“I wouldn’t be sitting here otherwise. Do you want a ride or not?”
“Don’t want to leave my bike.” I nodded at the Ducati. “Someone could steal her or scrap her for parts.”
He shook his head. “Get in the car, Luke. I’ll call someone to help.”
I thought about arguing, but the sky had opened up and rain pelted down like it was on a mission to make me miserable. Between getting wet and having no choice but to hop into Quain’s car, this was definitely not a great night. I sighed and pushed myself upright and off the bike, running around to the opposite side of his car and jumping into the passenger’s seat. As soon as I landed on the soft leather, he stared at me in irritation.
“You’re wet, get out.”
“What the fuck?”
“Out, I have a towel in the back. I don’t want you ruining my seats.” He shoved at my shoulder, and I grumbled, opening the door again and hopping out so he could lay a towel over the seat. Only then was I allowed to get back in.
“Fussy fucker.”
Quain sent me a nonchalant look before he hit the green phone icon and a name on the dash screen. The Bluetooth of the car overtook the quiet hums of a song and the sound of ringing filled the silence between us. After a few seconds a male voice answered the phone.
“Yo, K dog in the house.”
My lips twitched and I glanced at Quain in question. Whoever answered the phone like that with Quain seemed like someone I wanted to know.
“I hate it when you do that,” Quain said, glaring at me. For a moment I thought he meant me, but the man on the other end laughed.
“Sorry, papa bear. What’s up?”
Papa bear?I glanced at him with a frown, but Quain ignored me.
“I have a… friend”—he took a moment to stare at me in disdain—“who has a broken-down motorcycle at Dixon River Bridge. It’s pouring rain, and I didn’t bring the truck. Could you come and get it for us and have a look at it?”
“Sure thing. What kind of bike?”
Quain glanced at me questioningly.
“Ducati Scrambler.”
The other guy whistled. “Nice. How’s that V-twin engine?”
“She runs beautifully. Usually. I’ve had troubles starting her recently, and now she won’t even give me a purr.” I had no idea who this was, but at least it sounded like he knew what he was talking about.
“Hm. Sounds like a good mystery. Maybe the starter. I’m coming now. Wait there. If you leave her alone, some prick might strip her. That’s not the best spot.”
Didn’t I know it. While Dixon River Bridge was a beautiful area, it was close to some of the worst suburbs of New Gothenburg, the type you’d expect to see Demons hanging around.
“See you soon.” Quain ended the call and fell back against his seat with a sigh. “And now I’m stuck with you. I’m too nice for my own good.”
I laughed. “You’re anything but nice. You’re a fucking whiner, that’s what you are.”
He frowned and turned in his seat to look at me directly. Quain really was handsome in an almost pretty way—short brown hair cut stylishly, liquid brown eyes that could melt the clothes off any poor soul, and the highest cheekbones I’d seen on a man. His lips, soft and full, were a dream come true. I bet he’d put them to good use around a dick.
“Do you blame me? I was assured the city was a good place to set up my business—my livelihood—then I move in next door to a man who has no definition of professionalism. You have rock and metal music playing loud, you overflow your trash cans so high that you bring rats, and you smoke weed day and night. I have elderly clients with breathing problems. They don’t need to smell weed.”
“Boo-fucking-hoo. If they don’t like weed, they should go to a state where it’s illegal.” I rolled my eyes.
“It might be legal, but it’s disgusting,” Quain said with pursed lips.
“Not my problem. I have less than three ounces, so I can smoke it whenever the hell I want.” I leaned back against the seat and let my gaze roam the dashboard, black as the outside paint job. The leather inside was red and dark gray—very upmarket. Not the kind of car I could afford, but it was definitely something I expected Quain Beaumont would have. “What type of BMW is this?”
Quain regarded me carefully, as though he was trying to work out whether I was mocking him or not, before he answered. “Series 8 Coupe.”
