Page 88 of Wild Catch
CHAPTER30
LOGAN
Never have I regretted being a biker more than this moment, when I have a woman I’m attracted to as my backpack.
Somehow I behave well until the moment I stop at a light near our destination, and I catch the driver beside me watching Rose like he’s Roger Rabbit and she’s Jessica Rabbit. It’s like I’m damn chopped liver.
My hands move of their own accords and fall on her knees. The part I’m fully conscious of is that I slide them down to the back of her knees and tug her even closer, her entire front molding perfectly to my back until we’re basically glued.
And all throughout, I stare at the asshole.
He finally realizes that Rose isn’t backpack all by herself and all but jumps in his seat when he catches sight of me. Dude is probably a college kid and is smart enough to realize that I give off I-will-screw-you-up aura with my black helmet, my black T-shirt that shows off my tats, my black cargo pants, and boots. Not to mention the black gloves that would hide my fingerprints from around his neck.
He gets saved because the light turns green and I take off.
See, these two issues wouldn’t occur if I was man enough to drive us in a car with a roof over us.
First, that no one would see how mouthwateringly hot Rosalina Mena is in her high waisted jean shorts. Second, that I wouldn’t be feeling every one of her curves pressed up against me. My sanity’s slipping away the more we drive.
To my relief, we finally reach the neighborhood where the party is. Once again, Mike Brown and his narc wife ended up offering their sprawling home. It simply has the biggest pool and backyard out of everyone on the team, and now that the weather is almost like summer, the best way to welcome Miguel Machado into the team is by having a BBQ and pool party.
Credit to Rose for the idea. I’m absolutely dreading this whole thing.
Pool party means swimsuits. Which in turn means Rose in a swimsuit. I’m going to really have to exercise my acting skills if I don’t want her to see how much that sight is going to mess me up. The backpacking is definitely not helping.
I pull into the residential street and even though I slow down, for some reason she tightens her arms around my stomach. Maybe she’s nervous about also having to put up a front before so many people, because unlike the previous party, this one includes all the families. It’s gonna be a nightmare.
“You okay?” I ask over my shoulder as the manicured lawns of other rich people pass us by.
“What? Yeah. Totally fine.” Her helmet bumps into mine as she nods.
I almost tell her that if she hugs me any harder she’s gonna stay imprinted on my body, but I keep quiet. Probably not a good idea to bring up the subject of, well, our bodies.
I no longer know if I’m really relieved when I find us a spot a few houses away from Browns. The whole street is packed with cars of all makes and price tags, so we’ll have to do a bit of walking. And that’s great, because I have to do something first.
After setting the kick stand in place, I lift my left leg and twist over to get off from the right. Rose quickly catches herself by grabbing my seat with her hands, and before she can panic even more, I grab her by the waist to stabilize her.
“Ready?” I ask.
Her hands shift to my shoulders and she holds tight, enough that I feel it in every fiber of my being. She repeats the same motion with her left leg until she sits facing me. “Ready,” she confirms with more determination than necessary.
Good thing she can’t see how that makes me smile through my helmet. I lift her from the bike, lowering her carefully until her feet touch the ground. This is what she asked me to do when we started the ride, because even while sober she doesn’t feel comfortable with hopping off the bike all on her own, and I definitely don’t want her to get hurt.
Plus, I get to put my hands on her with permission. Win-win.
But now I let them slide off and step away. The hot breeze makes me more aware of the sweat trickling down my back. Her light purple T-shirt is glued to her chest and stomach, wrinkled too. And that reminds me.
“Give me the backpack,” I say, extending a gloved hand to her.
She stops fiddling with the strap of her helmet. “You do know how to use the word please, right?”
I do. It has come to mind a few times during this bike ride, but not precisely for family-friendly reasons.
“Please,” I add, my voice growing raspy.
Finally I get the backpack, and I set it over the bike seat. It’s a small-ish camping backpack that fits a surprising amount of stuff, but it’s pretty stuffed between her things and mine. I have to dig all the way to the bottom to find the rolled up garment I need.
Right when I turn to her is when Rose finally figures out the helmet strap under her chin. She gives out a little “ah hah!” before removing it. The curls piled at the top of her head spring to freedom and I have to press my lips tight not to laugh. It’s the cutest damn thing I’ve seen in my life.
