Page 8 of Stealing the Biker

“Good. Don’t say her or she. Just call them Sam, but better yet, just be invisible.”

“I’m not happy about this arrangement, either. You think I don’t have something else I’d rather be doing?”

“Like what? Washing motorcycles in a skirt or scrubbing puke coated toilets?”

“Ha. Ha. I should be having lunch with my woman, but instead I’m stuck repeating my senior year to babysit a smartassed brat.”

“Ouch.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You meant it exactly like that. But I get it. My own alleged father doesn’t give a shit about me. Why should you?”

“Obviously, people care about you or else I wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be. I can look after myself. You can go. I won’t rat you out or anything. It’s fine. I doubt my sperm donor even knows where to find me. Not that he’d ever bother to come looking.”

“Kiesha.” I pause, trying to choose my words wisely. Teen girls can be ultra-sensitive. “Whatever his reasons, I’m sure your sperm donor cares about you and doesn’t want to do you harm. Not really, but addiction is a nasty beast and changes people. Takes them over. Makes them choose to lash out andbe destructive. And trust me. However much you think you hate him. Deep down, he hates himself triple that amount.”

“What would you know about it?”

“I’m the product of two addicts. I’ve been through some bad shit. Trust me, he’s been doing the greatest act of love by keeping out of your life. The shit he’d bring with him.” I shake my head. “You don’t want any part of that. And yeah. He’s the one missing out on his beautiful and talented daughter.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“You know you are.”

Her cheeks color a deeper shade of pink as unshed tears glitter in the creases of her eyes. “You’re just being nice, but thank you.”

“Trust me. Lots of guys in this school wish they could get with you.”

“No, they don’t. I’m not popular. I’ve never been asked out. Guys don’t approach me.”

“They’re intimidated. Even your crush that keeps glancing over here.”

“Oh my God. Jonesy’s looking?”

“Yeah.” I grin. “About every two minutes.”

“Don’t stare at him, but what’s he doing right now?”

“Probably debating on coming over here or wondering why you’re not over there.”

“Shut up.” She shoves me in the chest with both palms and I nearly fall out of my seat. “What should I do?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“You’re a guy and have a girlfriend. How did you win her over?”

“I didn’t. She sort of just chose me when we were kids, and I’ve been with her ever since then.”

“Whoa. So you’ve only ever dated the same girl?”

“Yup.” I scratch the back of my neck, pushing the hood down.

Kiesha touches the tattoo on my neck. “You have her name on your neck?”

The muscle in my jaw pulses as I swallow, hard. “Stupid, right?”

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