And then there’s the hard and fast variety, the Japanese models made for speed and not endurance, or so my dad says. He calls them pushbikes because that’s exactly what they sound like, a motorized pushbike.
This bike, though, this bike sounds like it’s on its last legs. It’s low and gravelly, and kind of sounds like a lawnmower on steroids. Which tells me one thing—the rider is more than likely not from around here, or my dad would have had that baby on a hoist the first time he’d laid eyes on it.
A black beat-up bike pulls up to the curb in front of Dad’s garage. The rider’s decked out head to toe in black: leather, jeans, boots and helmet. Of course, from across the street I can’t make out how good looking, or even how old he is, but the cut of his shoulders in his leather jacket kinda makes me a little melty.
He removes his helmet, runs a hand through his faux-hawk and my heart practically stops. I look at Holly, who turns, then looks back at me, “Oh my—”
“HOT!” I finish. We glide over to the window to get a better look at the newcomer. He can’t see us, of course. Well, he probably could, if he bothered to look over here, but he’s not. He has his face pressed to the glass of Big Bob’s Bikes and Auto. He walks to the roller door of the workshop and knocks hard, three times.
Holly runs her finger up and down the glass before her, as though she’s stroking his body through the window. “He’s way hotter than your cousin.”
“He is way hotter than my cousin.”
“And it wouldn’t be incestuous for you to sleep with him.” She presses her palm flat against the glass, and then smiles appreciatively at me.
Oh no. I know that look. Nothing good ever comes from that look.
“You should go over there.” Holly states as we watch him remove his jacket and get the full effect of his profile. The t-shirt he wears is fitting and black, and there are tattoos almost everywhere. Oh, sweet mother of god. I’ve never wanted to lick anyone’s bicep before, but even from across the street I can see how edible this guy is.
“What, are you crazy?” Heat claws at my cheeks because that’s exactly what I want to do; go over there and ride this guy’s bike. Sweet baby Jesus, even my thoughts need to be censored.
“Ana, you should totally go and talk to him.”
“I’m not going to talk to him.”
“He’s at your dad’s shop. What if it’s a life or death situation?” she screeches, and I swear it’s so loud that it causes hot decrepit-bike guy to stop looking at his watch and glance up at us. He shields his eyes and squints into the sun. His head cants to the side just a little when he finds us watching him. Holly, the traitor that she is, pulls the cloth from her apron and pretends as though she’s innocently cleaning the window. I, on the other hand, simply stare as he crosses the street towards us.
“Crap. Now he’s coming over.” I turn and head back to the counter. Holly just keeps wiping at the window with her cloth, but all she’s doing is smudging sticky caramel over the clean glass.
“You’re welcome.” She giggles like a hyena on crack.
“You’re cleaning that window properly before you leave.”
She lifts her fingers to her forehead in some kind of wacked out girl-scout salute. “Yes ma’am.”
The bell above the door jingles and I feel my spine stiffen. The smell of leather, motor oil and boy sweat fills our tiny shop and I start inhaling hard and fast. I’m kinda surprised I don’t hyperventilate.
“Hi, I’m Holly. Holly Harris, what can I get you?”
“Uh, hi.” I turn and see him withdrawing his hand from Holly’s too tight grasp. “The shop across the street, do you know the guy that owns it? I was supposed to meet him there earlier today, but I got held up in traffic.”
“Ana, would you like to field this one?” Holly asks, drawing me into their conversation and forcing hot decrepit-bike guy’s eyes to look me over. Is it my imagination that his hungry gaze glides over me from head to hip? Twice?
“He’s gone for the day. Friday night’s bonfire and booze night down by the river.”
“Shit. I knew I shouldn’t have stopped earlier.”
“Shop opens again at ten am.”
“Nah, that’ll be too late. Any idea where I could find this river?”
“Eight blocks down, second turn on your right, then you wanna follow the cane fields for another five kilometres, you’ll run right into it.”
