Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“Good,” I grunt. “Then let’s get going. We’re wasting time.”
“This must be a really important package,” she says.
I turn away. I can’t lie to her again. Though, I should get used to it. It’s not as if I can tell her the truth. This road trip is going to be full of lies. It’s a damn shame, but it’s how it must be.
“I’ll be outside,” I say, heading for the stairs.
“Okay,” she replies. Then, in a quieter voice, she says, “Rude.”
I almost turn and start bantering with her, but it’s better if she sees me as distant, even mean. It’s better than the reality of what’s happening here.
Now, we’re driving across the dusty plains out of Melusine. The horizon shimmers in the heat. My body is sweaty in my leather, but not from the layers. It’s from her, my Kayla. My Kayla? Jesus. That’s how I think of her now. My Kayla, her arms wrapped around me, squeezing tight.
Every few seconds, I imagine pulling over to the side of the road, pulling her helmet off, kissing her, feeling her, massaging those thick, perfect hips. I have to push these fantasies away, let them thrum at some distant point in the back of my head.
I try to think of her as the little kid lying in bed as I read from one of her books. Mostly, it was to pay the Lewis family back for everything they’d done for me. They liked me reading to her, and I didn’t mind, but I can’t connect the woman clutching onto me with that kid. I know they’re the same person, but it doesn’t feel that way. She seems so different.
Am I a good man? I try to be as much as this life will let me.
I ride for a while, then pull into a gas station just off Route 15. My woman climbs off, stretching her arms above her head. She changed into denim overalls with a leather jacket at the house. Now, she’s a gorgeous, messy-haired biker chick, making her even more attractive than earlier.
“Do you want anything from inside?” she asks.
“I’m fine.”
“Okay.”
Things are tense between us, far more than I want them to be. I have to keep reminding myself that this awkwardness is the best situation. It’s better than showing how I really feel.
Still, as she walks toward the gas station, I can’t help but stare at her. Her hips move provocatively. She’s not purposefully putting on a show, but in my mind, she is just for me. My fingers twitch like I’m practicing what it will be like, grabbing and massaging her ass.
After I fill the bike, I head into the gas station, the AC blasting me with icy air. Kayla is at the counter, finishing up.
She turns with a bottle of water in her hand, giving me some seriously evil eyes. She must’ve overheard us. Or maybe she was listening intentionally. If that’s the case, I bet she misinterpreted a lot of things.
She walks right by me, her arms folded. The leather jacket is open, showing the top of her overalls. She’s wearing a light T-shirt underneath, and I can just about make out one of her pink bra straps. I’m torn between tearing off her clothes and telling her to zip up the jacket.
At the counter, the cashier smiles. He’s a friendly older man.
“Just the gas,” I say, nodding outside as I reach into my jacket for my wallet.
“For the bike?” the man asks.
“Yessir.”
“Your friend already paid,” he said.
“She…”
I look outside to find Kayla leaning against the bike, her arms still folded, glaring at me like she’s trying to win a prize for the world’s prettiest pout. I can’t help but smirk, then chuckle.
“Well, all right then. Have a good day.”
“And you.”
I leave the gas station, the air immediately furnace-like. It’s different from England, where I spent most of my time these past couple of years doing predictable and easy work for the club. It was important work, too, helping the Titans over there become self-sufficient.
“Why the long face?” Kayla says when I approach.
She thinks she’s so clever. She is clever and beautiful. She’s going to make the best babies. I shouldn’t let myself flirt, but I can’t let her win this, as petty as that is. Clearly, I’m not the mature one here.
“I think he might’ve overcharged me.”
She pushes away from my bike and looks me up and down. “For what? You haven’t got anything.”
“For the gas.”
“Wait… what? He charged you for the gas?”
“Yeah, I think he overcharged me by ten dollars.”
“But…”
Her eyes narrow, righteous rage filling her. This was supposed to be a subtle way to one-up me. Not a chance for a gas station to make some quick, shameless cash.
“I, uh, forgot something,” she says.
I smirk and wave a hand. “Go ahead. I’ll be here.”