The wave of pleasure rolling over me was a surprise. I had been planning to find her to see if she would continue what we started on my bike, but her words spurred a deeper part of me. A part of me which appreciated someone who liked secrets. A part of me that already liked how she had stayed to face me the night we met. And even more than those, a part of me which seemed to be entirely turned on by the rich girl playing tough rebel.
How far down could one prim and proper girl want to fall?
“My whole world is wrapped up in selling information,” I said. “I find it cute how you already know how important a name could be to me.”
Her nose scrunched and her eyebrows furrowed. “How do you…sell information?”
“I get valuable information. I sell it.” I shrugged, leaning down onto my helmet perched on my gas tank.
“And that’s yourjob?”
“Among other things.”
She took one careful step back, but I rolled the bike closer to her again.
“Your name, Rebel. Give it to me.”
“Why would I if you are going to use it to…I don’t know, ruin my life or stalk me or something?”
I bit at the inside of my cheek, the metallic taste of blood coating my tongue when I bit down too hard.
“The last person to deny me information today is now lying on the side of the road.”
“So itisblood.”
“I thought it added a level of authenticity to the outfit.”
“It adds a level of lunatic to it.”
She stepped away again, creating more distance between us until she stumbled against the curb. Her foot caught, making her fall onto the sidewalk. I got off, extending my hand to help her up, but she only eyed it.
“Is there blood on them, too?”
“I’m not an animal. I did wash my hands.”
“But not your face?”
“Who could ruin this work of art?” She pushed off the ground, smacking my hand out of the way.
“Going to run away from me again?” I asked, smiling as she scowled.
“Yes.”
“My favorite. Run, run, Rebel. I can chase you all night.”
“You have nothing better to do?”
“No, and how else would I learn who you are? You won’t willingly tell me.”
“Why? I don’t see what the big deal is. It sounds like I made the right choice.”
“I don’t like being lied to. I also don’t like being felt up by a girl on my bike, and she doesn’t even tell me her name.”
“That sounds like a personal problem,” she said, smiling now.
“Oh, it is,” I said, leaning down further. Her eyes moved over my face, looking at the paint and blood again. “It’s deeply, deeply personal, and I plan to take care of it myself.”
“How?” she asked, her words a little more shaky now.
