Page 37 of Spring Break Fling

“I hate you,” she said as she settled into place.

“You’re gonna love me by the end of the night.” I ran a hand up her leg, my fingers brushing over the smooth fabric of her jeans before giving her thigh a little pat. “Hold on tight.”

I started the engine and used the heel of my boot to put up the kickstand.

Her hands hovered uncertainly before she finally gave in, wrapping her arms around my waist. I grinned to myself as I revved the engine. Oh yeah, this was already shaping up to be a great night. Hell, I would drive all over the country if it meant her body was draped over mine. Her breasts were pushed against my back. Her thighs gripped my legs. I had to fight back the hard-on that was demanding attention.

The roar of the bike filled the air as we pulled out onto the street. Hannah’s grip tightened with every turn. Her body pressed closer to mine. It was intoxicating—the warmth of her against me and the cool night air whipping past us. I might have driven a little faster than necessary. I liked the way her thighs clenched tight around me when I took a corner a little too fast.

By the time we pulled up to the bar, she was clinging to me like a barnacle.

“I hate you so much right now,” she said as she stumbled off the bike, her legs wobbling like a newborn giraffe.

“You’ve mentioned that,” I replied, swinging off with practiced ease. “Don’t worry. I still like you.”

Hannah ripped off the helmet, her hair a wild mess that somehow still managed to look incredible. She glared at me. I carefully took the helmet to keep her from knocking my ass out with the damn thing.

“Where the hell are we?” She used her fingers to comb through her hair.

I grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the entrance.

The bar was my kind of place. Peeling vinyl booths, a jukebox older than I was, and a crowd that was equal parts roughneck locals and out-of-towners looking for cheap beer and good music. Diego was already at the bar, raising an eyebrow when he saw me walk in with Hannah.

“She’s with me,” I said, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

She threw my arm off. “I am not with you.”

Diego laughed. “This night just got a lot more interesting.”

Marcus walked out of the bathroom and froze when he saw me and Hannah. He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised to see her actually with me.

“We’re going to get a table,” I said, making it clear I wasn’t hanging out with them. I wanted to give all my attention to her. Hannah wouldn’t be in town for long and I wanted to make the most of our limited time.

“I’m Diego. This asshole doesn’t understand basic social rules like introducing his friends.”

“Don’t I know it,” Hannah said. “I’m Hannah.”

“This is Marcus,” Diego said.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Hannah said politely.

I ordered us drinks—none of her frou-frou cosmopolitan nonsense. I handed her a whiskey sour. She took a cautious sip, her face scrunching up like I’d just handed her paint thinner.

“Not your thing?” I asked, leaning against the bar.

“It’s… strong,” she said, eyeing the glass like it might bite her.

“That’s the point.”

I spotted an empty booth and led her to it. She looked around, clearly unimpressed.

“It won’t bite,” I teased.

“The booth won’t but what about the fleas?” She inspected the seat before sliding into the booth. I watched her take another sip of her drink. This time, she didn’t make a face.

“Is this your typical hangout?” she asked.

“Yep. None of that pretentious club scene.”