Page 28 of I Stop Somewhere Waiting For You

He snorts and, instead of placing something in my palm, takes hold of my hand to drag me around the side of house.

“Nicky, where are we—?” As I round the corner to the front of the house, my face splits into a massive grin. “What the fuck is that?!” I laugh, releasing Nicky’s hand and running over to the bike.

“I don’t know, what is it?” Nicky jests.

“Is it a 2008?!” I squeal, jumping up and down.

“Sure is. 2008 Honda CRF450R,” he proudly states.

“It’s the—”

“Best motocross bike of all time. Yes, I know your opinions on this. I’m aware.” He offers a smug smile as he crosses his arms over his chest. “And you say I don’t listen to you.”

“I love it, Nicky. Thank you!” I dive into his towering frame for a hug. “Can I take it out for a ride?!” My hands release him, as I continue to jump excitedly in place.

“Fuck yeah!” He shouts, extending his hand for some woogity woogity. “Get changed, I’ll meet you at the track.”

***

“Jonsie!” Daph shouts at me from below. “Get your ass down here! The party’s gonna start any minute!”

“I can’t find my bat!” I call out as I exit my room, making my way around the banister and down the stairs.

“It’s down here!” Nicky yells in response. “Damn, Harley. Keep track of your weapons!”

I hop down the last two steps and head into the den where Daphne and Nicky are waiting. My steps falter when I put eyes on Daph. “Holy shit, Daph. You look amazing!”

Daphne is a knockout on a regular day in leggings and a tee, so to see her all done up as Jessica Rabbit is sure to break some hearts tonight.

Her deep rich auburn hair is flipped to one side, cascading down over her shoulder in soft waves. Even Nicky’s having a hard time keeping eyes off her in her strapless red gown with slits that travel all the way up both thighs.

“Oh,” she feigns indifference with a forced roll of her eyes, “this ol’ thing?”

We share a chuckle before she grips my hand and makes me do a twirl.

“And look at you!” she exclaims. “You look fucking hot!”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna lie, Jones.” Nick pins me with a glare. “I’m not thrilled. I thought when you said Harley Quinn you meant the comic book one with the jester hat that’s…you know… fully clothed?”

“Shut the fuck up, Nicky,” Daph scolds him. “She looks fire. Don’t be mad we put more effort in. Really? A pimp? That’s the best you could do?”

“I’m not a pimp! I’m—” Nicky flicks at the brim of his fedora before tossing open his light gray trench coat, exposing a pair of heart decorated boxers and nothing else, making a show of dramatically puffing out his chest while planting his hands on his hips “—Dirk Pecker, Private Eye.”

We both just stare at him.

“Look I even got this cool magnifying glass.” He smiles wide, holding it up for us to see.

Daphne blinks at him, her face neutral. “How the fuck are you in charge of an entire criminal empire?”

“What?” He shrugs, a chuckle escaping him.

“No, for real,” she continues. “How the fuck is anyone scared of you?”

“I’ll have you know I am fucking terrifying.” He points the magnifying glass at her as she snorts, waving him off.

“140 IQ and you’re still a fucking idiot.”

“143 bitch.”

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