Page 36 of Spike

My father didthat. In the form of banging on my door.

Spike frowned.“I’ll get it.”

“I can answer myown door, Spike.”

“Whoever it is,sounds angry,” was all he said, pulling open the door, and I sighed.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Christine.” Daddyturned to Spike. “That your truck in the driveway?”

“It is,” Spikesaid. “Is it in the way?”

“No, not at all,”my father replied with all the slickness of a professional Christian. “I wasjust admiring it. Is that a mid-seventies F-100?”

“A seventy-two.It’s a buddy’s,” Spike said, reaching out his hand. “I’m Spike. It’s nice tomeet you, sir.”

Daddy pointed toSpike’s jacket, ignoring his hand. “I take it from your get up there, you ridea motorcycle as well?”

Spike smiled.“Yes, sir. You a fan of classic bikes as well as trucks?”

“No. Notparticularly. Too dangerous if you ask me. I always steered my sons away fromriding motorcycles.” He glanced at me. “Looks like I should have warned mydaughter as well.”

“Daddy,” Iadmonished.

“Just a joke,angel. I’m sure your friend can take a little friendly ribbing.”

“Of course,” Spikeretorted. “That’s why I wear thisget up. To protect my ribs.”

“Well, it’s niceto meet you, too, son.” Daddy focused back on me, stepping inside which forcedSpike to move out of the way.

“Is everythingokay, Daddy?” I asked.

“Everything’sfine, button. I was just checking on you. Also, your mother wanted to know ifyou’ll be joining us for dinner. Your friend is welcome to join us, of course.”

“I’m sure Spike’sbusy—”

“I’ve got time,”Spike countered.

My father smiled.“Wonderful. Everything should be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

“Okay,” I said.“We’ll see you then.” With a nod, my father left us, leaving the door open, andI faced Spike, whispering, “It’s a trap.”

Spike laughed,closing the door. “How could dinner be a trap? Is your mom a bad cook?”

“No, it’s notthat.” I shook my head. “She doesn’t cook, Celeste does. But you’re going toget a sermon and they may or may not end it with a makeshift altar call. You’llbe put on the spot in ways you’ve never been before.”

He held out hishand, pulling me against him when I took it. “I can handle your parents, Trix.”

“God, I hope so,”I breathed out.

Sliding his handsaround my waist, he gave me a squeeze. “Why are you worried? Concerned a bikercan’t conversate with your high-class parents?”

“Stop that,” Ibossed. “In fact, don’t ever say anything like that again, got it?”

He raised aneyebrow. “Oh, yeah? How come?”

“It willneverbe me worrying about you.” I slid my hands up his chest. “You’re perfect justthe way you are.”

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