“Why are you asking him and not me?” I snap. She shrinks back, clearly taken aback by my response. She and I have never had a problem before now.
Jeremy wraps a hand around my upper arm and softly tugs me backward as he whispers, “We can talk elsewhere.” Though his voice is soft and he’s speaking quietly, I can feel the tension in his hand as he guides me out of the palace and down the hallway. He grabs my pink helmet from the table near the front door where I left it after Dad escorted me here. He doesn’t trust my car to get me anywhere safely now thanks to Jeremy’s lie.
Even out of the clubhouse, Jeremy’s still frustrated as all get out. He leads me to his bike, throws a leg over, and crooks his index finger at me. I affix my helmet to my head just as he does his own. We’re staring each other down like our lives depend on this eye contact.
As rebellious as I’m prone to be, even I know not to argue in this moment. Without a single word, I climb onto the rumbling bike, place my feet on the foot rests and wrap my arms around his midsection. He signals to Dunce, a prospect who’s been absent as of late, as he opens the gate for us, and we take off through the Forsaken Custom Cycle lot and down Main Street. The wet ground is slick beneath the tires of the bike. It’s been raining here fairly regularly the last few weeks—and thank goodness, too—but it seems like folks forget how to function in the first rain of the season. It could be three weeks without any rain, and the first rain is always the most dangerous. I never understood why until this moment.
Time has a way of making us forget the danger and the pain. I was so angry with Jeremy right after our date and then just disappointed when he never made the attempt to apologize. Then at the school, and with Tracie, and at the Jennings’ house a few weeks ago... after everything, I still like the feel of wrapping my arms around him. I like having my face pressed into his cut. I like his smell and his smile. I love his eyes, and I’m becoming quickly addicted to his bossy nature. But it’s a slippery slope, because the wounds are still so fresh and I’m not the best at letting things go. Chel didn’t technically do anything to hurt me, even if her actions did end up causing me pain. And I know how it is with the Lost Girls, so I really shouldn’t be surprised. Still, it’s going to take a while for me to be mature enough to not hate her.
But I’ve seen her fucking vagina, and if I could see it clear enough from where I stood, then Jeremy definitely got a good peep show. And that just pisses me off to no end.
“Stop it,” Jeremy shouts from in front of me. One of his hands leave the handlebars as he swats at my hands on his abdomen. We swerve slightly before he corrects us, now with both hands on the handlebars. I should be frightened since he’s only been riding since summer, but for some reason I trust him. Maybe not totally with my heart, but definitely with my life.
It’s only now that I realize that the more I think about Chel, the harder I dig my nails into his flesh. I retract my claws and close my eyes and enjoy the ride. As an apology, I trace small circles over the place I was scratching him. We slow down as the road gets bumpy, and the salty tang of the air grows stronger. Opening my eyes, I see we’re at the beach.
Jeremy cuts the bike off and pushes down her kickstand. I reluctantly let him go and push myself off the bike and onto the sandy concrete. He climbs down, and we remove our helmets and rest them on the seat side by side. There’s barely enough room for both of them, but he makes them fit. When he turns toward me, he looks down at my thin cotton long-sleeve and shakes his head. I didn’t think to grab a jacket before he dragged me out of the clubhouse, not that he gave me the opportunity to think about how cold I’d be. I didn’t even know where we were headed. He shrugs off his cut and hands it to me. I take the leather in my hands and marvel at the weight of it. I always forget how heavy they are until I’m holding one. It’s substantial, that’s for sure. It doesn’t weigh quite as much as my dad’s, but I’m guessing that’s partially because it’s maybe a size smaller and doesn’t have as many patches on it as Dad’s does. It will, though. One day Jeremy will have his top rocker and maybe even a few more patches. The only patch I don’t want him to collect is a memory patch, because that means he’s lost a brother.
“You’ll be cold,” I say as I realize he’s unzipping his Forsaken hoodie and handing it to me. He shakes his head and reaches out with both hands. Grabbing his cut, he shoves the hoodie in my face again, so I take it. Slipping the hoodie on, I bask in his scent and the size of the item. I curl the ends of the sleeves around my closed fists and huddle in when the winter wind picks up.
“I like seeing you in that,” he says with a nod.