Page 9 of Ruthless Convict

“Why would I need to be careful?” I try to keep the protective note out of my voice. “Austin is sweet. He saved my life.”

We pause our conversation, waiting as a clump of PE teachers strolls by. Zane Turner, the seventh-grade gym teacher and JV football coach, hustles ahead, forcing the rest of the athletics department to keep up. He’s almost as tall as Austin, with the same dark hair and a patch of tattoos peeking out from beneath a white v-neck tee.

Involuntarily, my mind flashes back to this morning and the way Austin’s inked sleeve flexed in the sunlight. I can still feel his lips on mine, crushing against me with brutal intensity.

"Yeah, by killing a guy, Ruthie.” Penelope whispers once we’re relatively alone again. “I believe that it was an accident. But he still got two years for that. Prison can change anyone. What if he blames you?"

Annoyance flares low in my gut. Pen is the last person I’d expect to be judgmental about Austin. I know she’s trying to look out for me, but her words still sting.

"That doesn't make any sense," I say, shaking my head. "Austin isn't like that."

Penelope shrugs, hopping off of her seat.

"Emotions don't make sense, Ruth. No matter how much you try to compartmentalize, how many neat and tidy boxes you sort your feelings into, they won't stay. Just look," she says, pointing.

Jason and Missy are storming away, retreating to separate groups of friends. Hurt and upset.

"I'll take one. You take the other?" I ask with a sigh.

“Hey. Think about what I said, alright?” Penelope nods, grabbing my arm before we split up. “I just want you to be careful.”

I laugh. "A minute ago, you said I was being too careful."

"There's excitement, and then there's danger.” Penelope looks at me with sadness in your eyes. “I know why you have trouble seeing the line between them and it’s not your fault. I’m not trying to be bossy, Ruth. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

* * *

He’s therewhen I get off.

Leaning against a motorcycle, of course, and looking like a poster boy for bad decisions. Ripped jeans, leather jacket, sunglasses hiding his dark eyes. None of the parents or kids are getting within ten feet of him. The tattoos peeking out from under his collar and sleeves would be enough for everyone to give him a wide berth, but it’s more than that.

Austin exudes don't fuck with me energy. There's an air about him, something about his stance and the way he's leaning against the sleek black motorcycle. If I didn't know him, I'd be scared of him.

I do know him, and I’m still a little scared.

"Hey," Austin greets me as I draw close, waving. He reaches over his motorcycle, pulling something out.

“Did you bring me coffee?” I ask, reaching for the big cup.

"Maybe," he says, holding it just out of my reach with a teasing smile. I chase after it, stepping close enough to smell him. Leather and mistakes.

“This is a human rights violation,” I cross my arms.

"You can have this if you agree to go for a ride with me." Austin’s smile loses all of the humor. His eyes flash with the same golden hunger they did this morning

My stomach drops as every highway statistic I know flashes through my mind at once. Motorcycles are about as unsafe as it gets. The machine he's leaned against is big, its grill gleaming like teeth. It even looks scary.

“It’s not just coffee.” Austin raises one dark eyebrow. “It’s a venti Americano with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla syrup.”

I blink, shaking my head.

“How did you know my favorite order?” Penelope’s words threaten to creep back into my ear.

“You told me. In a letter.” Austin shrugs. “Don’t you remember?”

Shit. I know I did, but I can't for the life of me remember if I sent that letter. I must have if Austin knows about it.

“Wait, you remember that? It must have been in one of my first letters,” I mumble.

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