In Your Arms

by Shannyn Schroeder

  “Too bad you drive a motorcycle and not a car.”

  “Why?”

  “A car has a backseat.”

  He laughed and pulled away from her. “But a car wouldn’t have gotten you as turned on as the bike did.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, widening her eyes in the hope of looking innocent. She bent to pick up her shoes.

  Sean took her hand and started walking toward the shore. “From the moment I pulled up beside your car, I saw the way you watched my bike. And me.” He winked. “I think you have a thing for bad boys.” Leaning closer, he added, “But I’m not bad.”

  Oh, crap. This guy was cute. “You ride a motorcycle. You’re a mechanic. You have tattoos. And you took me to a bar, got me drunk, brawled, and brought me back to your house. Isn’t that all the markings of a bad boy?”

  “Shit. First, that could be any guy. Second, trust me, that was no brawl. Third, I didn’t fuck you.”

  She smiled. “I said bad boy, not asshole. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a crap ton of overlap, but there is a difference.”

  “What’s that?”

  Letting go of his hand, she stepped away and dragged her toes through the sand to make a circle. Then she added a second, interlocking one. On the far right, she pointed. “These are assholes. The kind of guys who are mean to everyone. Pissed off at life. Treat women like shit. In the middle here, that’s where the confusion is. They’re guys who can go either way. They have enough bad boy to attract a woman, but too much asshole to keep her.” And that was always the section that stuck to her like a freaking magnet.

  “So where does that put me?” he asked.

  She pointed to the far left circle. “Bad boy.”

  “Which means?”

  “Trolling for compliments now?”

  “Explanations. You’re a teacher. Teach me the difference. I’m pretty sure I have the ability to be an asshole, but I don’t like your categories.”

  “Bad boys are . . .” She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. The gut feeling that drew her to guys like him wasn’t easy to put in words. “Rough with the ability to be gentle. Fighters. Good with their hands. They have a don’t-give-a-fuck attitude that gives them a certain kind of charm.”

  Sean nodded like he agreed.

  “They’re redeemable.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Redeemable, huh?”

  “If they wanted, which they usually don’t. Makes them a bad long-term bet.”

  “Hmm. I guess you do know me.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll let you redeem me for the day. And night.”

  Emma didn’t know what it was about him. Sure, it was the bike and the attitude, the way he owned it, but he had an unusual kind of openness. She shoved the thoughts away and dug her toes into the sand, determined to enjoy her day. And her night as well.

  With the ball of her foot, she erased her circles, and they walked toward the shore. She rolled the cuffs of her jeans to mid-calf and let the waves lap at her feet and ankles. “I can’t believe the summer is over already.”

  He walked behind her since he hadn’t taken off his boots. “You had the whole summer off, right? Did you do anything fun?”

  Had she? This was her first trip to the beach. What had she done? “Not really. I did some lesson planning. I worked with my mom for extra cash.”

  A couple of nameless guys she’d screwed because that was her typical behavior when she slipped into her old ways, which always happened when she was with her mom for any length of time. She shook it off.

  “What about you?”

  “I rode my bike a lot. Hung out with friends. There’s an annual block party where I got to see some old friends. Everyone who grew up on my block comes back for the party. Touch football game with the O’Learys across the street. They have six kids so it’s a lot of fun. It’s probably the highlight of my summer.”

  Emma’s chest tightened. It sounded exactly like what she wanted for a family. A real neighborhood to live in, where you knew your neighbors and not in a stay-away-from-him-he-might-be-a-pedophile kind of way.

  Sean looked down the shoreline. “Let’s race.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll race you from here to the lifeguard tower.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? It’ll be fun.”

  “Running is never fun. What do I get if I win?” She’d never been a good runner, so it was a long shot to think she’d win.

  “What do you want?”

  “I get to drive your motorcycle.”

  He stopped walking. “Do you know how to drive?”

