Page 18 of Hawke
“Really? I haven’t noticed.” I wiggled my toes as I stared down at them.
They weren’t particularly dirty, but they weren’t clean either. They were well used, maybe a little scuffed up around the bottom, but they weren’t in awful shape after walking twenty-five miles.
The biker cleared his throat, leaning down closer to my ear. I should have backed away from the stranger, but he smelled of peppermint and a hint of cologne that was trying to hide the lingering alcohol from the day before.
I would know, I’ve lived around plenty of people that drank before.
“Are you on drugs?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I squeaked, backing away. “No, are you? I’m not interested in buying any either. That stuff is bad for you. That’s what my mama always told me. Mess you right up, and then you get arrested and go to jail, and she said you do not want to go to that place, you cancatch stuffthere.”
The biker just looked at me, a scowl on his face I’m sure was meant to be intimidating, but I found it charming. I wanted to pinch his cheeks and see if he would smile if I did it, but I refrained.
Some people don’t want to be touched, Delilah.
“Sorry, I haven’t talked to anyone in a while. Guess, I got carried away. Now, if you will excuse me.” I turned away from him and marched closer to the door handle of the bookshop until I came to a halt. My bag was being pulled away from me, and I turned to slap the leather glove that covered his hand.
The brute was dang near offended. His eyes widened in surprise, and he looked at his hand.
“You slapped me,” he said.
“Well, duh, you were going to take my stuff. Not that there isn’t much in there, but it’s the principle of the thing.”
He shook his head. “Listen, why are you going in there?”
I pointed to the help wanted sign, and he let out a heavy, annoyed breath.
“You don’t have any shoes.”
I pinched my lips together. “Yes, we have established that. Now, if you are done pointing out the obvious, I’m going in. Wish me luck!” I waved my hand, and he grabbed it, and a spark shot through my body.
Owie, what the heck?
He let go, an expression of shock on his face until he shook it away. “You can’t interview for a job with no shoes.”
“Yeah, I am, just watch me!” I turned, but he pulled on my bag again to turn me.
“No, you can’t because you won’t get the job.” He ran his hand over his bald head.
He would look better with a mohawk.
“You should grow your hair into a mohawk,” I blurted.
He stopped rubbing his head and looked at me.
“Unless you are naturally bald. Then that was pretty inconsiderate of me to say,” I said, trying to retract my statement. “But if you can grow some hair, make sure it’s in a mohawk style. It would make you look badass.”
The biker’s mouth hung open.
“Oh, you look badass now.” I patted his arm. “Just saying more badassiness.”
I tried to turn again, but he pulled me back around.
“You know, that’s getting really annoy—”
He put his finger to my lip to silence me, but I licked it.
“Woman,” he growled.
