“Nope,” I confirm and walk straight out of the front door. I am seriously second-guessing my decision to ask for his help. My wellbeing seems to be the last thing on his mind —fucking me the first. I keep trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. The person inside acts nothing like the way Gerard described him. Don’t misunderstand, I wasn’t banking on a knight in shining armor or anything, but I was at least expecting a civilized human being. No such luck. Maybe that’s what I get for enlisting the help of a man I know nothing about who lives in a world completely foreign to me.
I know what he sees — poor, entitled, little rich girl who can’t fend for herself. Who’s a damsel in distress. I must look so pathetic to him, but little does he know how much my mother and I have suffered through to get where we are. More money does not mean less problems. It does not erase emotional suffering, and it does not magically heal the past.
Trust me, I wish it did. I would throw cargo loads away if it could fix all the damage done from my childhood.
No, I’m not a damsel, but I am in distress. And as much as I hate to admit it, I need Ky. Bad attitude and all. If I could survive my abusive father and live through my parents’ nasty divorce, I can tolerate Gerard’s surly son. My stepbrother. The one who hates me and wants to fuck me all at the same time. As if life could get any stranger.
Of course, Ky keeps me waiting. I’m going to be late. I hate being late.
I pace the front yard, awaiting his . . . appearance. One more minute and I am going to rip him out of the house by his blond, bedhead hair.
The black motorcycle parked on the pebbly drive distracts me. I want to knock it over. I remember all the lessons Gerard taught me about bikes. Number one rule, don’t mess with the kickstand. I nudge it a bit with my toe. How pissed would Ky be if I just . . .?
“Snow, back away from the bike,” he bites from behind me.
So pissed.
“I needed to do something to occupy my time.”
“I can give you a laundry list of things to occupy your time. Messing with my bike is definitely not one of them.”
“I don’t like to be late.” I cross my arms hotly.
“I don’t really care.” He throws his leg over the seat. “Get on.”
“I need a helmet.” I’m obstinate just because I can be.
Ky picks up the one dangling on his handlebar. “Problem solved.”
I take it reluctantly. “What about your helmet?”
“I don’t need one.” He starts the bike, pulls out a pair of dark black sunglasses from a little secret compartment, and waits.
I’m no stranger to motorcycles. Gerard has a freakin’ collection in the garage, and I’ve ridden every one of them with him. I hop on the back and slide my hands around Ky’s waist. I instantly feel the heat of his body as soon my chest presses against his back. I won’t lie; I don’t hate it.
“Not your first time, huh?” Ky talks trash.
“Nope.” I hug him tighter, completely confident. When Gerard came into our lives, so did the motorcycle way. I lost count how many times we’ve ridden up and down the coast.
“There’s a coffee shop on the way. Do you mind if we stop?” I chirp.
“Yes,” Ky is blunt.
“C’mon, I need caffeine to be on my A-game.” I rub my body against his, sweet and seductively all at the same time. I play dirty, I know.
I can feel the tension in Ky’s muscles as he responds to my request. Glancing back at me, he sneers, “Fine. We wouldn’t want you flunking out of school on account of caffeine withdrawal.”
“That would be bad,” I agree.
Ky pops the clutch, and we pull away.
The drive to Pepperdine is a peaceful, scenic drive down the Pacific Coast Highway. The line at Bradlee’s, not so much. There is a monster of a wait.
“Are you fucking serious?” Ky rips off his sunglasses. “It’s going to take you an hour to get coffee.”
“I know.” I slide off the bike. “That’s why I wanted to leave early, so there was enough time before class.” I smile condescendingly.
Ky is not amused. “I can get you the same fucking shit at Starbucks and not lose a year of my life.”
