards blew it up in retaliation for us putting one of their associate’s head in their president’s bed. Crip didn’t appreciate it. Took it out on Trigger’s woman.
X brings my attention back to her. “You dropping me off here?”
“No. Need you to point the way to Paulie’s.”
“I don’t live with my dad,” she replies. “I’m not 12.”
I smirk. She sure as fuck isn’t. Makes me wonder how old she is, then it makes me wonder why I wonder. “Where do you live?”
“Junction street. Six blocks south, then a couple north. It’s the Lambert apartments.”
Aggression boils up in me as I think of all the things that could happen to her by herself in the dark. “You walk that far at three in the fucking morning?”
“Sometimes.”
“Paulie know?”
I feel the shake of her head between my shoulder blades. “No. He thinks I drive. But the car’s prickly, so depends on its mood.”
I sigh, already know I’m gonna regret the shit that’s coming out of my mouth. “I got a brother. Red. He works miracles with cars.”
She shakes her head again. “I can’t afford it.”
I’m irritated by her thinking I’d make her pay. “Who said it’d cost you?”
“Everything costs.” She throws the words I said to her at Hook’s back at me.
Maybe she’s right. “Hang on,” I say as I pull away from the curb.
It takes a couple of minutes to get to her apartment. The building is five stories tall. “Which floor?” I ask as I help her off the bike and out of my helmet.
“Top.” She grabs my arm as she sways a little.
The shivers that wrack my body don’t distract me from what she said. “You live on the fucking fifth floor?”
“So what?” she replies as she combs her fingers through her gorgeous glossy locks. “I like it up there.”
“It’s a fuckin’ death trap,” I snap.
“It’s a cozy little apartment where I get a good view of Sagebrush.” She’s walking around like she’s just gotten off a horse.
I get an image of her doing that after I’ve fucked her. It distracts me from pointing out that there’s not much to look at in Sagebrush. “Get inside,” I order. Before I do something stupid like follow her in.
She narrows her eyes. “On it.”
She flounces away but turns back when I say, “And stop walking around in the dark, polpetta.”
Her eyes narrow. “Meatball? Really?” She wants to ask how I know Italian, but resists. I took a course in prison, but don’t tell her that. I can’t remember most of it anyway, but some words stuck.
I shrug, fully aware that I’m flirting with her. “Well, you didn’t like flea.”
She huffs and struts away.
It makes me grin as I watch her sweet ass disappear through the doors of the death trap she calls home.