Page 71 of Stealing the Biker

“I think you missed me.”

“Maybe just a little.” I inhale his intoxicating scent that I can only describe as being him. Spicy with a hint of smoke and leather. Simply him. His arms around me feel like home. I hold him a little tighter for a minute longer before breaking free.

He helps me unload my overnight bag and Fireball’s carrier from the car, then leads the way down the sidewalk to his apartment. I hold Fireball’s carrier in one hand and follow behind him, taking in the broad expanse of his back. His worn-in jeans look good on him, and I can’t help but stare at the tattoos snaking up his neck, noticing that he covered Sabrina’s name.

I smile to myself, relieved that it’s no longer there as a permanent reminder of the past.

Once we’re inside, he flips on the lights, and I’m surprised at how cozy it feels. It’s not fancy by any means, but it’s clean and it has a homey vibe to it that I wouldn’t have expected from him.

“This is nice,” I remark, glancing around at the worn furniture that looks well-loved and comfortable. He sets my bag down near the couch and I release Fireball from her carrier. She immediately starts exploring her new surroundings.

“Do you have her litter and stuff, or do I need to run out and grab something?”

“I have her stuff in my trunk.”

“Give me your keys and I’ll get it while you get comfortable.”

“Thanks. It’s in the pink tote with the white lid.”

“I’ll be back. Make yourself at home.” He grins at me again.

It’s good to see him after all this time. I pull out my phone to text my mom so she doesn’t worry.

Made it to Charleston. Staying over with a friend. See you in the morning. Love you.

When she asks what friend, I think about lying and saying I’m at Bethany’s, but this time I want to do this right. No lies. No sneaking around.

I’m with Jimmy.

Jimmy as in Knuckles?

Yeah. We’ve been sort of talking and I think I could really like him, Mom.

Okay. Be safe. Love you, Kiesha.

I smile at her text and grab my bag off the floor and take it down the hall to Jimmy’s bathroom to change into my pajamas.

By the time I’m finished, he’s back and already has Fireball’s stuff set up other than sticking her litter box in the bathroom.

“You hungry or thirsty?” he opens a beer, and I shake my head.

“I had a fountain drink right before I got here.”

“You tired or want to hangout a bit?”

I let out a yawn. “I can hang for about ten minutes.”

I flop down on the couch, and he turns the lights off and the TV on. He sits next to me and moves to slide behind me. I lay on my side, my back to his front. He slings a leg over mine and wraps an arm around my waist.

“This is nice,” I confess.

“This is heaven,” he whispers, brushing my hair back. “I’m glad you’re here, brat.”

“Me too.” I twist slightly to look at him and his lips come down on mine. And as if we haven’t spent a year apart, I melt into his touch as easily as I did the first time we kissed.

His lips press into mine, soft and warm, and I curve into his embrace, my body molding into his as if it was made for this very moment. His arm tightens around my waist and goosebumps rise over my skin at the feel of his fingers tracing patterns on my hip through the thin fabric of my t-shirt.

The kiss is slow and lingering, a testament to a year’s worth of unspoken words and feelings. He tastes like beer and something sweet, and I can’t help but deepen the kiss, my hand coming up to cup his cheek, the stubble of his facial hair prickling against my palm.

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