Page 3 of Don't Love the Boy Next Door
Letting out another of his frustrated sighs, he unlatches my fingers from the seat and yanks me close, so close that my chest bangs into his back. He wraps my arms around his strong, huge waist, keeping his fingers over mine.
“Don’t let go.”
As soon as he says that, I loosen my hands and am about to hold onto the seat again, but he takes my hands.
“What did I just say?” he demands, the irritation growing strong in his voice.
I roll my eyes. “What did I say about telling me what to do?”
He turns his head to face me. “You want to be here all night? Because I’m not leaving until you’re securely holding on.” He grabs my hands and pulls me close, tightening my fingers around his waist. “Don’tlet go.”
My face is pretty much smashed against his back, and his jerk smell wafts into my nose. Darn it. Why does he smell so good?
And his muscles? They’re as hard as bricks.
His hands are still over mine and they’re warm. The kind of warm that would normally be nice and soothing, but since they belong to this jerk, all I feel is disgust.
I lift my head off his back. “Fine, I’ll hold on.”
He doesn’t remove his hands. It’s like he’s waiting for the invisible glue that binds my hands to his waist to dry.
Then, slowly, he lets go. I’m so tempted to separate my hands, just because he has no right to order me around. But the more I think about it, the more I realize he’s right. I don’t know anything about motorcycles, and if he says I can fall off, I don’t want to take that chance.
Ethan steps on the gas and we zoom down the street. He’s right, this thing is super-fast. I squeeze my arms around his waist, feeling his muscles contract and expand as he operates the bike.
He’s such a pro at this, and I can tell this bike is very special to him. Maybe almost as much as football.
I can’t believe I’m actually riding on a motorcycle. With my enemy, but that’s not the point right now. As much as I hate theguy, I want to enjoy this feeling. Of the wind messing up my hair, kissing me like it wants to endow me with presents.
I feel so free, so alive. Now I understand why Ethan likes riding so much.
“Are you sleeping over at Katie’s tonight?” he calls over his shoulder.
“No, my place.” I tell him the address, then wonder if that was a good idea. Do I want this guy to know where I live? He might murder me in my sleep.
The wind tries to pry me off the bike. I tighten my hold around Ethan’s waist even more, pressing myself closer to his back.
Darn this wind. Idon’twant to be this close to him. And oh my gosh, did he just chuckle?
We ride for a bit longer, and I lift my head to watch the buildings and trees whizzing by. Finally, I recognize my neighborhood and my insides spill with relief.
We pass the school and Katie’s house. Ethan slows the bike before my place and cuts the engine. I jump off, but this thing is so big that my leg gets caught and I topple toward the ground.
Ethan catches my arm, steadying me. “You okay?”
I wrench out of his hold. “I’m fine.” I turn toward the house.
“You’re welcome!” he calls after me.
I spin around. “I never asked you to come get me.”
He lifts the visor of his helmet. “I know. You’re welcome, anyway.”
He shuts the visor, revs the engine, tips his head, and speeds away, sending a gust of wind at me.
I stare after him, my arms crossed over my chest. What the…? I don’t get it. Why did he come looking for me after Thad told him he ditched me? What’s he up to? A guy like that doesn’t do favors without demanding something in return. Butwhatever. It’s not like I asked him for help. Idon’towe him anything.
I enter my house and find my parents watching TV in the living room. My little siblings are probably in bed, but my thirteen-year-old brother, Charlie, is in the kitchen, playing on his phone, his other hand buried in a bag of chips.
