“So…which is the truth? Are you little Miss innocent or you some wild child looking for a good time?” He asked, diverting his eyes back to the road.
I thought about his question for a while and wondered if I should answer him truthfully. If I told him I was tired of being the good girl, tired of pleasing everyone and just wanted to live. I wondered what he would say.
I’m not saying I want to live recklessly, but would it be so bad to take chances? To experience life and find out what I really wanted from it?
“I liked the naughty school girl bit you had going on tonight, but this…” he said, waving his hand at me, “…this wholesome thing is pretty hot too,” he complimented, shrugging his shoulders.
“Who are you?” I asked dumbfounded.
He looked back toward the road, driving with one hand and the other hand pointed to the name on his leather vest.
I squinted and peered over the rim of my glasses to read the name from his patch.
“Riggs?”
He dropped his hand to the shifter and nodded.
“Is that some sort of nickname?” I questioned.
He rolled his eyes in disgust.
“It’s my road name,” he said, through gritted teeth. “You know what a road name is don’t you?” I remained silent, and he took that as his answer. “It’s the name I use for my club.”
“Like a motorcycle club?”
“Give her a gold star,” he said sarcastically.
“What is your problem?”
“I hate your brother right now, and while we are getting to know one another and all that warm fuzzy shit, you should know I detest your mother too,” he paused, eyeing me for a reaction. “The jury’s still out on you,” he continued.
“Touching,” I said, rolling my eyes. “My jury came back with their verdict—you most definitely are a dick,” I stated, turning my head to look out the window. “Stop the car,” I demanded, grabbing my bag from the floor and reaching for the handle on the door.
“Cut the shit,” he replied, hitting the lock button on his door, trapping me beside him.
I reached inside my purse looking for something I could use as a weapon…tampons, past due electric bill, lip gloss, ah ha! I wrapped my hand around the can, pulled it out and aimed the nozzle at him.
“I said stop the car,” I ground out.
“Shit, not you too,” he shook his head. “You people have watched The Godfather way to many times. I bet you’re a dish thrower,” he glanced at me. “Put the mace down, kitten,” he said calmly.
“Then pull the car over and I will walk the rest of the way,” I insisted, keeping my hand firmly on the mace.
“How come you don’t have a car? Shouldn’t everyone who lives in the middle of nowhere have a car?” He questioned, as he pulled the car over and dropped the shifter into park. He kept his finger on the lock and twisted himself around so he was facing me.
“Asked you a question,” he reminded.
“None of your business,” I hissed. “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been such an inconvenience to you but the longer you keep your hand on that button, the longer you’re stuck with me,” I said.
“I think I’ve lost my fucking mind,” he whispered.
“Yes, you have,” I confirmed. “Unlock the door,” I demanded again.
“Why are you lying to your mother about quitting nursing school?” He questioned.
“How the hell do you even know that?” I asked exasperated, dropping the can of mace back into my purse and pressing my head against the seat. I closed my eyes and counted to three.
Re-opening my eyes, I was confronted by gorgeous, expressive eyes that belonged to the most annoying man I had ever met.
Yeah, not a fucking a dream.
“Don’t tell your roommate if you ever off someone, girl’s got loose lips,” he replied.
“I have no idea why I’m even asking you this and I’m sure I’m going to kick myself in the ass but—you in some kind of trouble, kitten?”
Mia. I was going to off her. She was the reason this Riggs character knew my fucking life story.
I rubbed my temples, opened my eyes and fixed them on his.
“Stop pretending like you give a shit and just take me home, that way we both can be rid of one another,” I said, turning my head away from him and staring out the window.
“I knew I shouldn’t have asked,” he mumbled, as he roughly put the car back into drive and peeled off the service road. “Fucking Bianci,” he growled.
My mother was right.
This man was a hooligan.
A panty dropping, hooligan.
Five minutes later, he pulled up in front of my apartment and I climbed out of the truck, happy to be rid of him.
Even though he was easy on the eyes.
Despite he was a hot biker.
I slammed the door and marched my way toward my building, not turning back until I heard him call out.
“You’re fucking welcome,” he shouted out the window.
I spun on my heel, glaring at him over the rim of my glasses.
“I didn’t fucking thank you!”
“Now there’s an idea,” he replied, giving me that grin one last time before he peeled away from the curb.
Chapter Three
Three Months Later