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I’ve been to enough parties in my life. And once Z heard what happened to Margot, he was more than fine with me sitting this one out.
More importantly, I’m almost never able to settle down and be still. Even when I sleep, it’s violent and fitful. But with Margot, sitting here and watching her, it was so easy.
“That’s not a reason to have sex with someone,” I point out.
She shrugs. “Why not?”
This is insane. She can’t possibly be serious. “It doesn’t bother you that I’m a biker?”
“Why does that matter?” Her gaze shifts toward a row of bikes backed up against the side of Teller’s house. “As long as I don’t have to ride, it’s fine.”
“You’ve never been on a motorcycle?”
Her steady, sincere gaze drills into me. In the low afternoon sunlight, it’s hard to make out the color of her eyes. An interesting blend of blue and green with gold flecks.
What the fuck. I’ve never studied the color of a woman’s eyes with this much curiosity before.
“No. Unfortunately, I’ve seen one too many results of motorcycle accidents.” Her tone’s so solemn. So serious. Almost like she’s about to cry.
Normally, if some citizen pointed out the dangers of motorcycles, I might look them dead in the eye and say something like, “Yeah and if I stab you in the face with a pencil right now, for the rest of your life you can tell people how dangerous pencils are.” Or if I’m not feeling stabby, something trite like, “I’m not here for a long time, I’m here for a good time.” A good, hard fuck-off stare and, “Not as dangerous as not minding your own business” always works too.
But Margot? Damn, I bet she’s seen some gnarly shit. I don’t want to make light of that. Besides, she’s not trying to convince me that I shouldn’t ride. Just telling me that she doesn’t want to. I can respect that.
“What, you’re not going to try and convince me that it’s perfectly safe?” she asks.
“No, I know it’s dangerous,” I answer. “But I’m not distracted by my phone or fucking with the radio when I ride. I keep my eyes peeled for hazards, like other drivers, which is usually the biggest threat to bikers. I wear a helmet and I never ride impaired.”
“Minimizing risk.”
“Yeah.”
An odd sensation simmers along my spine. Margot’s acceptance, her kindness, makes her even prettier. Anxious eyes looking anywhere but at me. Dark lashes fluttering. Pink lips, just the perfect amount of pouty. None of that poison filler injected into her lips until they look like they’re ready to burst like so many women I encounter lately.
A vivid image of turning her around, sweeping her hair aside, and unzipping her dress won’t stop flashing in my mind. I’d ask her to keep those cute Barbie-pink heels on while I bent her over the nearest object and admired every inch of her.
“You’re impaired.” I need to hit the brakes on this sex tutor idea of hers now. I finish the last bite of my sandwich and start picking up the garbage. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Sure.” She sounds so sad, I want to yank my words back.
She takes a bite of her sandwich and chews slowly. Good God, now I can’t stop thinking about having her mouth on me.
I jump up and almost fall right back down, my butt’s so numb from sitting on the ground for so long.
“I’m going to toss this.” I hold out the paper plate and wrappers in my hands. “There’s, uh, wedding cake in the cooler. I’ll be right back. Want anything?”
“Another can of Sprite?” She holds up her almost-empty can.
“There’s one in there.” I point to the cooler, then haul ass to the house.
The garbage cans on the other side of the house are overflowing with trash. “The fuck?” I grumble, stuffing my trash inside the closest one.
I need a minute to get control of myself.
As I head for the side door leading into the kitchen, I bump into Murphy. Figures he and Heidi didn’t leave yet.
“Where’ve you been?” he asks.
“Around.”
