Losing Me, Finding You(19)

“I've got the keys to the parking garage,” Kent tells me, and since I already know where this is going, I start to stand up.

“I'm not doing it,” I tell him as I blow smoke into Melissa's upturned face and wish she wasn't so pretty, so she couldn't walk around with that arrogant as shit look on her pointy face all the damn time. “You brought me in to do a job, and I do it. I do it well, matter o' fact. And then you ask me to babysit, and I do okay at that, too, but I ain't doin' this.” I point down at the table with my finger for emphasis. There are rules that bikers live by that Kent just doesn't seem to get, even after spending his entire adult life in and out of different MCs, tasting the country and feeling the wind in his face, and still, he doesn't have a single ounce of respect in him.

“Fine.” Just that one word, spewed from Kent's tight mouth, makes me suspicious as hell. Melissa sighs and leans back, rolling her eyes and mumbling something about men. I stare at them both for a long while, memorizing the paleness of Kent's skin and the way his dark eyes flash like a summer storm. He doesn't like to be disobeyed, but what is he going to do about it? He needs me, and he knows it. But I also need him, and he knows that, too.

“I'm heading back to the hotel,” I tell them both as I turn on my heels and shove the doors open on my way out. From the corner of my eye, I catch Mireya's gaze, sharp and piercing, and I know that I have more than just one problem to worry about tonight.




Chapter 16
Christy and I walk home slowly, enjoying the sound of cicadas and the warm air against our skin. Mine feels prickly and slick, and my body wants nothing more than to curl up in Austin's arms like the girls in my books, savoring the strong, comforting feeling of another body behind me. He isn't your boyfriend, Amy, I remind myself. Austin Sparks isn't anybody's boyfriend. He's just … tall, ripped, delicious, incredible. I shake my head to clear it and try to remind myself that he's a biker, a nomad if you will. Granted, I did sort of ask him to take me along with him. I wonder briefly if I committed some sort of social faux pas or something. I've heard that motorcycle clubs sometimes have their own rules and hierarchies. What if he tries to make me his kept woman? And how terrible would that be? I slap myself gently in the cheek and get rewarded with a wide-eyed look from Christy.

“I kissed Beck,” she blurts and then flushes three shades of red, starting with pink and ending with an all over crimson blush that makes her look sunburnt. “And I liked it.” I throw my head back and laugh, pausing at the edge of our street to lift my arms out at my sides and spin in a slow circle. Down below, I'm still hurting, aching, but I feel more like a woman, whatever that means. I suspect it has less to do with the sex and more to do with the fact that I not only made my own decisions today but defied my parents at the same time. Apparently today was all about firsts and records and new experiences.

“I kissed Austin,” I admit and pause to watch a smile cross Christy's cheeks, making her face look sculpted by moonlight as she stands silhouetted against the navy sky. It is utterly cloudless, leaving the moon naked and round, proud of her own skin and happy to share it with the world. I drop my arms back at my sides. “And I liked it, too.”

“I knew it!” Christy says, pointing at me and spinning on her heel. “I could tell there was something different about you.” I almost blurt out what just happened, tell her every sordid detail, but then I remember that Christy doesn't read romance novels like I do and that whenever I've used the word sex in conversation, she's blushed. I snap my mouth closed. Looking at her all pretty and innocent in the silver light makes me feel like a bad person. How can I leave when I know that she's going to be stuck here? Earlier, I was so angry at my dad and then so enraptured with Austin that I didn't even figure my best friend into the situation. I look at the girl who helped me hide the pointy witch's hat I made out of paper at church camp, so I wouldn't get the belt, and I know that I can't do that to her.

I need more time to think.

I shuffle my feet and then throw my arms around her neck, just for good measure. She laughs and then pushes me off, giving me a funny look that says maybe she has some idea that something's up. Unfortunately, just like everybody else, I tend to write Christy off sometimes when in all honesty, she's probably the more perceptive of the two of us.

“Are we pathetic?” she asks me as we both cast glances towards our respective houses. Nothing seems amiss, but I suppose we won't know until we actually get inside. If he asks me into his office again, I'm going to run.

“Why would you think that?” I ask her, turning back to watch Christy's blue eyes brewing with questions.

“This is a conversation we should've had when we were fourteen.” I raise my eyebrow. She holds up her hands. “Okay, sixteen at the latest. Amy, I'm twenty-one years old and I just kissed a guy who smells like grease and has the word HOPELESS tattooed on his hands, for the sole purpose of saying that I'd done it, that I'd actually put my tongue down somebody's throat.” She leans in and grips me around the arms, hard, adding another layer of something to the list of things I have to figure out. I left that house tonight with a mission and came back with roadblocks. “Where do we go from here, Amy? I know your dad hit you again today.” I open my mouth to speak and can't find anything to say; Christy knows and there's no point in trying to sugarcoat what happened. My dad did hit me today, six times to be exact, sent me flying against the wall and drew blood from my nose and pain from my skull. It wasn't the first time, but it was the worst. If he ever found out what happened with Austin, I'd do best to run for the hills because I think he'd lose it. My dad is not the kind of man who likes to lose control. Since he's been controlling me since the day I was born, I assume that he'd probably have a mental breakdown of sorts. “And my parents are going to beat me silly when I go back inside.” Christy swallows hard. “So what do we do? How do we stop this? I don't want to end up like Joan.”