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Kio keeps walking, not bothering to wait for a response, knowing well that I have no intention of giving one yet. If anyone is more stubborn than the members of HFL, it would be me.
Problem is, I am not entirely sure I should tell him at all. My father taught me that assumptions are always a dangerous thing. And, being a woodworker, fittingly one of his favorite quotes is, “I suppose it is tempting, if the only tool you have is a hammer, to treat everything as if it were a nail,” by American Psychologist, Abraham Maslow.
Kio is a walking, breathing hammer. Nearly everything around him poses as a nail, until he looks a lot closer, spots the thread, and realizes screws exist, too.
The one and only comment Jess made that reassured me — for now — was, “I already ate.” Gabe already made his move tonight. We had a serious chat after Rachal died. The code for when there’s real trouble is, “Last time I tried, I got sick as a dog. Never eating pineapple on pizza again.” Or anything along those lines. If she was truly worried, she would have gone that route.
Yes. Right. Shaky hands lifting to the clips on my helmet, I walk forward, turn slightly, and make my way toward Brodi, not even sparing Kio a backward glance no matter how hard the temptation is to refuse.
On the way to Brodi, I pass Chaz who is jumping up and down like a crazy person, slinging his head side to side, butterflying his arms open and closed like he’s warming up to run a marathon.
Brodi is right beside his bike when I approach, looking chill. For now. While he slips his hands into his gloves, I take a generous moment to appreciate the sexy machine in the waning daylight. Playing favorites is not in my nature, but if a gun was pressed to my temple and I was forced to choose a favorite bike, I might lean heavily toward this one. Maybe because they seldom let me ride with him — something having to do with his bike holding the title of the fastest street-legal motorcycle in the world.
“And to think, your rank is Tail Gunner,” I chuckle under my breath, running my hand over the passenger seat and down the sleek frame.
Brodi groans, slinging his leg over the bike and adjusting so I can get on behind him. “The stuff of nightmares.”
My only complaint is how much higher and farther back I am on the bike than him. Especially since he is one of the shortest HFL members.
Brodi starts the engine. His and Kal’s bikes are the only electric ones out of the bunch. Definitely have heard the other guys gripe about that a time or two. Unlike how rumbly most the other bikes are, this one purrs a sweet, manipulative threat. Once Chaz and Kio start their engines, the slight hum is all but engulfed.
I hop up onto the passenger seat, lean forward, and clasp my arms around him; they naturally fall at about his ribs due to the seat stagger difference. My hands move along with his steady, yet undoubtedly nervous, breath. “Are you sure about this?” he asks.
“One hundred percent. You?” A hard no for any of the guys is taking me on a ride while on the edge of a high. Tonight, though, most are congruently trying to lessen the blow of my official membership. Half of HFL feels bad about the way Kal handled things; the other half is celebrating, no doubt. Brodi is one of the former. He agreed to take me on a ride because he wants to make it okay.
“Yeah. All good,” Brodi answers with a bob of his helmet.
Having the fastest bike owes to certain precautions as it stands. I know he will use his best judgment. Hence why he invited Kio along for the ride; we all know Chaz would be the least safe bet for backup.
Am I taking advantage?
Hell yeah I am.
If these highfalutin men seem to think they can fucking own me, I plan on taking advantage at every tight lean. I refuse to become a doormat. Never was, never will be.
The worst of my peak was when Zane and I were in the private dance area. I have since orgasmed three times. Before and after, I managed to hold my focus — the serious situations killing my buzz anyway. If anyone deserves a little fun, this girl does.
