the simple white house with blue shutters. A trip down memory lane is on the agenda tonight. “What made you come here?”
He doesn’t answer me. I don’t know, maybe is thinking about what to say. Maybe he doesn’t want to tell me the truth because he doesn’t like the truth. And then he speaks. “It’s been awhile since I looked at the place.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“You ask a lot of questions for someone who doesn’t want to open up about themselves,” he points out. He opens the fence and walks up the sidewalk.
I cross my arms and reluctantly follow him. He sits down. So I sit down. “I never said I didn’t want to open up.”
“Okay. A question for a question.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “If I answer, you have to answer.”
“Why do you want to know anything about me anyways?” My heart speeds up.
“Because you’re freaking weird,” he says. “I’ve ran into you a few times now and I still don’t know what your deal is.”
“And you’re a dick.”
“I have a dick.” He keeps right on talking when I roll my eyes. “Why were you touching my bike that night outside of the bar?”
Fear increases.
“I don’t know. It just caught my eye.” I hope he believes me.
He runs a hand down his neck. “Try again.”
“Try what again?”
“The truth.”
“I was thinking about hot wiring it and taking off to the nearest scrap yard for the extra cash.” I stand up, going up on the porch to evade his prying.
He rest his arms against his legs and just sits there quiet. He doesn’t argue with me. Maybe he believes that I am a bike thief. Or maybe he is dealing with something of his own and this is his human way of trying to open up to someone.
“I was snooping.” That’s not a lie. I sit back down next to him. “Because I wanted to know more about the 8 th sin.”
He studies me carefully. “Why would a girl like you want anything to do with the 8 th sin?”
I shrug. “I guess I was hoping to learn something.”
He nods his head in acceptance of my answer.
“Why were you at the bar alone tonight?” Now it’s my turn to question him.
“I needed to get out of the house.”
“Why?”
“Because one person can only take so much stress before they do something stupid,” he laughs, and not because he is amused but more like he is blown away at the amount of bullshit in his life.
“You wanted to kill that guy back there.” It’s not a question but maybe if I point this out he will see he has an anger problem.
“That guy back there called you a bitch. You should be thanking me.”
My phone rings breaking me from the moment. I pull it from my bra and look at the screen. It’s Ryker. I hit ignore. “I’m pretty good at defending myself.”
Ryker calls again. “Aren’t you going to answer it? I bet your boyfriend is trashed and ready to score.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I sigh. “Can you ever not be rude? Every time I think I am starting to find you tolerable you insult me all over again.”
He stands up. “Let’s get you back to the bar before he calls the cops and sends out a search team.”
I follow him back down the steps. “Maybe we should exchange numbers.”
He throws a leg over his bike and gives me a weird look. “Now why would we do that?”
“Maybe I could ask you some more questions.” I say, giving a pitiful attempt at maintaining an open line of communication. I’m getting somewhere.
“If this is your attempt at trying to flirt with me you suck at it,” he says. He holds out his hand and helps me on the bike. I take it and this time he holds on a little tighter and I feel a little happy that he’s opening up to me.
“Hug me like you love me,” he says again, just like the first time. And we zip away from his childhood home into the night.
Eleven
Pulling back into the sports bar on the back of Nash’s bike makes me feel a bit dangerous—a little bit famous and a hell of a lot on edge. Especially when
He doesn’t answer me. I don’t know, maybe is thinking about what to say. Maybe he doesn’t want to tell me the truth because he doesn’t like the truth. And then he speaks. “It’s been awhile since I looked at the place.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“You ask a lot of questions for someone who doesn’t want to open up about themselves,” he points out. He opens the fence and walks up the sidewalk.
I cross my arms and reluctantly follow him. He sits down. So I sit down. “I never said I didn’t want to open up.”
“Okay. A question for a question.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “If I answer, you have to answer.”
“Why do you want to know anything about me anyways?” My heart speeds up.
“Because you’re freaking weird,” he says. “I’ve ran into you a few times now and I still don’t know what your deal is.”
“And you’re a dick.”
“I have a dick.” He keeps right on talking when I roll my eyes. “Why were you touching my bike that night outside of the bar?”
Fear increases.
“I don’t know. It just caught my eye.” I hope he believes me.
He runs a hand down his neck. “Try again.”
“Try what again?”
“The truth.”
“I was thinking about hot wiring it and taking off to the nearest scrap yard for the extra cash.” I stand up, going up on the porch to evade his prying.
He rest his arms against his legs and just sits there quiet. He doesn’t argue with me. Maybe he believes that I am a bike thief. Or maybe he is dealing with something of his own and this is his human way of trying to open up to someone.
“I was snooping.” That’s not a lie. I sit back down next to him. “Because I wanted to know more about the 8 th sin.”
He studies me carefully. “Why would a girl like you want anything to do with the 8 th sin?”
I shrug. “I guess I was hoping to learn something.”
He nods his head in acceptance of my answer.
“Why were you at the bar alone tonight?” Now it’s my turn to question him.
“I needed to get out of the house.”
“Why?”
“Because one person can only take so much stress before they do something stupid,” he laughs, and not because he is amused but more like he is blown away at the amount of bullshit in his life.
“You wanted to kill that guy back there.” It’s not a question but maybe if I point this out he will see he has an anger problem.
“That guy back there called you a bitch. You should be thanking me.”
My phone rings breaking me from the moment. I pull it from my bra and look at the screen. It’s Ryker. I hit ignore. “I’m pretty good at defending myself.”
Ryker calls again. “Aren’t you going to answer it? I bet your boyfriend is trashed and ready to score.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I sigh. “Can you ever not be rude? Every time I think I am starting to find you tolerable you insult me all over again.”
He stands up. “Let’s get you back to the bar before he calls the cops and sends out a search team.”
I follow him back down the steps. “Maybe we should exchange numbers.”
He throws a leg over his bike and gives me a weird look. “Now why would we do that?”
“Maybe I could ask you some more questions.” I say, giving a pitiful attempt at maintaining an open line of communication. I’m getting somewhere.
“If this is your attempt at trying to flirt with me you suck at it,” he says. He holds out his hand and helps me on the bike. I take it and this time he holds on a little tighter and I feel a little happy that he’s opening up to me.
“Hug me like you love me,” he says again, just like the first time. And we zip away from his childhood home into the night.
Eleven
Pulling back into the sports bar on the back of Nash’s bike makes me feel a bit dangerous—a little bit famous and a hell of a lot on edge. Especially when
Similar Books
