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“Wow,” Quincy said, raising his eyebrows. “You sure are the image of a perfect goody two shoes.”
“I try,” Anne said with a flip of her hair, even though she knew that it was meant to be an insult.
“Maybe you’d like to go for a ride someday?” Quincy asked.
“A ride?” Anne repeated, eyes going wide.
Chapter Two
“What kind of ride?” Anne asked. She narrowed her eyes at Quincy. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, as though she were simply a new challenge that he had yet to face before. “I’ll have you know that I’m not into drugs, or anything of that matter.”
“Jesus,” Quincy muttered, pushing off from the wall and standing in front of Anne, with only about an inch between them. “I hardly know you aside from your name, and you think I’m going to offer you drugs? You really must think lowly of me.”
“I can’t help it,” Anne said. “I don’t know anything about you. I’m going to have to assume something if you won’t tell me anything.”
Quincy felt a little flicker at the corner of his lips, pulling them up into a tiny smile again. Her excuse was just as horrible as his had been earlier, but he let it slide. “Honestly, I was just offering you a ride around on your bike.”
“Your bike…” Anne mumbled, her voice trailing off.
“As in a motorcycle,” Quincy replied. “I realize I’m just falling into another perfect stereotype for you to make fun of me for, but I would prefer that you stop typecasting me for a few moments.”
“What else am I supposed to do?” she asked.
“Maybe give me your number?” Quincy replied, a little hint of nervousness in his voice. It was uncalled for, but he wasn’t the type of guy to ask for a phone number right away, he didn’t know what to expect from the girl.
“My number?” Anne parroted.
Quincy rolled his eyes at the girl, but there was no malice behind the action. He took out a Sharpie from one of his deep pockets, and then extended his hand to the girl, his palm up. “Can you only repeat the last two words that I say, or what?” he teased.
That seemed to bring Anne back, and she smiled at Quincy. He wasn’t the normal type of guy that she would dare talk to. If they were both walking down the same side of the street, no doubt she would cross to the other side before continuing on her way. Despite that, she scribbled down her number onto his arm, giving it a few moments to dry before capping the Sharpie and handing it back to him.
“This is a real number?” he asked.
Anne scoffed at him. “Of course it’s a real number. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Now you see what it feels like to be stereotyped,” Quincy said, his smile growing. “Seriously, though, do you want a ride home? I have a spare helmet and a jacket, and I’m a safe driver. We won’t crash.”
“Maybe some other time,” Anne said. “My parents are expecting me home any minute, and I should really be there on foot, rather than hopping off the back of some Harley. I’m pretty sure they would have a cow and faint on the spot.”
“They sound like my kind of people,” Quincy said. He wasn’t sure how to end the conversation, or how to step aside to let Anne go past him. At that point, it wasn’t even that he didn’t know how, it was just that he really didn’t want to. He hadn’t been able to talk to anybody besides his parole officer in so long. It made a nice change to talk with someone who would joke around with him just as much as he joked around with them.
“Well,” Anne said, trailing off. She didn’t know where to go with her sentence. She could see the hesitance in Quincy’s expression, and she could feel the hesitance in her own body. “I should go,” she finally settled for.
Quincy nodded, but he didn’t step aside. To compensate, Anne stepped around him and headed towards her house. She wanted to glance back, but she didn’t want to look over her shoulder and catch Quincy staring at her. She would die of embarrassment. She could feel his eyes boring into her, and she walked with a little bounce in her step, trying to seem as sure of herself and as confident as she could possibly be.
There was a trilling rush traveling through her body. She had just kicked a horrifying man out of a building that she didn’t own, and she had survived through the event. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole situation had ended with her body mangled in a gutter somewhere. In fact, the outcome that she was perfectly fine, surprised her more than anything.
Her thoughts trailed to Quincy as she walked, thinking of the way he moved. Even the motion of running his hand through his hair was casual, everything he did effortless and beautiful in its own way. She wanted to know more about him. It wasn’t as simple as a desire to know; it was a need. She needed to know everything about him, his likes, and his dislikes. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought about how in any other circumstance, a curiosity like that might have been filed under the crush folder.
It wasn’t a crush, though. She was certain of that. It was simply a deep, burning curiosity that was beginning to take over every aspect of her attention. Badly enough that she nearly walked into the street while the light was red. Anne caught herself just in time, and shook her head.
The snow that had been raging earlier had calmed into a simple, benign drifting of flakes. She leaned her head back and sighed, watching her breath cloud in front of her. She needed to get hold of herself, and quickly. She couldn’t let some stranger that she had only just met lead her into a dangerous situation, be it by him specifically, or by being controlled by thoughts of him.
“Get it together, Anne,” she muttered. The light switched to green, and the little white symbol on the crosswalk meter lit up. Anne walked forward, and pulled her phone out of her pocket. She flicked it on, almost hoping to see a message or a missed call from an unknown number. Her hopes went unanswered, and she felt suddenly incredibly silly for having hoped that Quincy would have contacted her so soon. He was trying to maintain his cool-guy appearance, he wouldn’t go and try and get a girl’s attention so soon after meeting her.
Anne curled her nose at the thought, and hoped that Quincy wasn’t that way. Although, she would be lying if she said that the thought didn’t excite her. In a horrifying, chilling way. She had just given her phone number to a complete stranger, who smoked and owned a motorcycle. He wore a leather jacket, dyed his hair, and had an impressive display of colorful tattoos.
Anne squealed to herself at the thought, and tried to brush aside the feeling of warmth growing in her stomach. What had once been insatiable curiosity that then turned into a chilling fear, was now consuming excitement. She couldn’t wait for a text or a call from Quincy, and she couldn’t wait to see him again.
