Page 7 of Stealing the Biker

“No reason.”

“You’re a shit liar,” she huffs at me, crumpling her napkin and tossing it onto the nearly empty tray.

“And what am I lying about? Enlighten me.”

“I don’t know. You just are.”

I look back to where Jonesy goofs off with his buddies. He’s a stereotypical jock. Wearing his jersey, hair gelled back, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Dude thinks he’s the cock of the walk. “Tell me something. What’s so great about him?”

“I don’t have to explain my reasons to you.” She shifts in her seat, her thigh brushing against mine. “He just. I don’t know. He notices me when others don’t seem to. He’s different.”

“That doesn’t tell me much of anything.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. But I know his type. Full of himself. Thinks he’s God’s gift to everyone. Especially girls.”

“You probably can’t get a girlfriend,” she snaps and shoves an apple slice between her pouty lips.

“I’ve had no complaints.” Sabrina said she took one look at me and knew she was going to love me forever. Ember teases it’s because I was the only guy in our town Sabrina wasn’t related to. She’s not wrong about that.

I twist the cap off the bottled pineapple and mango juice Kiesha grabbed. I can feel the heat of her stare as I gulp down a drink. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing. Sure.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Cocking my head to the side, I study her profile, wondering if she’s always so sassy.

Her brows knit as she catches me staring out the corner of her eye. “What?”

“Quit asking ‘what’ whenever I look at you.”

“I would if you’d stop staring at me.”

“You’re too pretty for a guy like that.”

Pink stains her cheeks. “You don’t know him. I…you…”

“I know the type. You forget, it wasn’t that long ago that I was a senior.”

“Right.” She sucks down half of her Coke.

“So, what’s the deal with your father?”

“Don’t call him that. He’s a sperm donor. Nothing more. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk at all.”

An awkward silence stretches between us. Sabrina keeps texting and asking what I’m doing, and I keep ignoring her. I can’t focus on her being needy for attention and do my job.

I distract Kiesha and myself from our problems with conversation.

“What are your plans after graduation?”

“Sam and I are going to cosmetology school. I want to do makeup and nails, and they are studying to do hair.”

“They?”

“Sam is nonbinary and prefers they/them pronouns.”

“Noted.”

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