Page 33 of Stealing the Biker

“And you want to be with me?” she leans over me, placing her palm over my racing heartbeat.

“You’re the only one for me.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” Her lips press against mine, accepting the lie. “All I wanted for my birthday was this. To be with you.”

“I’m all yours the rest of the weekend.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Good. Nothing else matters as long as we’re together.”

“Always.” I hug her tighter.

Chapter Twelve

“How was your weekend?” I slide into the passenger side of Jimmy’s truck, noticing he has his backpack stuck in the middle of the seat, and wonder if it’s on purpose.

“Was all right.” he doesn’t even look my way as he pulls off from my house.

“Did you get the pictures I sent you of FB?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“So, what did you get into? Any craziness at the clubhouse?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.” I don’t say anything else. I wait for him to continue the conversation, only he doesn’t. He turns the radio up and ignores me completely. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning,” I tease and get no response. He doesn’t even crack the slightest semblance of a smile. I turn the volume down on his radio. “So I was wondering. Do you think... would you consider being my date at the homecoming dance?” I twist my fingers together in my lap, watching him from the corner of my eyes.

The muscle in his jaw pulses. “No. It wouldn’t be a good idea and I’m too old. Besides, I’m sure they’ll find your father before then.”

“Right.” I shrink further away, pressing my body close enough to the door that if someone opened it, I’d tumble out. “Are you mad at me or something?”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“You seem different.” Cold. Like you hate me. “Distant.”

We idle at a red light, and for the first time this morning he looks at me. Our eyes lock, and I nearly crumble into a million pieces under his scrutiny. “Look, it’s not you. I’ve got a lot on my mind.” He returns his attention to the traffic light.

“Is it your girlfriend? Sabrina?” The question comes out more like an accusation.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens to the point his knuckles turn white. “Has nothing to do with her.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business. I don’t mean to pry.”

“Don’t stress yourself. It’s nothing for you to worry about.” His tone comes across like he means that. But his rigid posture and tight face says otherwise. “I just want to focus on doing my job.” The way he says it is like a jab into my heart with a dagger.

Clue in. You’re only a job. I don’t really like you. I’m tolerating you. I love my girlfriend.

That’s my takeaway from our conversation and what plays on my mind all day at school.

At the end of the day, he’s not waiting for me outside of his truck like he was on Friday. He’s pulled up first in the pickup line, ready to go. He doesn’t talk, and he doesn’t hang around when he drops me off with my sister and Nav at their house, even though he was invited in.

But maybe he has somewhere to be. Like with his girlfriend.

“How are you really?” Kimber questions as she slices some fruit to snack on while Nav tends to the steaks he threw on the grill.

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