Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Rochelle
After every supply has been accounted for, every floor swept and the booth cleaned, I finally find myself grabbing my purse and heading to turn off the lights.
The process of counting inventory took me longer than usual because my brain was wrapped around forbidden thoughts concerning a God of a man.
A man that walked in here a few hours earlier, and made me feel important.
Valuable. Worthy for maybe the first time in my life.
He left demanding he see me again. His presence makes me think things that I never thought possible.
Maybe someone out there does want me.
Maybe I am worthy, despite where I come from and how little I have to offer.
The way he makes me feel scares me, because I can’t help but wonder what the hell he wants with a girl like me.
I purposely live my life shying away from any contact with strangers.
If what I went through in my youth was not enough back in Georgia, coming to the West Coast cemented the fact that I am nothing but garbage that should have been taken out years ago.
The teasing back home was nothing compared to the chatter and taunts from the very privileged kids in Orange County, California.
Once here, me and Momma found ourselves in a trailer park on the Pacific Coast Highway, better known as PCH, across from the beach. An older gentleman had died in the unit, and the landlord was having problems renting it out, so it came dirt cheap.
Even though the thought still gives me the creeps, it is nothing compared to the teasing I received for where I lived, what little I had, and how worthless I was when every other kid in high school were going out on the town, shopping in the latest boutiques, having bonfires on the very beach right across from our tiny little trashy trailer park.
I was forced to watch from afar and knew I could never be deemed worthy enough to cross the line over to the other side.
The stranger from earlier left demanding he see me again.
He came in at 8, just like he said he would.
I hid in the back, and insisted my boss tell him I was still finishing up.
He said he’d wait, so I stayed in the back a little longer than needed.
Eventually, I heard the door chime and knew he had to have left, not wanting to stand around any longer.
I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t wait around for someone like me either.
Flipping the final light in the shop, the only solace I find now is it is a little past nine, and there is no way he waited over an hour to see me.
As I step outside, I fish my keys from my purse to lock up.
The door sticks slightly, and it takes me a moment to twist the key to make sure the shop is secure.
Turning around, I hurry down the dark sidewalk to start my long walk home.
It is only about 10 blocks, but walking it alone at night is always unnerving.
When my feet hit the parking lot, I hear a voice say, “Looks like we missed dinner, but hell if waiting for you wasn’t worth it.”
Coming to an abrupt stop, I nervously stand still. I don’t turn. I don’t look his way. I can’t. I don’t trust myself. Especially when every single part of my soul tingles from just the nearness of him.
Footsteps sound on my right. I keep my gaze fixed on the ground at my feet, afraid to look up and meet his hypnotizing stare.
His breathtaking crystal blue eyes will be my downfall.
His full lips tempt me towards salacious dreams. His shaved head gives him an edge, and does nothing to stop my thirsty thoughts.
My longing, my desire to be claimed by every seductive inch of him.
Soon, he’s standing right in front of me.
He bends down trying to catch my eye, but I let them wander to the side as I shift on my feet.
His 6’ 5” frame towers over me, and even though I want to look up to take in his broad shoulders, thick muscular biceps, and what I am sure are washboard abs under his plain white T, I don’t. I can’t.
“Come on,” he whispers, taking a step closer. “I thought that was a pretty good line.”
He reaches out and I jolt back, afraid of the way his touch earlier made me crave a connection I’ve never experienced before.
I keep my eyes trained away from him, until he does the unthinkable.
He slowly reaches out to my face and tenderly takes the glasses from my eyes.
Stunned, I glance up as he whispers, “Do you always wear these?”
“No,” I respond quietly. “Only when I am working.”
The smile that graces his face is priceless as our eyes meet. He takes a step closer. I have to remind myself to breathe, to not get consumed by him, although every rational thought in my mind is screaming it’s too late.
“Where’s your car?” he asks, making me feel sick having to answer.
“I walk,” I whisper, unable to tear my eyes from his now that he is so close. My heart is beating so fast. Somehow, he manages to dominate every last inch of my soul as he once again steps closer.
“I don’t like that, Angel,” he whispers, catching me off guard with a pet name I never expected. “Let me take you home.”
It’s a demand, not a question. I fight myself from caving and doing just what he wishes.
Taking a deep breath, I shake my head from side to side, stand my ground, and tell him no.