Holly’s standing behind Hot Guy making lewd hand gestures and snapping her teeth at his bum like she wants to take a bite. I shoot her a warning glare and jerk my head in the direction of the kitchen several times, but it’s Holly, so of course she doesn’t take the hint, which leaves me looking like a stroke victim.
Hot Guy’s brows furrow. They’re killer brows, all tapered in the right places but rugged enough so you can tell they haven’t been trimmed or plucked. Dipping my eyes a little lower, I notice how long his lashes are, thick black lashes that any women would kill for, but the observations don’t stop there. His eyes are such a deep, dark chocolate that they’re almost black and I think I see the first hint of a dimple when he gives me a bemused smile.
Dimples, for crying out loud!
Like he wasn’t already perfect enough with his lashes and his leather and his freaking melty dark chocolate eyes!
He dares a look over his shoulder and Holly smiles innocently. I’m pointing back and forth between her and the kitchen like a crazy person and threatening murder with my eyes when he turns back around, and I have to pretend like I’m adjusting my ponytail in order to appear even halfway normal.
“You okay?” The smile is faint, but definitely there, and that brings me right back to the dimples again.
“Uh-huh.” I mutter. Holly shoots me a warning look, a look that says if I don’t get on with it she’ll make this a million times worse for me. Resisting the urge to jump on Holly and body slam her into the pastry display case, I hear myself saying, “I could show you if you like? The river. I mean. Not show you something else. That didn’t come out right. I meant—”
“What Ana’s trying to say here, is that her shift ends in exactly one hour and since I’ll be sticking around to watch the brat—” Holly inclines her head in Sam’s direction, who is watching our interaction like it’s his favourite episode of SpongeBob Square Pants “—she’d be delighted to take you down to the river and show you her bonfire.”
“Holly!” I chastise.
“You sure ... uh, Ana, was it? I wouldn’t wanna put you out.”
“Ana loves putting out,” Holly chirrups.
She is having way too much fun with this.
“Holly!” I say again, much louder this time.
“What? He knows I’m kidding.” She turns to Ole’ Melty Eyes. “Right?”
He runs his hand through his hair. I can practically feel the freak out going on inside his head. Any more from Holly and this guy’s going to Kawasaki out of town, as fast as his wheels can take him. “Yeah, of course.”
I sigh and give both him and my self-esteem an out, “I could just draw you a map, if you like?”
“No. I want you to take me.” His brows knit together and the dimples pop out when he laughs at what he just said, but he doesn’t make any attempt to rectify it. In fact, the smile he gives me is downright cheeky and full of challenge. I smile back, thinking he has no idea what he just walked into.
He thrusts a hand out in front of me and says, “Elijah Cade.”
“Ana.” I take his proffered hand. It’s warm but not sweaty, calloused, and it engulfs mine completely.
“You got a last name, Ana?”
“Nope, just Ana.”
His eyebrow quirks and the smile he pairs with it is as smug as smiles come. “Well, just Ana, you and I will be seeing a lot of each other from now on.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m gonna be working just across the street, and I’m gonna need a place to eat.” I know he’s provoking me, any idiot could see that, and yet the w
ay his voice lowers and his dark eyes seem to hood over when he says the word “eat” makes me want to offer up myself as an all-night buffet.
I hear Holly gasp and I know I’m in trouble. Holly’s very rarely shocked by anything. I don’t know if it’s what Elijah said, or the way I’m so obviously drooling over him, but the fact that she’s gasping is so not good. I look away from Melty Eyes, but I’m afraid I’ll need a cold shower before I can calm down enough to keep my inner hussy at bay.
“Really? I wasn’t even aware that Big Bob was looking for another mechanic.”
He looks surprised. Surprised and suddenly wary. “You know him?”
“You could say that.”
“Tell me then, what have I gotta do to impress him? I really need to hold down this job.”
“Okay, here’s the thing. Big Bob’s really big on pretty boys, so make sure you smile. Don’t wear a shirt while you’re working, and he’s partially deaf so you’ll need to talk REALLY LOUD!”
“You’re shitting me, right?”
“Afraid not. Mr Boss Man is a partially deaf, raving homosexual. Still want the job?”
