Page 37 of Don't Make Me Beg
Luka lifts each cup in silent question.
“Chai,” I finally say, and he passes me the cup in his left hand, slowly taking a sip of the other.
“That’s what I thought you’d pick, but I didn’t want to wrongly assume.”
I take a small sip and let out a quiet moan as the rich flavors hit my tongue. God, it’s good. I haven’t had a chai latte this perfect in years. Nobody does it like Hazel. She once told me her secret was making every drink with love, and honestly, I’m starting to believe her.
Luka clears his throat. “So… I was thinking after breakfast we could go for a ride. There’s something I want to show you.”
My brows pull together, but before I can ask what he’s up to, he adds, “Think you can be ready in an hour?”
He gives my leg a playful slap before hopping off the bed. “I found some of your old clothes in a box in the attic. I’m sure they still fit and will be much more comfortable than all that prudish shit you packed.”
“Thank you for offering, but there’s nothing wrong with my clothes. I’ll make do with?—”
“It wasn’t a question.” He cuts in before I can finish. And as I want to fight him on it, I don’t have the energy. Besides, breathable fabric doesn’t sound like the worst idea in this heat.
He must be pleased by my lack of protest, because now he’s wearing a smug-ass smile as he pulls out his phone. “I’ll meet you outside in fifty-five minutes.”
I stare at my reflection one last time as I tug at the hem of my black cutoff denim shorts, feeling like I’m no more covered than if I were wearing a bikini. I know that’s dramatic, but theseshorts really aren’t that short; they’re a bit tighter in the hips than they used to be.
That’s exactly why we don’t eat bagels for breakfast, Scout.Too many curves make a woman look easy.I hear my mother’s patronizing voice reminding me.
She hated these shorts, but they were always my favorite—probably because they’re the only pair of cutoff denim shorts I have ever owned. I can’t believe Luka found them in the attic.
The bright pink cropped band tee is modest enough, as long as I don’t lift my arms. I remember the night I got it—Luka actually bought it for me. We’d snuck off to a concert a couple of towns over after Jett managed to get us VIP tickets during Spring Break. It was the best concert I’ve ever seen. In fact, it was our last one. We stayed out until two in the morning. Luka had paid Guy to sneak into my bedroom and pretend to be me if my parents happened to check. Guy was fully committed to the task—he wore a wig and everything.
That was our thing. We may have had different interests; he enjoyed playing video games and talking sports with his brothers, while I was happy as long as I had a paintbrush in my hand. But music was always something we could agree on, especially live music.
My parents would freak to know that only about half of the Girl Scout volunteer hours I racked up during my junior and senior years were real. Good thing I was such an overachiever, I still managed to graduate with plenty to spare.
My heart hiccups in my chest as all those suppressed memories come rushing to the surface, and it’s almost more painful than it is comforting. How did I go from this girl, who seemed so sure of herself and what she wanted, to the dull, lifeless woman who’s spent the last eight years trying to blend in? Luka’s right, I am a sellout.
My existential crisis is interrupted by the sound of a horn honking, and I’ve never been so grateful for Luka’s lack of manners. I slide my slip-on checked Vans on my feet as I rush out the door, stopping in my tracks at the sight of Luka leaning against his bike with his arms crossed over his chest.
He’s wearing faded black cutoff jorts that should look ridiculous but somehow look hot as hell with his black boots and faded black graphic t-shirt. His emerald, green eyes sparkle back at me, and he makes no effort to hide his obvious perusal of my body.
“It’s about time.” He wets his lips as his eyes roam down over my exposed legs, lingering a little longer than seems appropriate. “Clothes look like they still fit. Don’t you feel better?”
I roll my eyes, choosing to ignore his rhetorical question. He may be right, but he’s never going to make me admit it out loud. When I reach for the spare helmet, Luka jerks it away, then slides the heavy helmet over my head himself. I try to buckle the chin strap, but he smacks my hands away before slapping the front glass closed.
When he’s finally satisfied with all my gear, he climbs on the bike and gestures for me to follow suit.
And despite everything inside of me screaming that this is dangerous, I can’t help the excitement bubbling inside of me. When I reach around and grab his waist, I swear I feel him shiver before he takes off down the winding country road.
Luka revs the bike forward, and I let out a squeal as I feel myself begin to slip.
“Hold on, Girl Scout. I won’t be taking it easy on you this time.” I can practically hear the smile in Luka’s voice as he speaks to me through the speaker in my helmet, and I hate the way my stomach does a somersault because of it.
It’s just the speakers, a natural bodily reaction to ASMR, not to mention the adrenaline rush. That’s why my heart’s racing so fast right now. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that I’m pressed flush against Luka’s strong back or that my arms are linked tightly around his impeccable abs.
I think back to our conversation last night—the giddy feeling in my stomach as he teased me—the way his expression shifted, as if my confession made him angry for me. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wondered what it’d be like to spend arealwedding night with Luka.
The thought is insane, and I shake it away the second it surfaces. I don’t know what’s happening to me but being around Luka seems to have stirred something awake inside me, something that’s been dormant for the past twenty-five years.
It scares me, if I’m honest. But despite being the good girl who’s always played it safe, for the first time… I find myself wanting to stop fighting it. I want to lean into the chaos. To push the boundaries and finally let go of control.
Sunlight streaks behind the mountains as we make our way to the densely wooded forest of Phantom’s Reach. The road doesn’t cut through the deepest part of the forest—there’s no way our Phantom would ever allow that—but you can still feel the eerie energy as we drive around the edge.