I can’t let him see where I live. I can’t let him into my worthless world.
If I do, any chance between us will be shattered.
From the looks of him, he comes from money.
One thing I’ve learned in my time on the West Coast is that the wealthy don’t like to go slumming, at least not for long.
I shove the idea that I even want there to be more back where it came from, in my desperate hopes and dreams, because we can never be.
“No,” I mumble. “I’ll walk.”
I go to move, but he steps to the side and stops me.
“Then I will walk with you,” he insists, making me slightly irritated.
Yet a small sliver of longing bubbles up inside at his tenacity and the way he wants to make sure I get home safely.
Finding confidence I didn’t know I had, I put one hand on my hip, look up at him, and say, “Are you always this persistent?”
He smiles, and takes a step closer, handing me the glasses that he stole off my face moments before. “Only with you, Angel.”
Our fingertips brush against each other as I take them from his hand and a charge shoots straight through my whole body, filling me with a warmth, a spark as addictive as the man standing in front of me.
“I don’t know…” I stammer, wondering how I can manage to escape, but really not wanting to be anywhere else than right here in his presence.
“How about this,” he says, brushing a stray strand of hair out of my face, making my body shiver. “Take a ride with me, and I’ll drop you off a block away and watch to make sure you get in safe. I won’t even walk you to the door. We’ll save that for another night.”
A grin cocks up one side of his delicious face and I am at a loss for words. Another night? God, he sure is hell-bent on getting his way.
Glancing to the right, I see the ride in question.
A motorcycle, a vintage Indian, and even though I have always wanted to know what it feels like to sit on the back of one of those things and let the southern California breeze blow in my hair, I’m not sure doing so with the man in front of me would be a good idea.
Jumping on the back means I have to hold on.
It means I have to trust him, sink into him, let him have control.
Right now, I know the only way that I stand a chance at not falling head-first is to keep the ball in my ballpark, so to speak.
Just a brush of his fingertips across my own sends a thrill through me I never expected.
Being pressed up against him for a ride down PCH, I don’t stand a chance.
“Maybe next time,” I lie, trying to grab at any last thing I can say to save myself. But my request lands on deaf ears as he grabs my hand and pulls me after him.
Reaching the motorcycle, he drops my palm and lifts the back seat, quickly producing a helmet. Shutting the compartment, his long right leg lifts as he straddles the bike and my mind becomes a dirty place as I imagine what it would feel like to straddle him instead.
Would I feel as much power, as much energy as I imagine I would being in control, and taking what I undeniably want from him?
Looking up, I notice he’s staring at me with a cocky grin. He knows what I was thinking.
With a steady grip, he pulls me closer and puts the helmet on my head. I’ve lost the will to deny him, at least for now, so I stand still and watch as his hands fasten the helmet to my head. His eyes never leave my own. His tongue slowly darts out and seductively wets his delicious lips.
When my helmet is secure, he takes his own and does the same. Jerking his head behind him, I walk a step or two, lift my right leg, and straddle the bike. When I don’t make an attempt to lean forward and hold him, his chuckle rings through the night.
“You know, you’re going to have to get a little closer, Angel,” he teases, “I’ve sworn to see you home safely.” Grabbing backward, gripping my hip, he pulls me flush against his back. I let out a startled gasp. “Don’t want you falling off before we even get started.”
Home? I can’t let him take me home. My mind scrambles and I make the decision to let him take me close enough, to some apartments a few blocks down by Main Street across from the pier.
He said he will only watch to see if I get inside safely.
I can wait him out and watch for him to leave, then walk the rest of the way to the trailer park.
Mind made up, I grab around his waist. His fingers tentatively lace through mine.
“Where to?” he asks, as his boot makes contact with the kickstand and his powerful thighs keep us steady. His hand leaves mine and the engine roars to life.
“Main Street,” I shout. He nods once, as his other leg lifts and he slowly accelerates us forward.
Just as I am about to think about jumping off before he can pick up speed, his hand laces through my fingers, holding me steady, making me feel grounded. Making me feel like he is where I belong.
My hand trembles under his touch. My head wars against the idea of us. I shudder, trying to process it all. But my heart, it beats faster knowing it very well could be a long shot, but maybe falling for him will help me find where I belong.