Holly stares at me in horror from across the room and mouths, “What are you doing?”
“Yeah, of course,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. He is clearly uncomfortable. “I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be stripping or anything.”
“Just your shirt. But something tells me you’re used to people staring at your bare chest anyway.”
His lips quirk into a slow smile and there’s a moment when I can tell we’re both thinking the same thing: Elijah without a shirt. Okay, well, I’m thinking of Elijah without a shirt and from the way he’s smirking at me, I’m pretty certain his mind is on missing articles of clothing too.
“Tell you what, Elijah Cade, why don’t you have a seat and I’ll bring you some pie on the house.”
“That’d be great.”
“Sweet or savoury?”
“Sweet,” he deadpans. “Definitely sweet.”
“Sweet it is.”
Shortly after Elijah sits down, Sammy sidles up beside him and they jump head first into a lengthy discussion about the bike Elijah rides. Sam’s quick to point out that his older model bike has nothing on a Fat Boy. He even folds his arms over his chest and frowns the way our dad would.
Holly pinches my arm while I’m preparing Elijah’s pie. I’ve really got to get a new best friend, one who’s against physical violence.
“Wanna tell me what that was about?” she whispers.
“Just having a little fun, is all.”
“A little fun? Ana, there’s fun and then there’s suicidal. You just told him your dad was gay and enjoyed seeing his employees prance around half-naked. That might work here; he did knock up the evil bitch stepmum, after all, but at the garage? Bob’s going to annihilate this kid.”
“I know, but think how fun it will be to watch him walking around shirtless and yelling at my dad all summer.”
“You are a bad, bad girl, Ana Belle,” she whispers conspiratorially.
“So they keeping telling me,” I answer back, but even I hear how the smile has left my voice.
I set the pie down before Elijah and Sam’s eyes go saucer wide. “No way. You gave him a thlice of Ana Cabana thuprithe pie?”
“Yep. If you pack up your things I’ll get you a slice and a milkshake.”
“Can Elijah have a milkthake too?”
“If Elijah wants a milkshake?”
“Oh, Elijah wants a milkshake.” He smiles and the dimples come out swinging. I just wanna sit down and admire the holy mother of hotness that is decrepit-bike-riding, tattoo-sleeved, dimple-popping, Elijah Cade.
He’s staring at me expectantly. It’s obvious he’s spoken and, in all my fan-girling, I’ve completely missed it.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Vanilla. The milkshake. Can you make it vanilla? It’s my favourite.” He winks and shovels more pie into his mouth.
Without another word I stalk back to the kitchen. My heart is in my throat, trying as best it can to abandon this sinking ship. What the hell was I thinking, flirting with a guy like that? He’s going to be working for my dad, which means I’ll see him every day. And probably sooner rather than later he’ll figure out that I tricked him. He’ll more than likely hear the rumours about me. Maybe he already has, and that’s why he’s coming on so strong. Elijah Cade is the last thing I need.
I can hear him and Sam talking out in the diner. The milkshake machine stops whirring and the noise of Holly slamming down the metal cups on the table in front of the boys reaches my ears.
“There’s your vanilla milkshake,” she snaps. Her footsteps pound toward me.
“Uh, thanks,” Elijah calls after her.
“My mumth a huthy,” Sammy pipes up and I cringe and curse Holly under my breath.
Elijah
I don’t know what the hell happened back there. One minute Ana was giving as good as I gave and the next, she was flying out the back door. Maybe I came on too strong? Nah, fuck it. Life’s short. She’s hot and she might be just the thing I need to keep my nose clean while I’m in this crap-hole of a town. Not that I’ll be staying long. I never stay long.
After her psycho friend almost showered me with vanilla malted-milk Ana comes stalking out of the kitchen, grabs the kid by the arm and tells me to meet her round back in ten minutes.
I watch her usher the kid ahead of her through the kitchen door. She’s untying her apron as she goes, causing the blue dress to pull against her ass and ruck up a little higher. Holy shit, I’m headed into boner territory. I tilt my head to the side and admire the view before the swinging doors make it disappear completely. Next thing I know I’m staring at 5’3 of pissed off waitress.