  “Not really. You can teach me.”

  He eyed her and then the lifeguard tower. “If I win, you come to my hockey practice tonight and spend the night.” He grinned. “Naked.”

  She licked her lips. “Naked in your bed, not at hockey practice.”

  He coughed out a laugh. “Of course.”

  It was a silly bet. He’d get her in his bed without having to do anything more than kiss her again. And they both knew it. But sometimes it was fun to let go and be silly.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  He nodded and crouched down. “Set.”

  “Go!” she yelled and took off running.

  Within a couple of strides, Sean passed her, but she pushed. It was one thing to lose, another to be decimated. Unfortunately, in her vigor, she lost her grip on one of her sneakers and it flew into the water.

  She squealed and abandoned the race to chase her shoe. By the time she retrieved it, Sean was on a slow jog back.

  * * *

  Emma looked royally pissed. It hadn’t been his intention when he’d suggested a race. He’d figured he’d win, but his only thought had been getting her naked and in his bed for the night. She’d been all for it when they’d kissed. But every now and then she got this look like she might bolt. As if she realized that being with him was a mistake.

  “Fudge monkey,” she said as he neared.

  “What?”

  “I dropped my shoe in the water. You won by default.” Although she looked mad, her voice held no anger.

  “Call it what you want, sweetheart, but a win is a win. What’d you say when I walked up?”

  She squinted her eyes as if she couldn’t remember.

  “Something about fudge?”

  Her face broke into a huge smile. “Fudge monkey.”

  “What the hell is a fudge monkey?”

  “Nothing. I say it instead of cursing.”

  “Huh?”

  “I used to swear a lot. Bad habit I picked up working with my mom. It’s kind of frowned on as a teacher. So I substitute.”

  “Pretty sure the kids have heard and said it all before. What’s the big deal?”

  “Most kindergarteners don’t swear much. But yeah, they’ve heard everything. Probably more than I even know.”

  “You teach kindergarten?”

  “Yeah.”

  When she’d said she was a teacher, he’d immediately pictured her with high school students. Her sharp edges and quick mouth belonged there. He couldn’t quite picture her talking sweetly with a bunch of little kids.

  “I don’t see it.”

  “What?”

  “You acting like Mr. Rogers talking to all your little friends.”

  She laughed. “I guess you wouldn’t.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She walked away from the water and felt the inside of her shoe. The look on her face said the shoe was soggy. “I don’t act like a kindergarten teacher when I’m not in the classroom.”

  “But you don’t swear even when you’re not in school.”

  “Right. That’s habit though. Easy to fall into bad ones. And I do swear. I allow myself five curse words a day. Limiting myself makes me use them when it really matters. Like yesterday when I discovered Nicky hadn’t fixed my car like he said he would.” She winked. “I went over five yesterday.”

  “You
actually count.”

  “Keeps me honest.”

  He had no idea why this amused him, but it did. “Since you’re so honest, I guess I don’t have to worry about you welching on our bet.”

  The thought of finally finishing what they’d started made him consider skipping hockey practice.

  She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled until their bodies collided. With her eyes locked on his, she whispered against his lips, “We both know you didn’t need a race to get there.”

  When she pressed against his mouth, he couldn’t help but grip her hips and hold her close again. His hands cupped her ass, and crawling back into bed with her was sounding better by the minute.

  “Get a room!” a voice boomed behind them, and Emma jumped back.

  He expected for her to be embarrassed, but she smirked. “Some people can be so jealous.”

  “I like his idea, though.”

  “A room?”

  He nodded. She backed away another step. “The deal was for tonight. I wouldn’t want to ruin you for hockey practice. I want to watch.”

  “You’re a hockey fan?”

  They started walking across the beach, kicking up sand with their feet. “I wouldn’t say a fan of the sport. I’m a fan of hockey players.”

  She didn’t strike him as the puck-bunny type. Right now she seemed like all talk. “You hungry?”

