Page 7 of Mad Max

“Thanks again for letting me play. This was fun. We should do it again sometime.” I lean in and give Izzy a hug before I smile at her man. Something tells me touching him would not be good. The guy has been all over his girl this whole time, and her no different. I don’t think she’s the “scratch your eyes out” jealous type, but I think he is. Or whatever it’s called when he glares at a woman touching him who isn’t the he’s with. Saw a few girls try that tonight, and either they ran off scared or started crying.

“Sounds great, Cheyanne. It was great seeing you again. Keep in touch, will you?”

I nod enthusiastically. I don’t get to spend much time with Izzy outside the work moments we have together, but I love it when I do. She doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy—well, not a lot, anyway. That or she hides it better than most.

“You got a ride?” Bulldog barks because the music is really loud.

“Oh yeah, where’s Benny, your date? I would really like to meet him.” Izzy starts to look around for some guy who should be waiting for me.

“I, ah….” My eyes travel to the beast behind the couple. He hasn’t really said much all night, at least not to me. A few words to Bulldog and a few of the other club members who have come up to him, but nothing lengthy. I don’t know what I expect him to say. When he remains stoic, I just shrug. “I think he already left. Going to Uber it. You guys have a great night. Bye.”

I wave before I make my way through the crowd to the front door and onto the porch. I take a few extra steps off it before I pull my phone out, since it’s almost as crowded as it was inside. I’m half surprised I didn’t lose it when I was getting screwed against the wall, but the pockets in my skater skirt are really deep. I’ll need to write a review on it and show my appreciation. Maybe not put the tagline as “great pockets let you not drop phone while getting screwed.”

“Let’s go.” The deep growl sends a shiver through me out of remembrance more than fear as it’s whispered into my ear a second before Mad Max passes me. He doesn’t look back as he strides to a motorcycle that I can only assume is his, since he gets on it.

Of course, I look around. He could have been talking to anyone, but I’m the only one out here, not realizing I moved a few yards from the house as I was looking at my phone, so I just follow. If I’m wrong, then he can always tell me to go away. Again, not the first time that’s happened to me. I know how to walk away and call an Uber.

He tilts his chin a bit, and I know he can see me as he shouts above the sound his pipes make. “Get on.”

“Got a helmet?” I shout back.

From the look he gives me, he thinks it’s a dumb question. Probably is since I don’t really see any in his hands or attached to his bike. But a girl’s got to ask these things and not assume. Assuming is bad, sometimes… I think. I still get confused on that part ’cause people say it makes me an ass when I do, but I don’t get how it does.

I feel myself nod more than realize I’m doing it. Guess my body is already on board with things and it’s only my head that needs to catch up. I place my hand on his shoulder, and he surprises me when the hand of the same arm I’m touching grabs my elbow as I place my foot on the open peg and heave myself onto his bike. The fact that he paid even that small attention to me so I wouldn’t fall on my ass has me thinking he might be a bit more interested in me than his stoic personality is showing. Well, that, and he’s taking me home.

“Direction?”

I’m sure others would be over his grunts and one- or two-word speeches by now, but I kind of like it. He’s direct. If he’s talking, there’s a point to it. He isn’t one to just fill the silence, and I’m not afraid of the quiet like others always seem to be.

I rattle off my apartment address and then get comfy. He might be going slow to get out of the self-made parking lot to this place, but he doesn’t seem the type to just go the normal speed limit. And as soon as we hit the open road, he proves me right.

Holding on to him isn’t a hard thing to do, considering there’s a lot of him to grab. It’s not even uncomfortable with how wide my arms have to go to wrap around him. I can’t interlock my fingers, so I settle for grabbing his shirt and feeling his body beneath my grip.

Being this close to him has me tingling all over. His smell, which I can’t describe other than just beastly, engulfs me. It’s a heady scent, and I don’t think he’s the type to wear cologne. His own aroma is just amazing, and since I’m fond of calling him a beast, it just fits.

I close my eyes and just let myself sink into his back. I have total trust in him knowing where we need to go and that he isn’t a psycho killer leading me to my death. My hair whips around my face, and I’m sure it hits him, too, mixing with his own hair as the wind swirls it around us. My girl between my legs is just humming in tune to the vibration beneath her. She might have been a bit upset about the dick beating she got earlier because he was the biggest she’s ever had, but this seems to pacify her for now.

I frown as he slows, and I know my ride is over. I blink my eyes open as we roll into a parking spot and then curse.

“What?” he growls.

“Benny. He’s in my apartment.” I can see him plain as day in my home, since he’s pulled the curtains back and is just staring out the window. He has enough of the lights on to make me worry about my electric bill.

“He lives with you?”

I move off his back as I shake my head. “No. He’s the landlord’s son, so he has a key. Thanks for the ride.” I make my way to my place and turn back when I don’t hear his bike taking off. He’s getting off it instead of leaving, and I raise my eyebrows as I watch him follow me.

He says nothing, so I just shrug. Maybe he lives here, too, or is visiting a friend.

I go up the stairs and don’t even bother using my key as I open the door.

“Hey, Benny.”

“Oh thank God you’re all right. I was so worried about you. Some asshole threw me out of the party, and I couldn’t find you.”

I push out of the hug he throws on me as I enter my place and check to make sure everything is where I left it. Something about having a person in my home when I’m not has me checking things. Not that I’m OCD about where I put things in my house and all.

“Um, did you try calling me?” I say as I’m looking around, not even paying attention to what’s coming out of my mouth.

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