AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I sense the presence of a large warm body standing close behind me so I refuse to turn around. It feels like I have a lighter licking up my spine, and my stomach swirls with heat.
Tate’s arm grips the doorframe above my head and he rubs it with his thumb. I pretend that I don’t see it.
My mom steps out of the doorway but Tate stays positioned at my back anyway. I remind myself why I hate him as my body masochistically soaks in his heated pheromones.
My mom looks between Mitch and Tate.
“Your son rides a motorcycle?” she asks. She has an intrigued look in her eyes now that she knows it isn’t her boyfriend who is going to risk life and limb on the road, but her voice is laced with displeasure.
“He does motorbike races when there are comps on the weekends. There’s an enclosed track just outside of town, but it’s out of use when we get all the rainfall, so this will probably be the last event until next spring. Which means I get him on-site full-time for the next few months.” Mitch winks at Tate, but my stomach jolts as if it was aimed at me.
Tate slides his thumb down the doorframe and then back up. It feels as though he’s pressing it against my spine.
His bass timbre hits me from behind, impossibly deep and chocolate-cake rich. “Are you coming, River?”
I decide to risk my life. “To watch you get beaten by thirty other men on motorcycles? Of course I am.”
I feel his body tense and I get all warm and fuzzy as I watch his forearm flex with rage. I disguise my smile by fiddling with my glasses.
My body sighs with relief as I walk out of the doorway and onto the porch, extrapolating it from the heady mixture of his heroin cologne and my violent hormones. I give Mitch a cheerful look which makes him eye me suspiciously.
“What time are we going?” I ask innocently.
Mitch flicks a glance at Tate and then back to me. “Comp starts at six, so you have all day to do whatever else. Schoolwork or…” He waves his hand around, trying to think of some other things that seventeen year old girls might do on their Sundays.
My mom prods one of the wheels like it’s a lab specimen. “Count me out,” she says, her mouth twisted with concern.
I shoot her a glance. “Can I still go, mom?”
She doesn’t look at me, still absently observing the bike. “You want to watch a bike show?” she asks, her voice dubious. She exhales a light laugh through her nose. “Sure honey.” She wipes her fingers on her pants and then walks back up the drive, heading to the yard.
I’ll take it.
I smile luxuriantly at Mitch and he has an amused glint in his eyes as he folds his arms across his chest.
“You got any clothes to wear tonight?” Mitch asks.
I’m affronted. “Of course I have clothes.”
“Yeah, but clothesfor this.” He taps the bike with the back of his hand.
I wriggle a bit.
“I want you to blend in, River. I don’t want it to look like I brought a sacrifice.”
I frown up at him. Why is this always the sticking point? Okay, yes I wear prescription glasses, and clothes are unusually large on my body, but why do other people care so much about whatIam wearing? What would theypreferfor me to wear?
Tate’s voice sounds from the doorway. “I have some things that she can wear. She just needs her own shorts.”
I shake my head at Mitch. “Absolutely not.”
Mitch holds his hands up and backs away from me.
I spin around to face Tate but my stomach instantly sinks. He’s wearing saw-dust covered jeans and a taut black t-shirt. My chest is constricting more tightly than the cotton wrapped around his pecs. I can’t believe that he was almost mine.
“I am not taking a single thing from you,” I say in as steady a voice as I can manage.
He folds his arms and the tattoo on his bicep bulges. “Tell me whose bed you’re sleeping in again?”
