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A sliver of uncertainty slid down my spine, making my shoulders push back, my chin lift, wanting to give the aura of confidence and lack of fear even as my pulse quickened as I saw him step onto the sidewalk.
"What you too good for me?" he asked, his hand reaching out, closing around my wrist.
I'd been aware of the noise - a loud car on the street.
It wasn't until the noise got loud then cut off that I realized it wasn't a car at all.
"Fuck off," a deep, not unfamiliar voice called from my side. When the hand didn't immediately drop from my wrist, I watched as Virgin - what the hell kind of name was Virgin anyway - pushed down the kickstand with his boot, slowly lifting up off the seat, dragging a leg over it to stand towering over me. Every movement was in half speed, was pointed, almost... threatening. "I won't tell you again," he added in a deeper rumble.
The hand around my wrist disappeared, snatched back comically fast.
"Sorry, man. Didn't realize she was one of yours."
With that, he turned and jogged back up the stairs and into the apartment building.
"Thank you, but I could have handled it," I assured him. "And what did he mean by One of yours? You have several women?"
Why did I care?
"Not at the moment," he said with what I could only call a lazy grin. "You want a ride where you're going?"
"I--" I started, only to be cut off.
"You're walking like your feet are killin' you."
"They are," I admitted with a small smile, knowing it was pointless to deny it. In another block, I would probably be saying to hell with the disgustingness of the ground, kicking off my shoes, and making it home barefoot.
"So you got nothing to lose and everything to gain from taking a ride, yeah?"
It was hard to argue with that logic.
"Where were you headed? Is that a hard question?" he added, white teeth peeking out of his lips in an amused smile when I didn't answer.
"I am supposed to be looking for a job. But... I don't even know where to start."
"You new in town?" he asked, picking up on my feeling of complete loss.
"In a way. Sort of. I grew up here. But I left ten years ago. I just got back the day before we met."
"You need a job this fast?"
"Yes. I mean, Thaddeus is happy to spot me until I get on my feet again, but I don't want him to have to. But all the restaurants around here have changed."
"Well, let's see. There's the Mexican and Chinese places, but I doubt they're hiring. More family business kind of things. The pizza place is the same. There's Famiglia and Abby's though."
"Abby's?"
"It's a delivery-only place that does comfort food shit. Soup. Mac n' cheese. Open all night. Great if you got the flu or something. Abby is the chef, but the way that place is growing, I figure they could use some help. And Famiglia is an upscale Italian place. Run by the mob. Just so you know. Dunno if that is a deal breaker for you."
"No." Actually, it sounded like a place worth looking into.
"Interesting," he said with a smirk I didn't quite know how to interpret. Pleased, maybe. But why? Because I was okay with the mob? Or, more likely, because I wasn't scared of being affiliated with them. An illegal organization. Like the one he belonged to. I mean, not that he wanted to be involved with me. Of course. Everything about the man screamed I'll give you the night of your life, but leave before the sweat dries. Not that I knew much about such things, but any woman knew that vibe when she found it in a man.
"Where is Abby's?" I asked, looking both ways down the street.
"Closer to my end of town. By the compound," he clarified, moving to toss a leg over the seat of his bike, reaching behind him for the helmet. "Come on," he offered, holding the helmet out toward me.
"You don't wear a helmet?"
"Not in town."
"That's stupid," I told him, taking the helmet.
"Yeah, probably," he agreed, not at all offended. "You gonna put it on?" he asked when I didn't move to do so, thinking - for the first time in years - about my hair. But, in the end, the throbbing in my feet said there was no way I was getting to the other end of town without a ride. And this one was free. "That'a girl," he told me with a nod as I slammed it down on my head and secured the buckle. "Ever been on a bike?"
"No."
"Climb on. Close ranks. And hold on."
Close ranks. He wasn't joking. From the looks of things, I would be plastered to his body. And to prevent myself from flying off the back, I'd have to wrap my arms around that solid body of his - a thought that made my chest feel tight, made an odd, aching sensation move across my belly.
