Page 10 of Just Me

“No problem, but I want to hear all the details, every single one,” she said excitedly.

“You bet.”

She looked past me to where Shawn and Bastian were talking. “He really is incredible.” Her gaze returned to mine, “You two look really good together.”

“He makes my heart pound nearly out of my chest.”

“That’s good, really good.”

“I know.”

“Okay, let’s not keep our guys waiting.”

“He isn’t mine, Poppy.”

She pulled me toward Shawn and Bastian, “You sure about that?”

“Okay, we’ll see you later. Come on, Shawn, I’m hungry.” Her words were barely out of her mouth before she started leading Shawn back up to the house.

“Poppy’s not very subtle.” My focus moved from her retreating form to Bastian only to find he was already looking at me. He held out his hand.

“Are you ready?”

I didn’t hesitate to slip my hand into his. He asked, “Are you okay with riding on the back of my bike?”

“Absolutely.”

We made our way to the front of the house, but my feet didn't quite feel like they were touching the ground. I couldn’t believe I was leaving with Bastian Ross and if this was a dream, I wasn’t about to pinch myself.

Chapter Three

We reached Bastian’s bike and he lifted a helmet to place on my head before reaching for a leather jacket and holding it up to me.

“You should wear this.”

His scent surrounded me as soon as I slipped my arms into it. My knees went weak, again. If I continued to hang with Bastian, I was going to need knee replacement surgery.

He pulled an elastic from his pocket and tied his hair back into a ponytail before settling on his bike to hold it steady for me. I climbed on, wrapped my arms around his hard, flat stomach and felt the shudder that went through him in response. The bike roared to life. “Hold on, Lark.” The reality of riding with Bastian was so much better than I imagined.

We drove around for a while before we parked behind an auto body garage. I hadn't even gotten the chance to pull my helmet off, when he stepped up in front of me and did it for me. His finger lingered on my cheek a moment, but the tender look in his eyes as he did so had me feeling all gooey inside. He hung the helmet on his bike's handlebars then directed me toward the entrance.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“I work here.” He unlocked the door and waited for me to precede him before he hit the switch which immediately flooded the space with light. There were four car bays, two of which contained cars. The cement floors were stained with oil and other auto fluids. Large red tool chests lined the front wall of the garage and the wires and hoses, for the various compressors and lifts, that hung from the ceiling formed an intricate web-like maze. My eyes landed on an old black muscle car in the bay closest to us. The lines were beautiful.

“What a great car,” I said.

“A ‘67 Chevy Impala.”

“Nice.”

My attention shifted from the car to him; there was a devilish look on his face, “What were you laughing about that first day in English?”

“Oh, no, you first. Why did you switch schools?”

He feigned frustration, but I didn't miss the humor in his eyes. “I used to go to a private prep school, but switched to public. My parents are large contributors to the school I was attending and they used their influence to control my teachers and to try to control me. Needless to say, they weren't happy when I upped and moved schools, but because I'm eighteen, they couldn't stop me. To them, it's just one more bad choice, in a long line of bad choices, that I've made.”

“I’m sorry.”

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