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“He’s a security specialist,” Nita said, then laughed at Diesel’s exaggerated look of disbelief. “Okay, he’s probably a fuck boy, too.”
“You’re not going to get it on in the bathroom, are you?”
“That wasn’t part of the plan, but now that you mention it—” Nita said, winking at Diesel, who widened her eyes.
“Can I watch?” Diesel asked and Nita socked her on the shoulder.
“No.”
“So he’s here… why?” Diesel asked.
“I thought Luke would be here. Luke has a knack for saying and doing things that would piss a guy like Ryder off, and I thought it would be fun to see how that played out,” Nita explained, sweeping the large warehouse for Luke’s blonde good looks. “But it looks like that won’t be happening.”
“He hasn’t shown up since the first practice you missed. I kind of thought he would be here tonight just to throw his smug weight around about kicking us out, but I guess not,” Diesel said. “If anything exciting happens between you and Mr. Ride-Me, I wanna know.”
Diesel winked at her, then broke into long strides.
Nita tightened her helmet and copied her, passing her in no time.
“If you only knew the exciting things that havealreadyhappened,” she teased Diesel as she passed her, laughing at the woman’s surprised expression.
“What happened?” Diesel demanded when Nita let her catch up.
“I’m not going to tell you here. Or even on the phone, since your little miss over there has enormous ears,” she replied.
“Then just let me read your fuck journal. Do you have it with you?” Diesel asked.
Nita bit her lip as she rounded the turn at the far end of the rink, thinking of the book back at the apartment.
“I haven’t written anything about him yet,” she answered.
“You haven’t… girl, I don’t like the sound of that. You write about all your nasty encounters. Why not him?” Diesel asked, looking pointedly at where Ryder was helping Casey with her other skate.
“I guess it’s just something—”
“Oh, no. No. No, no, no! Are you telling me you feel something for this security fuck boy?” Diesel demanded, then jerked away when the Duchess of Death broke through them.
“Are you pansies going to practice or what?” Duchess asked.
“Bombshell, who’s the piece of man meat you brought with you?” asked pink-haired Slayberry Bitchcake. She wore white and green-striped leggings and a fucked-up skirt like a demented Strawberry Shortcake.
“He’s a work thing,” Diesel answered for her. “Hey, what’s the word on that place you said your brother had a line on?”
“Fell through,” Slayberry yelled, arranging the pink hair that hung out of her helmet.
“Fuck,” Diesel cursed. “Ah, well. Let’s get on with the practice and talk about space later.”
Nita nodded, then crouched down to get into a fast warm-up sprint.
Laughing and bumping into her friends as they practiced, let her forget about everything that had come up in the last weeks. Cavendish’s saboteur, Mags’s engagement, but most of all, the man watching from the sidelines. For some reason the words “man meat” kept circling in her head.
19
Ryder stood at the edge of the polished cement floor, watching the Grunge City Girls zip by on their roller skates. Some of them, like Nita, looked like they had their costume on. Others, like Diesel, just wore sweats and a t-shirt.
The large warehouse echoed with the sounds of their laughter and shouts, the screeching of wheels, and the low booming of music.
As he observed the coordinated chaos of the team, Ryder looked down at Casey.