  “We just ate a huge breakfast.”

  “That was like two hours ago.”

  She shook her head.

  “What?”

  “Only guys with the metabolism of teenagers say things like that. It’s not fair.”

  His eyes roamed over her body. As if she needed to worry about metabolism. “I can wait. Ready to ride over to the fest?”

  “Sure.”

  He took her hand. “For the record, if you still want a lesson on driving a motorcycle, I’d give you one. No race involved.”

  The glint in her eye said she wanted to, but she said, “That’s okay. It’s not like I’m going to go out and buy a motorcycle. I’ll stick with my crappy car.”

  Old Town was a neighborhood he liked to visit, but he wouldn’t want to live there. The buildings were all practically on top of each other. One person could lean out a window and touch the neighbor’s house. That was a little too close for comfort. It also meant cars were bumper to bumper on the street. He couldn’t imagine how bad it would be in the middle of winter.

  Driving through slush and snow was nightmare enough, but he hated having to parallel park around chairs and crap that people set out to save their shoveled spots. In his neighborhood, it wasn’t a worry.

  The other thing that struck him about Old Town was the wrought iron everywhere. Around trees, houses, everything. He could appreciate the craftsmanship in it, but it still held the feeling of prison.

  Looks aside, the people in this neighborhood knew how to throw a party.

  After parking the bike, he and Emma walked down the block. Even though they couldn’t see much yet, the music from a Beatles cover band blared through the streets and smells of grilled and fried food filled the air. Sean’s stomach grumbled. “You ready to eat yet?”

  She nodded. “I could eat.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her through the crowds. “What do you want?”

  “Whatever.”

  “I’m thinking beef and sausage. Good?”

  “Yeah.”

  He led her toward the center of the street, where he could see the vendors. He spotted one that looked promising. The line was short, which gave them just enough time to decide what to order. Sean tilted his head for Emma to tell the guy behind the folding table what she wanted to eat.

  “I’ll have a beef dipped with hot peppers.”

  The guy nodded and looked at Sean who said, “Combo. No peppers.”

  He handed over cash and they slid to the side to wait for their food. “Juicy with hot peppers, huh?”

  She smiled at him over her shoulder. “I like it wet and spicy.”

  He swallowed hard. She didn’t let up. Toying with him appeared to be her favorite pastime. When their sandwiches were ready, he picked them up and led the way through the crowd again to a picnic area. They squeezed in on one side of a table, with Sean straddling the bench.

  Emma eyed how close he sat, but didn’t comment. The rest of the table was filled with strangers, and the options were limited. Besides, he wanted to be near enough to touch. He planned to do plenty. They ate mostly in silence except for appreciative moans as they filled their bellies. Emma pulled out the bottles of water from her bag.

  Sean inhaled his food and waited while Emma ate. He was sure she wouldn’t finish the entire sandwich and he hoped to take over. He chugged half his bottle of water. She hunched over the table, attacking her food. He inched her tank top up above where he knew her tattoo decorated her skin. He stroked a finger across it. “What’s the story with this?”

  Her jaw flexed and she glanced out of the corner of her eye. She lifted her shoulders. “Who says there has to be a story?”

  “More often than not, there’s a story.”

  She narrowed her eyes and said, “Then chalk it up to being eighteen and stupid. You know that first glimpse of freedom? That’s what I did with it.”

  He smiled. He knew all about doing stupid shit just because you could.

  She tilted her chin toward his bicep. “What about that?”

  He pulled the short sleeve up, revealing the shamrock. “I was Tommy’s first practice dummy.”

  “Were you afraid you’d forget your name?”

  He pressed his lips together. He had that coming and should’ve expected it from her. “He wanted to do a tat and practice lettering. I agreed.”

  She swallowed another bite of bread and beef before setting the sandwich on the wax wrapper. “No first love you wanted to remember for eternity?”

