Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
“That's what this is all about, so don't even think you've got me fooled. I bet those kids were out here, but you can't stand not knowing about me.”
I toss my head even though he’s hit the bullseye. Why is he so damn perceptive? “Get over yourself. You're not that important.”
“It's just that usually, people sit down and ask questions instead of going through personal property.” For some reason, there's no edge to his voice like I would expect. It's not exactly soft or tender, but he doesn't seem angry. Resigned? Like he knew this was going to happen? He's an idiot if he didn't. There had to come a time when I would find something about him.
“And usually, when people are asked questions about themselves, they don’t shut down and refuse to answer or get all pissy about it.” He grumbles but offers no reply, while I decide to take him up on it before he changes his mind.
“Holy… shit.” I can barely breathe once the tarp is off to the side, and a gorgeous motorcycle is revealed. I’ll be the first person to admit I don’t know a thing about motorcycles, but I know a beautiful piece of machinery when I see one. The Harley Davidson logo on top of sapphire blue paint stands out–that, I recognize. The chrome gleams like it was recently polished.
“Now you know my darkest secret.” I glance away from the bike to find him smirking. “I own a motorcycle.”
“It’s yours?”
“No, it's Mrs. Cooper’s.”
I shouldn't laugh and encourage him to be a dick, I can't help it. “Can you imagine?” I whisper, laughing harder as I imagine her flying down the highway. “She's feisty enough.”
“You’re right. She is.”
“How did a kid end up with a motorcycle like this?”
“It's a long story.” Did he steal it? I don't know how to ask that question without getting told off, so I'll keep it to myself, for now.
Instead, I settle for studying him, lifting an eyebrow. “I don't see it.”
“See what?”
“You on a motorcycle. I'm sorry!” I insist when he bursts out laughing. “I just don't. You're so...”
“What?” he challenges with a grin, jerking his chin like he’s challenging me. He’s always challenging me. “Say it.”
“You know what I'm saying.”
“Not until you use your words like a big girl.”
“I was going to say constipated.” This time, we both laugh, and I can almost forget what happened last night when he's relating to me as a person and not a mission to be accomplished.
“Alright, I asked for that,” he admits, shaking his head. “But yeah, I used to ride around a lot on it. It didn't look so nice then, but I sent a little money over to have it fixed up while I was gone. Once I started making money, that is.”
He joins me on the other side of the bike, placing a hand on the leather seat and looking over the machine with something close to love, softening his features. “In case I ever came back.”
“It's beautiful. It really is.”
“You want to go for a ride?”
“Shut up.”
“What? I'm serious. It's been way too long since I've gone out on it. You should come with me. Aren't you the one always complaining you have nothing to do?”
It's one thing to admire a beautiful piece of machinery, but another thing to take a ride on something that could end up killing me. Goosebumps erupt all over my body, and my heart starts to race with apprehension... and maybe something else. Excitement? There is something thoroughly exciting about being scared. Only that seems a hell of a lot safer than what I'm considering now.
All at once, a question tumbles out of my mouth. “Do you think I'm weak?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
I don't know where it came from. I’m embarrassed that I asked. “Never mind. Forget I asked,” I mumble, staring at the logo when I can’t bear looking at him.
“All you're doing is stalling.” I’m glad he chose to interpret it that way. “What do you say? Are you in, or are you out?”
“I...”
“Come on. Don't chicken out on me.” Then, in a truly bizarre move, he makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a chicken’s cluck.
“This is embarrassing,” I murmur. “I’m embarrassed for you right now.”
“I’m going in for a quick shower.” He backs away, holding my gaze. “Then, I’m hitting the road. If you feel like living a little, you’ll come with me. Or you can stay home, clutch your pearls, and let me have fun alone.”
Damn him. He knows I can’t back down from a challenge. It’s, like, in my DNA.
Looks like I’m going for my first motorcycle ride whether I want to or not.
CHAPTER 13
ROMERO
Weak? She wants to know if I think she's weak? That's what rings through my head over and over while I take a quick shower and throw on dark jeans and a long-sleeved Henley before shoving my feet into heavy boots. She thinks I see her as being weak.