Chapter 10 #2
I wore my favorite pair of jeans. They were high-waisted, skintight, distressed, and complete with holes at each knee.
When I donned my lace, black bralette underneath my cropped Guns N’ Roses tee, which was at least two sizes too big and draped off my right shoulder, I told myself it was because it was comfortable, not because it was cute.
I did my makeup like I was going to the bar and left my hair wild and loose, the way I liked it best.
It was a couple minutes after seven when I finished lacing up my boots and I heard the rumble of an approaching motorcycle.
Intent on meeting Twister in the driveway, I wasted no time bounding down the stairs to my front entryway.
I looped the strap of my purse over my head, securing it across my body, then hesitated at the sight of my blade in its holster.
Strange as it might have been, I was about to walk out my front door and go on a date. The last time Twister treated me to dinner, I didn’t have my knife. While that night ended poorly, I didn’t need my weapon. Something told me I wouldn’t need it this night, either.
‘I got you, sparky. You’re safe.’
I was being reckless, and I knew it; but I snatched up my keys, left the knife, and hurried for the door anyway.
After I locked up, I dropped my keys in my bag in exchange for my sunglasses and made my way around the little bend of sidewalk leading to my driveway.
Twister was still on his hog—his booted feet flat on the ground, his tatted arms folded across his chest, his sunglasses covering his eyes.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked little smile when he saw me, and the most stubborn part of me tried not to give him the satisfaction of a mirrored expression.
I slid my sunglasses on as I approached, grabbing hold of either side of my hips as I asked, “So, where we goin’?”
“Chophouse. If we’re lucky, they’ll have a spot for us out on the patio.”
“Wow. An upgrade. Maybe you really do like me,” I teased.
He moved so fast, I hardly knew what was happening until I tasted him.
Twister shot out his arm, reached across the distance separating us, grabbed hold of the back of my neck and yanked me closer. I all but stumbled into him—my legs straddling his thigh as I raised my hands to brace my fall. Only, I wasn’t falling. He had me, and my mouth, precisely where he wanted.
His tongue swept over mine, my fingers wrapped around the open flaps on either side of his leather kutte, and I did the only thing I could and held on tight.
He kissed me just long enough to make my heart race. Just deep enough to make my stomach bottom out. Just wet enough to leave me thirsty for more—and then he pulled away only far enough to enunciate his words.
“Baby, by my count, this is our second date, which is twice as many as I’ve had since I earned the kutte on my back.
Throw in the fact that you woke up on my couch, in my arms, fully clothed yesterday morning, and that makes you one of a kind.
If you don’t know by now how I feel about you, you’re more hardheaded than I thought. ”
I tried to pull away, certain I didn’t like being called hardhead.
More than that, his declaration sank like a rock in my belly. It didn’t sit right. It was too sweet. Too honest.
Yet, in spite of my attempt to flinch away from him, his grip on my neck was just insistent enough that I couldn’t go far.
“I know you’re not callin’ me dumb, seein’ as you don’t know me nearly as well as you think you do,” I shot back in an attempt to shatter the moment.
He chuckled, and I tried to pull away a second time.
Not only did his grip not loosen, but he leaned in closer, until his lips were grazing mine as he muttered, “Sparky, I know you’re wild as you are brave and pretty as you are stubborn, which is to say a whole hell of a lot. Now, you gonna climb on the back of this hog, or what?”
The heavy in my belly didn’t go away at his words—but it did begin to burn with a warmth that beckoned me to relax. I took a breath and peered at him through my dark glasses, all the while wishing I could see into those bourbon-brown eyes unobscured.
“Can’t go anywhere until you let me go,” I replied.
I felt his arrogant smile before he smacked a kiss against my mouth and freed my neck.
I took a step back, raked my fingers through my hair, then tried to gather myself enough to climb onto the back of his Hydra-Glide without looking like the novice I was.
I’d been serving bikers at a bar for most of my adult life, but I’d never been on the back of anyone’s Harley.
Spotting the foot peg, I planted my boot on it.
I then grabbed hold of his kutte at the arm-hole, behind his shoulder.
Using my leg and my grip on him, I hoisted myself up high enough to throw over my opposite leg.
As I settled behind him, it would have been a bold-faced-lie to say I didn’t feel like a total badass.
Fortunately, he couldn’t see the proud smirk pulling at my lips from his vantage point.
The expression was gone with a gasp when he reached back, grabbed both of my thighs, and yanked me forward, until I was plastered against him. Something warm and tingly sparked within. Rather than ignore it or shove it aside, I found myself leaning into it as I relaxed.
Satisfied, he raised his kickstand, revved his engine, and began to back out of my driveway. I locked my arms around his middle, and then we were barreling out of my quiet neighborhood—my hair dancing in the wind.