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“Mom, it’s nothing, okay? He’s the guy that stopped the robbery the other night. He’s just looking out for me.” This has the opposite of the intended effect. My mother’s eyes narrow. “I told you I don’t want you working at that place anymore,” she says. “It’s bad enough that you won’t listen to me, but now you’re hanging out with somebiker?”
“Why do you two keep saying it like that? He’s just a person who rides a motorcycle.” Mom ignores me.
“Are you being physical with him, Sadie?”
I bury my face in my hands. “Oh my god, I am not having this conversation.”
“What conversation?” My dad walks into the room, and this situation is officially a nightmare.
“Sadie is dating a man with tattoos and a motorcycle,” my mom announces, crossing her arms. “Aviolentman.”
“Sadie is twenty-four years old,” I remind everyone testily. “And are you serious, Mom? You realize I might have gotten shot if Sla—Daniel—hadn’t gotten ‘violent’ with that guy?”
My dad’s face is already turning red. “Absolutely not!” he roars. “I read the police report at work. That man had a knife! You’re not going to be hanging around some thug, do you understand me?” My dad is usually a gentle giant, but the bear can come out when it comes to me and Lizzie. The last thing I need is for him to go full caveman about this, so I hold up my hands.
“Everyone slow down. I’m not dating him. He’s just giving me rides to and from work until I feel safe enough to drive myself again.” I leave out the fact that it had been Slash’s idea. My mother still looks skeptical, and my sister looks conspiratorial, but my dad seems to settle down. He mutters something unintelligible that might have been, “Everyone get to bed,” before shuffling away. My mom follows him after a second, and when Lizzie and I are alone again, I snap, “Thanks for that.”
She shrugs. “Hey, I was excited, okay? Sorry. But youaredating him, right?”
“No!”
* * *
When I wake up the next morning, Lizzie starts interrogating me like the conversation didn’t just pause for nine hours. I’m less annoyed by it now, though, with my parents at work. My sister might be a world-class bigmouth, but she’s my best friend.
“Is he a good kisser?” Lizzie asks. I consider denying that I even know the answer to that question, but grin sneaks its way onto my face, making the decision for me. There’s no point anyway—she saw us on his bike last night. “He is quite talented,” I say primly. She squeals and begs for more info, so I cave, telling her everything except the details of that night in his room. She might be technically an adult, but my little sister doesn’t need to hear a play-by-play of Slash’s voyage under my dress. I blush just thinking about it, though. “Fine,” she says, giving me a knowing smirk. “Keep your secrets. As long as you keep them from Mom and Dad too. They will lose their shit if they think there’s anything serious between you guys.”
“I know,” I groan. “But there’s really nothing for them to worry about. He doesn’t even live here, and there’s no way I’d fit into whatever lifestyle produces a man like that. He probably just feels bad for me because of the robbery.”
Lizzie arches an eyebrow. “Uh-huh,” she says flatly.
When she disappears into her room with a book, I do a load of laundry and make a grocery list, trying to distract myself. Slash will be here in four hours to pick me up for work, but it may as well be four months. He’s all I’ve thought about since the night of the robbery—okay, since I laid eyes on him—and my efforts to convince myself there’s nothing real between us have failed spectacularly.
Being alone with my thoughts turns out to be dangerous. My mind is a whirlwind of conflict—one minute, I’m picturing his face staring up at me from between my legs, and the next, I’m speculating on what his life must really be like. He’s mentioned “the club” in passing, and I’ve seen enough TV to know that means he’s probably in some kind of gang. I’m not afraid of him, but part of me wonders if my dad might be right—what kind of guy has a knife at the ready and doesn’t hesitate to bash someone’s head in?
* * *
The hours crawl by, and finally,finally, I hear the roar of an engine and spring to my feet. My outfit tonight—a black scoop-neck T-shirt dress that hugs my waist and hits mid-thigh—is a little more revealing than my usual style, but I’ve gotten addicted to Slash’s eyes on my body.
When I step out the front door, Slash is walking toward me, pulling his helmet off. The sight of his long hair stuck to the side of his head makes me want to climb him. When I reach him, he lifts me off my feet, making me squeal, then sets me gently on the bike, side-saddle style. He steps between my legs and sweeps my hair away from my face before reaching into his pannier and pulling out a sky-blue helmet that looks like it’s meant for a child compared to his. The tag is still dangling from the strap.
“You got this for me?”
He shrugs. “It’s not really safe to wear one that’s too big for you. If it doesn’t fit or you don’t like it, I’ll take it back.” But when he sets it on my head, it’s perfect. “I love it,” I say. He reaches around me to zip up the saddle bag, and I catch his scent—leather and motor oil and campfire smoke and fir trees.
As we ride, the thrum of the bike and the feeling of his abs under my hands work together to torture me until I’m aching for him. Finally, he pulls into the motel parking lot and steps off the bike. I take my new helmet off and hang it from the handlebars, and when Slash reaches for me to help me off the bike, I take a fistful of his black T-shirt and pull him to me so I can bury my face against his jaw. When I run my tongue along the rough skin where his beard tapers away, he growls, “You’re going to be the death of me,” throat rumbling against my cheek.
“You know,” I say into his ear, “I’m not feeling very well.” He pulls back and stares into my eyes, brow furrowed, but then he catches the playful expression on my face, and a hungry one crosses his. “I have some sick hours,” I say. “Let me see if Michelle can cover for me.” I call my coworker, and just as I hoped, she’s eager for extra hours. I tell her I’ll stay until she gets here, and she promises she won’t be more than twenty minutes.
It takes her seventeen, and they’re the longest minutes of my life. When she takes my place behind the front desk, I wave to her, not bothering to fake not feeling well—most of the motel employees look out for each other. When I turn down the hall instead of exiting through the front door, she raises her eyebrows sky-high but doesn’t say anything.
Heart racing, I hurry down the hall to Slash’s room.
CHAPTER7
Slash
The intensitybetween Sadie and me has been building for days, and as we stand in my dim motel room, the tension is a wire ready to snap. I take a step closer, and she doesn’t back away. Instead, she lifts her chin to meet my gaze head-on, a challenge that I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to accept. Her eyes are filled with a mix of fear and anticipation—and yet underneath it all there’s an unmistakable wanting that sparks a fire within me.
