“I’d always wanted to ask, but I was too…”
“Yeah. I get it,” I stepped in because she didn’t have to admit she was too shy or scared to ask the club of the president for something like that.
“Well… you did good, kid.” She winked. “Really good. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her hand rose. “Don’t be late!”
“I won’t.” It was probably a lie. I was always late, but Mary didn’t call me on it.
I hurried to use the bathroom, washed my hands, and when I stepped out of the building, the warm summer air from earlier had started to cool. A couple of the club members were still there, some smoking, others having a couple of beers just hanging out. I didn’t try to search for Griff. I figured if he was still there, with his sheer size and presence, he would be easy to spot.
Unfortunately, by the time I left the parking lot and headed to the bus stop at the corner, he hadn’t been anywhere to be seen. I kept my head low and hand tight on my house keys, so when I got to the bus bench, I jumped when there he was.
“Griff,” I said, and he looked at me. “What are you?—“
“Taking you home.”
“What?” I frowned, and he pointed to the sidewalk. Keeping my head low, I’d missed his bike parked right off the curb.
“Come on.” He waved behind him, but I didn’t move. I watched as his large body moved and he lifted one leg over and straddled his bike.
I’d seen my fair share of guys getting on a motorcycle before, and never had I thought it was sexy as sin. Until him. Until Griffin. Shit, so much for never seeing him again.
I was in big trouble. Big biker trouble.
“You coming, or what?” The challenge was clear in his voice, as if he knew how hard it was for me to turn one down.
“I told you I was headed home.” I hardly recognized my own voice.
“And I got you.” That’s when I should have stepped away and argued. Dug deep and found the strength and courage to tell him to fuck off with this Prince Charming act of his. I sure as hell wasn’t some defenseless princess or damsel in distress who got off on the idea of being saved. Hell no. My mom had taught my sisters and I a long time ago that the only person a girl could count on one hundred percent of the time was herself.
“It’s late, Marty, and I’m just as tired as you are.”
“Then you should go home,” I said quietly. He shot me a look that made it impossible to look away from him. Who was I kidding? He was too dam good looking to try to look anywhere else.
“You really think I’d be able to rest not knowing you got home safe?” Oh, did he somehow feel obligated to get me home?
“I could, umm…” I bit down on my lower lip and shrugged, slipping my phone out of my pocket. “Give me your number,” I offered. His eyes widened. I’d obviously surprised him with the suggestion. I liked keeping him on his toes.
Griffin took my phone from me, punched in his number, and then his phone rang. “Called myself so I could have your number.” He grinned cheekily, and I shook my head.
“Great,” I mumbled, acting as if I was put off by it instead of secretly thrilled he had my number now, too. “See, now I’ll just text you.”
“And make me worry for what? The next forty to fifty minutes between you waiting for the next bus, the ride there, and the walk from the bus stop to your place?”
“I mean…” I was out of excuses. Or maybe the long day finally got the better of me.Liar, a little voice whispered.It’s him. You know it’s him.“Fine.” I sighed. “But be careful.” I started to walk toward him, but he held out his hand to stop me.
“Whoa, there, spitfire, what are you doing?”
“Umm, getting on your bike… unless I’m supposed to jog alongside you, because if that’s the case, I’ll wait for the bus. If you see me running, you should run, too, because that means something is more than likely chasing me.”
“Cute.” He hallowed his cheeks like he was trying to hold himself back from laughing. “You think I’m going to take you on my bike just like that?” he said, not trying to hide the way his eyes scanned up and down my body and back up again. Nor could I deny the reaction I felt being under his gaze.
“Like what?” I looked down at my body. I was wearing a black fitted tee and lightly-flared blue jeans. He reached for the other side of the bike until he had a helmet in his hands.
“Precious cargo, baby girl. Come here,” he ordered. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t argue. I simply went to him and watched as he carefully brought the helmet over my head, and my breath caught in my thorat when his fingers skimmed my neck.
“Good girl,” he praised, and I swallowed hard at the words that made me feel a little too warm. “Come on.” He held my hand, and without thinking, I hopped on the bike.
“Hold on tight, okay?” he ordered, and I nodded, the movement a little jerky with the heavy helmet I wore.