“Says any girl who ever wrapped their legs around me,” he stated, fitting the helmet onto my head and tightening the chin strap. “Looks good on you, “nurse make me feel good,”” he teased, before throwing his leg over his bike and glancing back over his shoulder at me. “Get on, Kitten.”
I stared at him for a moment, watching as he revved the engine of the bike and how easily his foot kicked up the kickstand. It was so tempting, something I always wanted to do. I could argue, going for a ride with Riggs was just a check off my bucket list, but the more I stared at the man and not the bike, the more I wanted to because of him and not some silly fantasy.
“Are you always this crazy?” I asked, walking closer to him.
“I prefer the term colorful,” he winked. “Place one hand on my shoulder and throw your leg over, then place your feet on the pegs but be careful of the exhaust pipe.”
“I have virgin written all over my face, don’t I?” I said, as I went through the motions. Once I was fully seated behind him, I wrapped my arms around his waist. He tightened my arms around him and glanced over his shoulder.
“Not exactly what I think when I look at your face, Kitten,” he drawled. “Hang on,” he added before pulling away from the curb.
I’ve done a lot of stuff that one might consider exciting, like parasailing in Cancun and the time I took skydiving lessons but didn’t have the balls to jump out of the plane. But getting on the back of Riggs’ bike, not knowing where we were going, evoked an adrenaline rush quite like no other I ever experienced. The wind in my hair, the sharp turns and fast ride…it was everything. And I never wanted it to end.
I clutched the leather of his vest tightly with my fingers and laid my chin on his shoulder. The smell of his cologne tickled my nostrils and gave me one more thing to add to the memory. I’d go back home, to my shit job, and my upside down life but when I was alone and trying to figure out where I went from there, something told me I’d remember the feel of the leather beneath my fingertips and the way he smelled so fresh.
He pulled into L&B Spumoni Garden’s parking lot and killed the engine of the bike.
“I’m hungry,” he declared, as we climbed off the bike. “And I hate eating alone,” he added, taking my hand and dragging me toward the pizzeria so we could stand in line and wait our turn.
“So you’re not going to tell me how you stored your number in my phone?” He grinned in response. “Okay, then are you going to tell me anything about yourself?”
“That depends,” he said thoughtfully.
“On?”
“Are you going to tell me why a girl like you works in a place called The Pink Pussycat and not off saving lives?”
“Isn’t that a bit dramatic?”
“Not really,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders then holding up his hands in defeat. “Don’t look at me like that, just a concerned friend,” he explained.
“A concerned friend?” I questioned.
He threw his arm over my shoulders and brought me closer to him. The same way my brother used too. What a blow to the ego.
“Of course, Kitten. It’s a bitch living two lives,” he declared, stepping up to place our order.
The girl at the counter was a fan of Riggs’, batting her eyelashes and scowling at me before she promised to bring our pizza to the table for us. She probably would poison me so she could slide into the booth with him.
I shook my head and dismissed her, bringing myself back to what Riggs last said.
“You speaking from experience?” I asked him, as we sat down across from one another. He took his hat off for a second to run his hands through his hair before he pulled the knit skull cap down again.
“Maybe,” he said, leaning over the table. “You tell me your secrets and I’ll tell you mine,” he teased.
“You know my secret already. Which makes this friendship unfair as you have an advantage over me. We should be on common ground, so for the sake of our friendship you need to tell me some deep dark secret of yours,” I said coyly.
His eyes dipped to my lips, and I reached out, lifting his chin with my index finger so our eyes could meet.
“Fine, what do you want to know?” He spread his arms wide in emphasis. “I’ll give you anything you want,” he grinned, glancing down at his crotch. “Anything,” he confirmed.
The waitress dropped off our slices and Riggs went to work heavily shaking red pepper flakes all over his pizza. So he liked things spicy. Me too.
He took a huge bite, chomping away, when the thing I wanted to know most came to me.
“Your name,” I said.
“What about it?” He replied, as he chewed, reaching for his bottle of water.
“Tell me what your real name is,” I said, picking at the slice in front of me, still not sure the waitress didn’t spike it to get to Riggs.
He swallowed the food he was chewing and stared at me quietly for a beat.
“You said anything,” I reminded him.
“Robert,” he hissed, as though it pained him to say. “Robert Montgomery the third,” he finished, taking a big gulp of water, washing down the foul taste his real name left on his tongue.