  From some girls, the question would sound like a fishing expedition, but from Emma, he knew a zinger would follow. “Like I want some chick’s name on my arm so for the rest of my life I have to answer dumb-ass questions? I prefer people to think I’m a stupid drunk.”

  “Fair enough,” she said with a smile. She finished off her sandwich and crumpled up a pile of napkins as she tried to clean her hands. Using his shoulder to push up, she stood and patted her stomach. “As delicious as that was, I need to go work this off.”

  He joined her. “I never thought you’d eat it all.”

  She licked her lips and stood on tiptoe to check out the fest. “Let’s go dance.”

  “I don’t dance.”

  “You’ll dance with me.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  Her lips curved slightly. “That’s what they all say.”

  He had no idea what she had planned, but he allowed her to grab his hand and lead him down the street to where the band played. She pulled them right into the middle of the small crowd in front of the stage. Then she started with the same seductive hip wiggle she’d done at the bar last night.

  She stood in front of him, and her ass rubbed against him just lightly enough for him to wonder if it was intentional. Games weren’t his style, so he wrapped an arm around her waist and yanked her into him. Emma didn’t miss a beat. He lowered his mouth to her neck and kissed.

  Her hips slowed for a second, and he knew he’d hit a good spot. In her ear, he said, “I bet your pussy would taste better.”

  She turned in his arms. Pulling his face close, she said, “Since I’ve never gone down on myself, I can’t really comment.”

  Then she released him and went back to dancing. This woman was damn dangerous.

  Chapter Four

  Sean’s fingers stroked at the tattoo on her back. Part of her hated it. She knew what guys thought when they saw the tramp stamp, so she played the role. She was comfortable there. Part of her wondered if he would talk to another woman the same way. The kind of woman who would never consider a tattoo, much less one on her lower back.

>   Forget it. Her brain was in overdrive, competing with the hormones that Sean continued to stoke. She’d decided to enjoy her weekend, and Sean could give her that. What he thought of her didn’t ultimately matter.

  The music blared, switching tempos. There were a surprising number of people already drunk for a Saturday afternoon. They swayed and sang off-key to “Yesterday.” Emma was too young to have known the Beatles, but her mother had always had some tapes lying around the house.

  As if on cue, her phone rang and before checking it, Emma knew it was her mother. When she pulled the phone from her pocket, she saw a couple of missed texts. All were in the vein of Call me now. Then there were a handful of missed calls. No way could this be something good.

  She wanted to ignore it and pretend for the weekend that she was an orphan with no one counting on her to be responsible.

  Sean tapped her shoulder. “Something wrong?”

  “I have to make a call. I’ll be right back.” She walked away from the music and called her mom at the bar.

  “Schmitty’s,” her mother’s raspy voice answered.

  “What’s up, Mom?”

  “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling all day.”

  Emma sighed. “You’ve called for the past hour. I’m out. What’s the emergency?”

  “I need to borrow some money. I’m late on rent and I’m a little short.”

  “Again?” Every muscle in Emma’s shoulders tensed. She had no idea how her mom managed to be short more often than not. It wasn’t like she didn’t work.

  “I figured I’d make enough this weekend. You know, with the holiday and all. But last night sucked. I’ve got the landlord calling me. I told him to swing by tonight and I’d have his money.”

  “How much?” Emma rubbed her forehead. With her car repairs, she was going to have to juggle bills as it was, but now she’d have to scramble unless she dipped into her savings. And she avoided that at almost all cost.

  “Four hundred.”

  Emma cringed. It was more than half the rent. More than a little short. “Crap.”

  “Do you have it?” Her mom’s question was filled with more expectation than hope. “Nicky’s trying to help, but you know how he is with money.”

  “Do not mention my brother to me right now. I have plenty to say to him when I see him.” She sighed. So much for her fun with Sean. At least if she cut her afternoon short, she could still have her night with him. “I’ll stop by, but I’m not sure when.”