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“Uh,” Shayla began. “Okay. Those are pretty.”
“They’re for Angela. I’m taking her out. Thought I’d class it up with flowers, which now smell like chicken. That’s cool.”
Shayla giggled.
I could’ve felt bad about the flowers, but Shayla was laughing, so I did not feel bad. At all.
The two of them talked for another minute before Patrick left. I finished my drink and watched Shayla close the door, turn and smile at me before she started walking over. She stopped in front of where I was standing by the chair and tipped her chin up.
“You’re my friend,” she said quietly, her smile softening and making her look regretful. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you as that. I was just—”
“I get it. You already explained,” I told her.
Shayla nodded one time. She wasn’t back to smiling at me. She stayed regretful. I didn’t like her looking that way, and I was hoping my offer would change that.
“Thought about goin’ for a ride to celebrate. Is that somethin’ you’d wanna do?” I asked.
Her eyes lit up first, then her mouth lifted and stretched into a full grin before she covered it with her hands and made that soft, squeaking noise again. “You’re asking me to ride on the back of your bike?” she asked excitedly behind her fingers.
“I sure as fuck ain’t riding on the back,” I answered.
She looked to the ceiling and burst out laughing.
Nobody laughed like Shayla. It was loud and pretty at the same time. It was too much coming out of someone so little.
It was a noise I liked hearing.
“Get your shoes. Let’s go,” I told her, picking up my empty can and crushing it.
“Yes, yes, yes!” she chanted before taking off running across the apartment and disappearing behind a door.
She came back wearing shoes and a light jacket over top of her uniform shirt.
I opened the door for her, watched her lock up, then walked beside her to my bike.
I climbed on first, giving her the helmet. She took it, still smiling, looking like she wasn’t ever giving it back, she was so happy, and strapped it on, then she swung her leg over and straddled the bike behind me, scooting close.
The engine roared.
Shayla’s arms circled my waist, and she held on tight. I looked back at her. She propped her chin on my shoulder and grinned. I grinned too, backing us out. I couldn’t help it.
Then we rode.
For a long fucking time.Chapter ThirteenSHAYLA“Babe, you are delusional. He’s hard up for you. Trust me.”
I rolled my eyes for the millionth time tonight and took another sip of my Creamsicle margarita, refusing to agree with Tori, just like I was refusing to agree with the rest of the girls when they’d all said different versions of that exact same sentence at one point or another since we’d arrived at Low Bar.
Well, except for Jenna.
Since she worked at a lawyer’s office and didn’t waitress at Whitecaps, she didn’t have an opinion on the situation.
My situation.
Ha! I did not have a situation, which was why I kept rolling my eyes and giving more attention to my delicious drink than to the crazy going on around me. At this rate, I was likely to be lit before the hour was up. That was fine by me.
Two nights ago, I’d taken the best ride of my entire life, and that included the first ride I ever took on the back of my dad’s bike at the ripe age of eleven.
Riding with my dad had been fun. Adventurous. It made me happy, as did the memories of all our rides together. They were extremely special to me.
But riding with Sean? That was out of this world amazing, for many reasons, but the main reason being the feel of his body against mine in places that had never felt parts of Sean’s body before.
I was unprepared for how incredible it would be. And our ride was long, meaning I had plenty of time to soak in that incredible feeling.
And I soaked it in.
Now, it was girls’ night, which was typically always a good time, and this one was no different, if you didn’t count all the conversation focusing on me and my situation with Sean.
I never should’ve told them a damn thing.
Jenna was sitting next to me in the rounded booth we were occupying, wearing a cute little black dress that wasn’t as clingy as the one I had on, but still showed major cleavage. Sydney was on the other side of me, also dressed in a little black dress, this one clingy in a halter style. Tori was sitting in a chair at the end, her little black dress putting a whole new meaning to the word little. It clung majorly, showed cleavage, and had slits going up both sides, showing a peek of skin.
The theme of the night, you guessed it, was little black dresses.
