Page 17 of Tank’s Weakness

“How do you know where I live?” I ask when his comment registers.

He raises a brow. “I just do. Now are you going to follow?”

I feel my cheeks heat and nod.

How is it that this man, whom I just met, already knows me so well? It doesn’t make sense.

“I’ll follow you,” I tell him, meaning every word.

Tank

Ever since we parted ways last night, she’s been on my mind. As soon as I got back to my room at the clubhouse, I texted her. To say I was disappointed when a spam text message came up instead of her would be an understatement, but I wasn’t surprised. A good girl like her has no business keeping a guy like me company.

I knew I should have let it go, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t help but replay the entire interaction through my mind over and over again. I swear I could taste her hours later on my tongue, and my fucking cock was worn red from my palm from making myself come from the memory.

I have to have her again or at least try to.

So I sought her out. I thought about asking Fox, our club IT guy, for help, but thankfully I was able to find her on my own. I found out what time school got out and headed out. I waited until the place cleared of parents before I found her car, thankful that I was insistent that she park right up front at the hotel last night.

Then I waited.

I expected her to turn me away, but she didn’t. Delaney surprised me once again and said she would hear me out.

I can’t fuck this up.

I’ve heard people talk about their biggest fuck-ups and regrets in life, and for some fucked-up reason, I have a feeling losing Delaney would be mine, and I refuse to let that happen.

She’s worth the risk.

I don’t know how I know it, but I do.

The entire way to the beach, I keep my eye on the side mirror, making sure she doesn’t dip out. I wasn’t lying when I said I would just go to her house. We need to have this conversation sooner rather than later.

Well, “need” might be a strong word, but it works nonetheless.

Much to my surprise, though, Delaney doesn’t try to head home. She stays right on my ass, not letting anyone in between us.

Good girl.

When we arrive at the beach, she parks right next to me.

“You should really wear a helmet,” she says as she gets out of her car, slamming the door behind her.

“I’ll wear one when I’m dead,” I tell her as I get off my bike.

“You mean you’ll die because you refuse to wear one to keep you alive,” she points out.

“Sweetheart, if it’s my time, it’s my time. No helmet or gear will save me.”

She huffs and crosses her arms.

“Let’s sit,” I say, pointing toward a bench.

Silently she walks over to it and sits down. I sit but leave space between us. I don’t want her to feel pressured with what I’m about to bring up.

“How did you find me?” she asks, cutting to the chase.

“As hard as it is to believe, there aren’t that many elementary school teachers in Pensacola with the name Delaney. You were pretty easy to find, and as to why we are here now is because we need to talk about last night.”