For You(10)
Author: Mimi Strong

The suggestions Lana had made were swirling around my head, sending heat between my legs.

Sawyer turned his head slowly, like he could sense me standing there, checking him out.

His green eyes crinkled at the corner as he gave me a smile.

Bruce waved me over. “Aubrey! You didn’t tell me Sawyer offered to show you some tips at pool. You’re going to take him up on it, I hope.”

I shrugged my shoulders back as I stuck my hands in my pockets self-consciously.

Lana snuck up behind me and pinched the back of my arm.

Before she could open her mouth and embarrass me, I said, “You bet I am. He needs a fresh set of eyes on something he’s working on, and we’re going to trade.”

Sawyer raised his eyebrows. “I thought you were blowing me off. But you’re in?”

“I’m in.”

Bruce said, “We’re not too busy, so how about you knock off early? Right about now?”

A pulse of terror shot through me, but at least it was sobering. Right now?

Bruce rummaged around and grabbed my purse, plopping it on the bar’s counter. “Free to go.”

My grandmother would be picking Bell up from school, expecting me to be working late. I was free to go, but did I want to go?

Sawyer was already saying goodbye to Bruce, and then I was following him out the door, into the bright sun. Right. It was still daytime.

Chapter Four

I sneezed, twice.

“You won’t sneeze if you shut one eye,” Sawyer said, squinting at the sky. “Nature’s sunglasses.”

I closed one eye and sneezed a third time.

“Takes practice,” he said.

“Doesn’t everything.” I pulled my sunglasses from my purse and put them on.

Sawyer leaned over and peered into my purse, which was full of stuff like granola bars, suckers, and loose napkins.

“That’s a mom-sized purse,” he said, then, “Ooh, suckers! Can I have one?”

I clutched the purse closed against my stomach. “Not cool.”

Unfazed, he chuckled. “Fine, I didn’t really want a sucker.”

We stopped next to a big motorcycle, and he handed me a shiny black helmet.

“No way,” I said. “Nu-uh.”

“I had two glasses of beer over four hours. I assure you, I’m as sober as when I got up this morning.” He rubbed his chin, which had some dark stubble from not having shaved for a couple days. “Nope, I think I’m more sober than I was this morning.”

“I don’t ride on motorcycles.”

“Not even one as sweet as this?”

The bike was gleaming in the afternoon sun like a physical manifestation of pride and joy. The tank was black on top, with a gold-colored stripe that had the Harley Davidson logo stretched along it, the words almost unrecognizable until you got close. The bottom of the tank was gray, with some darker spikes that looked like a tribal-style tattoo. The black seat was scooped down at the front and higher in the back, where the passenger sat. All the chrome along the engine and the exhaust pipes was clean and shined brighter than most people’s jewelry. Two rear-view mirrors, also polished to a dazzling shine, rose above the bike’s handles, on either side of a curved windscreen.

“It is a nice bike,” I said.

He snorted. “Nice?”

“I don’t know anything about bikes, or riding them.”

“But you know how to hang on, right? You could put your arms around me and hang on tight.” He smirked in a way that made me want to punch him or kiss him.

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Not on a gorgeous day like this.” He breathed deeply, his broad chest expanding as he leaned his head back and sunned his face. “We’ll detour down to the beach and get that salty sea breeze. You’ll be begging me to take you bike shopping before the end of the day.”

“Maybe another time. I should get home and use the extra time to catch up on laundry.”

He gave me another sexy, mocking look, as if to say, laundry is for losers, so I just buy new clothes every week, like this super-tight, brand-new T-shirt I’m wearing to show off my big chest and arm muscles.

“And dishes,” I added.

He grabbed some mirrored sunglasses from the bike’s cockpit and put them on. “Dishes. Sounds serious. Hop on and I’ll give you a lift home.” He held the helmet out to me again, and I accepted. “Take your sunglasses off first, shorty,” he said.

“I’m not short.”

“It’s an expression. Shorty.”

Squeezing the tight helmet onto my head gave me a wave of panic, of claustrophobia. Once the helmet was in place, my panic receded. The lower part was tighter, hugging the base of my skull, but I had enough room inside the bubble of it for my ears to be comfortable. I put my sunglasses back on, careful not to poke myself in the eye.

Sawyer grabbed for my purse, and I stepped back reflexively.

“Gimme that,” he said. “That strap’s too short to go over your helmet, and you can’t wear it loose over your shoulder like that.”

I handed him my purse and he looped the strap over his head, then twisted the purse around front, above his belt. My ample purse looked tiny on his muscular frame.

He got a mischievous look. “Do you like my fanny pack?”

“Stay out of there.”

“What if my blood sugar gets low and I need a sucker desperately?” He groped the leather purse along the outside. His eyes were hidden behind his mirrored sunglasses, but his lips were curved up in a smile. “Just doing a weapons check. Hmm. No handgun. Phew. What’s this?” He outlined the shape of a slim cylinder. “You don’t wear lipstick, so I’m guessing this is pepper spray. Am I right?”

“None of your business.”

He threw one long, muscular leg over the bike and righted it. Looking over his shoulder at me, he said, “Buckle that helmet and get on.”

“But you don’t have a helmet.”

“The cops around here are pretty lenient if the helmet’s on the passenger. Plus this guarantees you I’ll drive extra-safe, doesn’t it?”

I buckled the strap under my chin, pinching my skin. “Shit!”

“Don’t pinch yourself.”

“Thanks.” I stepped up to the bike and got on the back, careful not to touch Sawyer, and rested my hands behind me on the loop of metal behind the seat.

“You’ll throw my balance off like that.” He turned the key and the engine shuddered to life, the leather seat trembling between my legs. “Put your arms around my waist.”

“I’ve got my hands on this bar back here. Isn’t that what it’s for?”

“Aubrey, don’t be a wuss. Put your arms around me and hold on tight, so you can lean when I lean, just don’t—”