Page 2 of Frosty the Biker

We spent every moment we could together. We’d been maintaining a long-distance relationship while I was in school. It wasn’t always easy.

I’m ashamed to say I was a very jealous girl back then. Okay, I still struggle with it.

When I reached the door on the first floor, I practically burst outside. Seeing Dalton was worth the sticky humidity that was already hitting us. Thankfully, I’d put my hair up.

Dalton’s beat up truck was waiting, and I pulled the door open.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted with a grin that matched my own. His sandy-blond hair fell over his forehead, but it didn’t cover those beautiful blue eyes of his.

The truck might look beat up, but it ran like a dream. He was incredibly handy like that. He could figure most things out on his own with the help of Google or YouTube.

“Hey good-looking. You going my way?” I teased.

He chuckled. “Baby, I’ll go any way you want me to go. Hop in.”

I wasted no time doing just that.

We drove to our favorite little diner and grabbed food to go. Then we drove back to his apartment. Right before we reached the entrance to his small parking lot, a car pulled out in front of us, and Dalton slammed on the brakes.

My hands hit the dash and my seatbelt locked. My purse toppled and the few things I had in it fell out.

“You stupid fucker!” he shouted. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I hope the food’s okay.” I glanced in the backseat to see it was still in one piece. Thankfully, he’d set it on the floor and not the seat.

He reached over and lightly squeezed my leg. I rested my hand over his. I’d get my stuff picked up after we parked.

When he shut the truck off, I got out and gathered my chapstick, wallet, and the pen I had in my purse. As I checked to make sure I got everything, something gold caught my eye. I grabbed it and froze.

“What the fuck is this, Dalton?” I demanded, holding the gold lipstick tube up when he reached me with our food in hand.

“Umm, is this a trick question? Your lipstick?” He appeared confused.

I snapped the top off and twisted it up. The hot pink product had obviously been well used—and it wasn’t worn down the way my lipsticks ended up. “This isn’t my color, and this isn’t my lipstick wear pattern,” I snapped.

“Maybe Yasmine dropped it when we gave her and Caleb a ride,” he offered with a shrug.

“Hmm, let’s call her,” I airily insisted, and I made a production of pulling my phone out of my back pocket and finding her number. I put it on speaker and waited for her to answer.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Hey, Yasmine,” I started when she picked up. “Did you lose a hot pink lipstick in a gold tube?”

“No way. I don’t wear hot pink,” she replied. “Why?”

“Nothing,” Dalton jumped in. “Thanks!” He reached out and ended the call. His cheeks flushed and my eyes narrowed on him. He looked guilty.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“She said it wasn’t hers. Let’s go inside. Our food is probably getting cold.” He turned and walked toward his apartment and unlocked it. He waited for me in the doorway.

Simmering, I finally followed him inside. He closed the door, then set the food on his little two-person table.

“If it wasn’t hers, then whose is it? Why are you being so weird about this? What are you hiding?” I asked and crossed my arms to wait for his explanation.

He sighed. “I’m not hiding anything. I gave a coworker a ride home because her car wouldn’t start. I had honestly forgotten about it, but I knew it would sound bad now because I didn’t tell you.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say that instead of lying and saying you thought it was Yasmine’s?”

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