Aaaaaand there goes my boner.
The friend, Hannah, or Hailey, or something, gives me the double finger point between her eyes and mine, universal code for “I’m watching you.”
Crap, did every girl within a 10 kilometre radius suddenly start PMSing the minute I walked through the door?
I’m trying real hard not to laugh, so when she vocalises what her hand gestures apparently didn’t convey I bite down on my cheek hard enough to taste blood. Chick’s like a shark, though. I swear her eyes narrow when she scents my blood in the air.
“Okay.” I say, ’cause I know she’s waiting for me to say something and, to be honest, that’s all I got.
“I’m glad we had this little talk.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Wait.
What the fuck?
Did we even have a conversation? This chick’s messing with my head. She’s also kinda creeping me out, so rather than sit here and risk her boiling my bunny while I wait for Ana I grab my helmet and my jacket, throw a twenty on the table and head out to get my bike.
“See ya round.” I call as I’m exiting the pie shop.
“Not if I see you first, Elijah Cade.” She singsongs back and I repress the urge to run for my life.
A minute later I’m parked in front of her garage as Ana comes down the stairs wearing jeans that cling so tight to her legs and arse that I can clearly see all the places I want to put my mouth and hands. She’s also rockin’ a barely there singlet top that I have no doubt I could see right through if it got wet.
God, I hope it rains.
Holy mother of whoring nuns she’s hot. Fuck! I haven’t just crossed the border into boner territory, Mr Happy’s erected a tent from my jeans and is setting up camp there.
I clear my throat, shift in my seat and hope like hell she doesn’t notice the raging hard-on before she gets on the bike. Once she’s positioned behind me she won’t see a thing. Her hot little body will be pressed into my back, her legs wrapped around mine ... shit. Wrong thing to think with a hot girl in front of me, and a boner the size of Everest. And no, that’s not an over exaggeration, my man meat is huge.
“You okay?” Ana asks. Shit. I hate it when I get so lo
st in my head I forget what’s going on around me.
“Yeah,” I say, glancing down at the gravel beneath my bike to keep from gawking at her. “Just tired. Been a really long day.”
“Right, well, let’s get you sorted so you can hit the hay.” She smiles, but it’s nothing like the look she was giving me inside. Did I offend her? Crap. Why the hell are chicks so hard to read? In an effort to make things right I add, “Your pie is awesome, by the way.”
Fuck. That sounded completely suggestive.
“That didn’t come out right.”
“It’s okay. My pie is awesome,” she says playfully as she backs away from me. Something in her expression makes me want to chase her.
“I have no doubt,” I whisper, and then loud enough so she can hear, “Are you getting on, or are we gonna play chasies all night, Ana no last name?”
“Oh, I have my own ride.” She lifts the roller door to the double garage where a beat up Holden, a Fat Boy on pits and a shiny yellow geriatric-looking Vespa sits. Ana dons a matching yellow helmet and buckles it beneath her chin.
“That’s your ride?” I’m having a hard time keeping the smugness from my smile.
“Uh-huh.”
“Alright, then,” I say, trying not to laugh. A massive grin breaks out on my face.
Ana’s scowling. “What?”
I hold up my hands to ward her off. “Nothing. Just, you do know I have to meet this guy tonight and not next week, right? Are you sure your little grandma bike is gonna cut it out there on the open road?”
“Hey! This ‘grandma’ bike could run rings around your decrepit little tricycle.”
“Tricycle?” I laugh at the righteous indignation on her face, the sheer determination in her gaze that says she’d like to hand me my arse on a plate. I kinda want to let her. I stroke my bike lovingly. “This is a precision instrument of speed and t—”
“Toy parts?” she asks as she hops on her scooter, kicks out the centre stand and revs the engine.
“Baby girl, nothing about me or my bike is childish.” I smile, but there’s an edge to it.
“We’ll see.” She edges the Vespa forward so she’s directly in front of me.
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