Losing Me, Finding You(23)

“Good morning, sugar,” I say, and I smile when I see her shiver. Sure as shit ain't the weather that's pricking her skin with little goose bumps; it's hotter than hell out here.

“Good morning, Austin,” she says, all proper like. Her eyes keep flicking over to a shoe shop with a picture of Jesus H. Christ himself plastered across the window. Weird ass little town. And somehow complicated, too. I gotta find Gaine and quick; this isn't a pleasure run. Things are tough. After I left the bar last night, the shit hit the fan, and it didn't stop spinning. Bikes got trashed, and people got hurt, and I didn't have anything to do with any of it. I was too busy upstairs rubbing my cock and thinking of Amy while Gaine and Beck and who knows who the f*ck else were doing my dirty work for me. “How do you do?” I laugh because the words slip from her mouth automatically, making her blush and then putting this real angry look on her face like she wants to stop, but doesn't know how. I've got a couple of ideas on how to keep that mouth occupied, but I keep them to myself. I don't have time for that right now, much as I'd like to get to know Miss Amy a little better. “Um.” She pauses and nibbles her lip, reaching up to brush some of that golden brown hair behind her ear. “Thank you.” I stare at her, and she rushes to explain, using her hands to emphasize her words. “For last night I mean?”

“Are you thankin' me for f*cking you, darling?” I ask with a laugh, and she wrinkles her nose.

“I just … I don't know how these things work,” she begins, but I'm already stepping forward and hooking my fingers beneath her jaw, drawing her face up to mine and pressing my mouth against hers. She tastes sweet, like maybe she's wearing some of that flavored makeup crap that Mireya likes, but her mouth is hungry, pressing against me with a vigorous fury that I didn't expect. We tangle tongues and soon my arms are around her and I'm trying to figure out where the closest place is that we could f*ck.

Amy pulls away first, stumbling back and wiping at her mouth like she can't believe what she's just done. Her eyes flicker around like a pair of fireflies, searching for anybody that might've seen. Granted, there are loads of people around, swapping rides, exchanging cash and drugs, chatting, gawking, breathing, living. But there's nobody looking at us.

“Stop,” she says, shaking her head and clutching the strap of her purse so tight that her knuckles go white and her lips purse angrily. “Don't.”

“Why not?” I ask, stepping forward and reaching out to brush some stray strands of hair away from her face. She might not want to, but I have to. I have to touch her and kiss her and f*ck her because she's somehow got herself wrapped around my mind, and I need it to stop. I met the friggin' girl yesterday. I wonder briefly if I should go find Mireya, tell her I'm sorry, and just try to forget Amy Cross.

“Just stop,” she whispers, letting me run my thumb across her lower lip. God, what I'd give to have her bent over that pool table again. “Not in public.” I raise my eyebrows.

“You wanna go somewhere else, beautiful?” She looks up at me sharply, drawing her thin brows together angrily.

“You don't even remember, do you?” she whispers, but I do. I do remember and I know exactly what it is that she's talking about. She wants to join Triple M, and, f*ck me sideways, but I want to take her with me. Bad idea, Austin. What happens when you get tired of her? What're you gonna do then? Dump her on the side of the road? Your Mama raised you better than that.

“You don't know me,” I tell her honestly. “Or the shit I've gotten myself into. You don't want this.”

She slaps me then, hard, right across the face.

“Fuck you,” Amy says, voice low and tough as leather, not exactly what I was expecting. She looks down at the cement for a moment and then back up at me. “You don't know me either, and you don't know what I want, what it's like here, living in this … this … f*cking bubble. You can do whatever you want, whenever you want. You get to see places, meet people, screw whoever.” She throws her hands up and turns a bright shade of pink when she says this. “And I get stuck here with a dad who beats me and a mom that doesn't care, and I lose my virginity to some * in a bar.” She snaps her mouth closed suddenly, and I can't keep the grin off of my face.

“Shit,” I say and then I'm grabbing her behind the head and pulling her lips against mine, kissing the shit out of her right there in the middle of the street. She raises her hands to protest, but can't seem to find a fight in that, instead choosing to grab the edges of my vest with an iron grip. I feel myself getting hard, and I can't help but push my hips forward, grabbing her around the waist and grinding her into me, wishing we could finish this up, right here, right now. And then maybe you'll be able to get a logical thought through that thick skull of yours, Sparks.

Amy stops us again, and I swear to God, I'm about ready to grab her around the waist, toss her over my shoulder and take her up to my hotel room.

I rake my fingers through my hair and turn away, sucking in a deep breath to stay calm.

“Austin,” she says and I remind myself that this is why women like Mireya are better for me. I understand them, and they understand me and what I want and what I need. This … girl, she don't know shit. “I have to get out of here, whether you help me or not.” Here, she pauses. “Who do I need to talk to?” I turn back to look at her, and see that she's squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Sweat drips down her neck and between her breasts, disappearing under the lace trim of her shirt. I swallow hard, squeezing my hands into tight fists at my side. All of this unused sexual tension is going to put me in a bad, motherf*cking mood.