Page 13 of The Opposite Effect

A pleasant evening? Is she fucking serious?That proves she would have never survived working in a place like Inked. If the staff didn’t scare her off, the clients soon would have.

Maybe I should have hired her and let my crew work their magic?

After snagging my helmet out of the saddle bag on my bike, my eyes scan the nearly pitch-black alleyway. Other than a couple of heavy-breasted bar bunnies bouncing around hoping to secure awarm bed for the night, the parking lot is empty, which isn’t surprising considering it is well past midnight on a Saturday night.

The two heavy-breasted ladies’ large smiles dampen when I dip my chin in farewell, denying their silent offerings. With Inked’s regular schedule, the bunnies know the prime time to show up when they’re after a night of adventure. Although their offer is tempting, after my run-in with Princess Stuck-Up, I’m not in the mood for the antics a pair of bunnies would bring to my weekend.

I also can’t guarantee my dysfunctional cock will be up for the task.

The profound rumble of my bike echoes through the quiet night when I kick over the engine. After gliding it down the alleyway, I shift my eyes up and down the street, scanning for an opening in the dense flow of traffic that always clogs the streets of Ravenshoe. It doesn’t matter if it is one in the morning or three in the afternoon, Ravenshoe’s roads are always congested.

During my endeavor to find a break between vehicles, my eyes spot a flurry of blonde standing in the shadows of the bus shelter a few doors up from Inked.

What the fuck is she doing standing at the bus stop?

Unable to leash the moral compass my grandma embedded in me from a young age, I roll my bike away from the pavement and switch off the engine. After storing my helmet on the ape hangers of my bike, I stride to the bus shelter Clara is standing at. Although she frustrates the hell out of me, this side of town, at this time of night, is no place for any woman to be milling around unaccompanied.

“How far out is your ride?”

I rake my eyes along the street to seek the gray Audi I saw earlier.

It’s nowhere to be found.

While finalizing the last few steps betweenus, I tug my jacket in tighter, blocking out the crisp breeze blowing through my thin long-sleeve shirt.

Clara’s eyes stray from the street to me. Her pupils widen as a look of surprise washes over her face. “I’m not waiting on a car. I am taking the bus home.”

“What?” I ask, certain I didn’t hear her right. The roads are clogged with noisy motorists, so my hearing may be a little off.

“I’m waiting for the bus,” Clara advises again, her voice stronger this time around.

“You’re waiting on thebus?”

She huffs loudly. “Yes! Thebus. You know that big metal thing on four wheels that clangs past here every twenty minutes or so. It’s called abus.That’s what I’m waiting for.”

She rolls her eyes before turning them back to the street. I stare at her in utter disbelief. She must be a fucking lunatic. It is well past midnight on a Saturday. She’s decked out in designer threads and wearing more bling than the jewelry store three blocks over stocks, and she’s planning on taking the bus. Clearly, she doesn’t know this side of Ravenshoe after dark like I do. It isn’t a place for anyone to be wandering alone, let alone a woman with the dick-twitching looks she has.

Upon noticing a bus approaching my right, my naturally engrained protective instincts kick in. “You don’t need to take the bus. I’ll give you a ride home.” I nudge my head to the portion of my bike poking out of the alleyway.

“No.”

Her abrupt response dumbfounds me.

“Excuse me?” Surprise is clear in my voice. “When someone offers you a ride, you’re supposed to say, ‘Thank you. That will be lovely.’”

Clara’s eyes snap to mine. “Not when you don’t want a lift. I’m happy to take the bus.”

“You’re not taking the fucking bus. Get your ass on my bike.”

She steps closer to me as her thinly slit eyes bounce between mine. “Do you have a problem with your hearing? I saidno.”

I return her leering stare. “Do you think saying ‘no’ to a bunch of punks on the one a.m. express will stop them? You’re swimming out of your depth here, Princess. This isn’t fucking Kansas.”

The smell of exhaust fumes filter into my nose when a rusted old bus marked with ‘57’ on the side pulls in front of the bus shelter.

“I can take care of myself.” Clara glares at me with the same fiery spark she wore three months ago. “If I can handle abeastof a man like you, I’m sure a couple ofpunkswill be no hard feat.”

After issuing me a final stink eye, she climbs aboard the bus, completely snubbing my request for her not to.

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