Page 23 of Kissin Irish by Morgan
It was fecking noon before I made it to Cece’s door. Thankfully, it was locked this time. I knocked and waited. Then I knocked again, harder this time. Cece shouted from down the road. She walked from the other direction with her cane out. I ran to her. As I got closer, I realized she wasn’t hollering for me.
“Waldo,” she shouted. “Here boy.”
I took her arm. “Howeyeh,” I said.
She tore away. “Don’t grab me. Fucking men always think they can just grab me. Warn someone first. If you want to help, take my elbow.”
I latched on to the bend she offered. “What’s the story?”
“Waldo’s missing. Fucking Jassica and my brother left the front door open last night. They never lock it, but this time, they didn’t bother to even pretend to care about leaving me all alone in that house all night.”
“I’m going to have to go have a wee chat with them,” I told her, ready to fight Pagan right then.
Cece caught my arm this time. “I already told them off.”
“Then why are you out here all alone looking for your dog?”
“My brother blamed Jass for Waldo running off. Crying about it, she stole his motorcycle and took off. He rode after her. They always find a way to make everything about them. It’s constant drama. I’m never going to find Waldo. I’ve been out here yelling for the last hour.”
“Come on,” I told her, leading her by the elbow like she’d requested.
“Where are we going? I’ve been about everywhere. Poor dog always comes when I call. He’s left the grounds. I know it.” Cece started to cry.
Her tears broke my heart. That settled it. “We’re going to get my motorcycle and cover more ground.”
Fuck being parked. We were leaving Royal Road.
Chapter 11
Cece
Irish handed me a helmet. It was slick and round in my hands as I turned it, feeling for the opening. As much as I worried for Waldo, I couldn’t help the zings of excitement darting through me. I couldn’t believe I’d be leaving Royal Road. With Irish of all men. My stomach flipped and flopped so much it won a gold medal.
“Do you need help with the brain bucket?” Irish asked, his hands covering mine.
“No.” Putting on a helmet was no problem. Leaning back, I shook my hair off my shoulders before slipping it on and tightening the strap. Twisting it, I tucked my hair up inside. “I used to have one, a motorcycle. Actually, I still do, but I can’t exactly operate it anymore.”
“That’s a shame. I’d love to watch you ride,” Irish said.
“Thought that meant something different where you came from?”
“Aye, it does. Ride’s a noun and a verb, both about sex. As in you’re a ride, and I want to take the ride with you. Neither of them mean like you do on a motorcycle. Unless you plan to take the ride on your motorcycle. You know what I mean?”
“I think.”
“Climb on back. It’s a fat boy, and it has pegs and a sissy bar,” Irish said, speaking of his motorcycle. Taking my hand, he intended to stabilize me.
Lifting a leg, I hopped on the hog. I didn’t need much help. “Just like riding a bike,” I remarked. “That saying doesn’t have anything to do with sex. Unless sex is just like riding a bike, as in you can’t forget how to do it.” Lord. I hoped I hadn’t forgotten how.
“See how it gets to be confusing?”
Once I was settled, Irish joined me and started the engine. The machine rumbled under me as I caught the muffled roar through the helmet. Embracing the cool leather in front of me, I wrapped my arms around Irish’s middle. My hands found a spot just under his cut but over his jeans where only his t-shirt covered his tight abs. Nice.
Propelled forward, I tightened my grip. My hands, warm where they were, disagreed with the wind smacking my face. And fuck, my bare arms and legs.
Irish slowed for the guard.
I recognized Cricket’s soft voice under the growl of the engine. Lucky for us he assumed I was Charlotte Jones leaving with Irish and let us through. I figured it was since Cricket couldn’t see my blonde hair that I’d tucked away. The gates screeched open, and I was free at last.
