Page 61 of When We Were Reckless
“Come on. You can do it. You know you want to,” I goaded.
“I want to suck your cock,” she muttered, the words all jumbled together, her voice too low to hear it properly.
“Sorry, Bean.” I cupped my hand around my ear and leaned toward her. “I couldn’t understand what you were trying to say. A little louder for the people in the back.”
“Oh my God. You’re so annoying. Fine. You asked for it.” She unfastened her seat belt, and it flew into the holder as she turned in her seat and glared at me.
“Ooh, look at you.” I held up my hands and pretended to cower. “You look like you mean business. Please don’t hurt me, Bean,” I said in a falsetto voice.
Her eyes narrowed on me, and her chest was heaving. It was all I could do not to laugh in her face. “Come on, Little Bean. You can do it. Use your words.”
Her hands balled into fists, and she took a deep breath before she shouted, “I want to suck your big, beautiful, hard cock.”
Well, damn, she went there.
Guess she hadn’t noticed I’d rolled my window down after I’d pulled into the parking space and cut the engine.
I grinned and waved at an older woman walking past the front of my truck. She shot me a dirty look and shook her head before she hurried away, her bag clutched to her chest.
Quinn slid down her seat and covered her face with her hands. “Oh my God,” she groaned.
I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. This was entertainment gold.
“I can’t believe you made me do that,” she hissed, slinking even lower in her seat. “I’m not getting out of this truck.”
“Oh, come on.” I wiped my eyes. Shit, that was hilarious. “It was funny.”
“No, it wasn’t.” She gestured toward the windshield. “That woman is Dr. Greenbaum’s receptionist.”
“Oh shit.” That made me laugh harder.
* * *
While I sat in the waiting room, I flicked through aSports Illustratedunder the watchful eye of Glenda the Good Witch. Every now and then, I heard her tskk. It was all I could do not to start laughing again. Tossing the magazine onto the table next to me, I slid my phone out of my shorts pocket. A message that had just come through.
Colby Deegan. I hadn’t talked to him since last summer.
Hey dude, where you been? You still riding?
I texted a reply.Laying low. Back home in Texas. Just built some sick ramps in my backyard.
No shit. Me and Knox were just talking about that time you did a front flip on a 4-stroke. Fucking epic. You thinking about coming back to Cali?
Not sure yet.
We’ve put together a freestyle team. DirtDevilz. Got a nice ring to it, amiright?
I chuckled and watched the dots form on my screen while he typed. Colby was a cool guy. So was Knox. Two of the craziest guys I’d ever met and also two of the best freeriders in the country. It seemed the two went hand in hand. Nobody had ever called FMX riders sane.
The bubbles stopped and then started again.Shit. I got a lot to say. You good to talk?
I stood up from my seat and walked up to the receptionist. “Hey, Glenda.” She couldn’t meet my eye. I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. “I need to take a call. If Quinn comes out and I’m not here, tell her I’m waiting for her outside by my truck.”
“She’s only eighteen,” she said with a lift of her brow. “She’s a good girl.” It sounded like a reprimand, like I was the bad guy who was making the good girl dirty. Which was accurate, I suppose.
I tipped my chin to acknowledge that I’d heard her and stepped outside to make my call. I opened the glass door and held it for a man in a suit. It took me a moment to realize who it was.
“Thank you,” he said and then did a double-take. “Jesse?”
