I smile softly and nod, grateful for their acceptance. I want to tell them, I really do. Honestly, it would feel good for someone to know. To have someone tell me to keep my feet on the groundso I don’t do something stupid like fall deeply and irrevocably in love with a dangerous forbidden man.
Too late for that, though.
Seven feels like it takes forever to get here. I swear I’ve been staring at my phone for the last two hours, ready embarrassingly early. Mom asked me what I was doing getting all dressed up, so I admitted I had a date. When she tried to pry, I told her it was just some guy at school. I mean, what else was I supposed to tell her? Yeah, your adopted son is taking me out. Don’t worry, family looks out for each other, I’ll be safe. Yeah, absolutely not.
I told Kolter to text me when he was close so I could meet him on the corner, and as soon as my phone vibrates with that message, I’m flying out the door.
“Bye, Mom! Don’t wait up!” I call out.
“He’s not even gonna pick you up at the door? What a fucking schmuck,” she calls as I shut the door behind me.
If she only knew.
I jog down the road until I reach the corner. And there’s Kolter’s bike pulled over to the side, the kickstand holding it up as he leans against it.
When he sees me, he pushes away from it and stalks towards me. Butterflies erupt inside me, so I pick up my pace.
When he holds his arms out, I leap into them without an ounce of hesitation; he catches me easily, pressing my body to his and cupping my butt.
I smile into his shoulder. “You copping a feel?”
“Fuck yes,” he says like it’s basic logic before pulling back so he can shoot me a grin.
He moves one hand to the back of my neck then and pulls me down for a kiss. It only lasts a few seconds, but it feels endless, the world around us fading away until it’s just me and him under the evening sun.
He pulls back then presses another quick peck to my lips, like he couldn’t help but steal one more taste before setting me down.
“Hope you’re hungry, Peaches,” he says, grabbing his helmet then strapping it onto my head.
“Is that a euphemism?” I tease.
His mouth lifts into a smile as he swats at my jeans. “Cute. Get on.”
Kolter swings his leg over the saddle, and I slide behind him before he fires the bike up. Once my arms are wrapped around his waist, we take off down the road, and I rest the side of my head against his back, enjoying the warmth of him as the night air nips at me.
I don’t even realize we’ve stopped until Kolter’s hand taps my own, signaling that I should release him.
I quickly slide off the bike and look around. We’re in the parking lot of an apartment complex. Couldn’t tell you where, but the area looks nice.
Kolter helps me take the helmet off before slinging his arm round my shoulders and leading me to the front door. The man working the desk smiles and nods in greeting as we move towards the elevator. Kolter presses the number ten, and we arrive at our destination in a handful of heartbeats.
“So, I thought you were taking me out?” I ask as he leads us down the hall.
“You’re not in your house, right? You’re out,” he tosses back.
I roll my eyes at him. “I was promised food.”
He shakes his head as we stop in front of a door; he fishes out his keys and unlocks it. “I promised no such thing. I said ‘hope you’re hungry.’”
“A meal was implied,” I scoff.
Kolter shrugs as he opens the door and holds it for me. “Your assumption from my conversation opener wasn’t a confirmation of services or the receiving of goods.”
I take a step into the apartment before narrowing my eyes at him. His stoic gaze is gone, replaced by a smart-alec smirk that lights up his stupid gorgeous face before he gives me a quick wink. Truthfully, I couldn’t care less about food—I was just trying to give him a hard time; trying to be funny, I guess. He always thinks he has a leg up on me, though.
I continue into the apartment and hear the door shut behind me before Kolter follows me. It’s a clean place—nice floors, crisp walls and furniture that looks like it’s never even been touched, let alone used. It’s not the type of place that screams someone lives here; more like a hideout of some sort, a getaway. But maybe it is. I haven’t really asked him what his living arrangements are—maybe he spends most of his time at the clubhouse. I don’t even know this is actually his place. Maybe it belongs to a friend.
“It’s my place,” Kolter says, as if he can read my thoughts.