Dear Life(62)

Those words.

They’re all the confirmation I need.

So I jump.





DAISY


“Did you know you’re not supposed to hang your sweaters, but you’re supposed to fold them instead?” I ask Amanda, who is lying on my bed, feet up in the air, and her elbows propping up her head.

“Where did you hear that from? I hang mine and they seem fine.”

“Tsk, tsk.” I jokingly shake my finger. “Stacy London, fashionista extraordinaire, specifically said by hanging your sweaters, you’re pulling on the fibers, stretching them out. It’s best to fold them and lay them nicely on your shelves or in your drawers.”

Cocking her head to the side, Amanda asks, “Since when did you start listening to Stacy London?”

“Cable has been an interesting thing for me.” I smile. “I’ve learned a lot from the happenings on television.”

“I’m afraid to ask what else you’ve learned.”

I wave her off. “Oh, nothing too randy. Get your mind out of the gutter.” Folding another sweater, I ask, “Did you know there are workout channels on there? People in spandex, on a beach, lifting weights. It’s quite fascinating. I join in on occasion with cans of soup.”

Propping herself up, Amanda asks, “So while Matt and I are at work, you’re here, in our living room, in your quilted vests, lifting cans of soup with spandex-clad people on a beach?”

“Why, yes? Is that odd?”

“Sort of.” She laughs.

“Don’t worry. I don’t wear the quilted vests anymore.”

“Oh, good, because that’s what the weird part was.”

Beep Beep.

Shaking my head at my sister, I check my phone.

Carter: I’m outside your place. Get your ass down here, and wear something warm.

“What?” I ask out loud and quickly go to my window where I part the blinds to look outside. Sure enough, Carter is outside the house, straddling his motorcycle, looking out at the street.

“What’s going on?” Amanda asks, following my movements.

“Carter is here. He wants me to go meet him outside.”

“On his motorcycle?”

Dropping the blinds, I quickly find my black ankle boots in my closet and put them on over the skinny black jeans I’m wearing, zipping them up rather quickly. Eager to get outside, I throw on my leather jacket, the only color besides black I’m wearing is the white shirt tucked into the front of my jeans.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I rode it.”

“Daisy,” Amanda reprimands in a joking tone, “you need to tell me about these things.”

“Well, I’m telling you now.” On my way out, I swing my purse over my shoulder and head down the stairs.

“When should I expect you home?”

I’m putting on my gloves when I look up at Amanda who is holding on to the banister of the stairs, a smug look on her face.

“I have no clue.”

“Text me?”

“Of course. See you, sis.”

Excitement fills me as I open the door to find Carter staring down at his phone until he hears me approaching. His eyes turn dark as he eats me up with those chocolate pools. The way he looks at me . . . what it does to me . . . it’s like one look unleashes a thousand butterflies in my stomach.

Never breaking his gaze, he puts down the kickstand of his motorcycle and throws one leg over the middle, dismounting the bike. His black jeans cling to his legs, riding low on his waist, his grey Henley looks painted across his strong chest, and his black leather jacket only intensifies his dark features, making him sinister, yet sexy.

Eep, yes, he’s so freaking sexy.

The total bad boy with the teddy-bear heart. That’s him. I’m sure if I told him that, he would scoff and then go and do something bad just to tarnish his image.

Swaggering toward me, his hand caressing his jaw, assessing me, we meet in the middle of the sidewalk outside my sister’s house. I wait for him to say something, but instead, he takes a deep breath and once again looks me up and down, the intensity of his perusal so strong I shiver.

“Are you going to be warm in that?”

I nod because right about now, my body feels like it’s about to combust from the heat coiling inside.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” I answer back, just wishing he would stop staring at me so intensely.

“All right.” He links our hands together, melting me right on the spot, and pulls me toward the bike. “Ready to learn something new?”

Learn something new? What? My brain feels like mush. Pretty sure if I were a cartoon, my head would be spinning around and I would be constantly spitting out the word, “doye” every two seconds.

“Are you?” Carter asks again, shaking my hand.

I mentally chastise myself and formulate a response. “What?” So clever, I know.

Smirking at me, he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and says, “Are you ready to learn something new? You know, our next challenge?”

Our next challenge . . . he smells so good.

Focus, Daisy.

“Oh, yes. I’m ready. What are we doing?”

“You’ll see.” He reaches behind him into a compartment under the seat of his bike and pulls out a helmet . . . with a daisy sticker on the front. “Here, put this on.”