Stealing the biker, p.2
Stealing the Biker, page 2
“Ha. Ha. There’s no time. I’ll message you. Stay put.”
“Why? Afraid Jonesy will see us together.”
“Yes. And never read my messages again.” I stomp off to class before I get marked absent.
Jerk.
Guys are the worst.
I take my usual seat at the back of the room to hide. I only took this class because I needed an elective. I’m only passing the class because I’ve been helping paint the set for the Christmas play. The only thing I enjoy about school is seeing Jonesy between classes. My daily routine hinges on passing him in the hallway. Yesterday he smiled at me. Today has to be the day he’s going to ask me to homecoming.
All my subtle hints are bound to pay off.
I spend most of third period daydreaming about him asking at the end of the day right before he has football practice. I made sure to dress extra cute today for the occasion. I wore the perfect fall dress that pairs with my sister’s jean jacket she forgot about when she moved in with Navarro. I take my compact out of my purse and make sure my makeup doesn’t need a touch up.
Sam thinks he’s going to ask me.
It’s destined to happen.
I pull out my phone and look at Jonesy’s latest Snap. Man, the muscles on him. I wonder if the prospect has an account. I look him up using his phone number. He doesn’t have a profile, but he does have an Instagram account. There’s only one post. I can tell by the background of his selfie that it was taken behind the clubhouse.
What a dork.
The bell rings and I seriously consider leaving the prospect locked up in the changing rooms, but I don’t want to catch hell from my Uncle Link.
I’m about to fetch him when Bethany shoves her way through the people attempting to leave class.
“Sooo are you going to tell me who the guy was who was walking you to class earlier?” She looks around me, as though she expects Jimmy to materialize out of thin air.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your biker hottie boyfriend.”
“Shh. Keep your voice down. You know how protective my uncle can be. It’s nothing. But seriously, don’t tell anyone he’s here. Pinky swear.”
Bethany makes the motion of locking her lips and throwing away the key. She knows better than to go blabbing about club business. She’s related to my Aunt Pam through marriage or something and thinks that makes us family. She’s super annoying, but I do my best to tolerate her.
“What is it you think you know, anyway?”
“Nothing. I saw the two of you and recognized him from the last cookout Pam let me go to. Is he your boyfriend?”
The easier answer would be to lie and tell her yes. One thing about news here is it travels fast, and I need to make sure she doesn’t go spreading gossip about me that could reach Jonesy. “You know how it is. I can’t talk about why he’s here.”
“Think you can introduce me? He’s so hot.”
“No way. He’s too old for you.” Bethany is only a sophomore. She has no business lusting after Jimmy.
“You like him.”
“Ew. No way. “
“Hmm,” she muses.
“Look. Just keep it quiet and maybe I’ll let you sit with us at lunch tomorrow,” I lie. I doubt he’ll be back tomorrow.
“Bet,” she says and practically skips out the door.
Ugh.
Though I’d rather pluck my eyelashes out with the world’s smallest tweezers than have lunch with this guy, I can’t have him getting busted for lurking around the school, either. I find him sprawled on the worn-out sofa like he’s at home, phone in hand.
I sniff the air, smelling smoke. “Were you smoking in here?” I accuse.
“No.” he jumps up quickly, scrambling to shove his phone in his back pocket. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s perfect. Come on. It’s lunchtime. Put this on.” I grab him someone’s forgotten hoodie hanging on the back of a chair. “Pull the hood up and stick with me.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t argue and hands me his leather jacket to put the hoodie on, even though it’s at least a size too small and he looks silly.
I shove his leather jacket into my locker, noting it smells like his cologne. Spicy with a hint of smoke.
I secure us an empty table that sits farthest away from Jonesy Ripley and his buddies.
Jimmy plunks down in a seat, dropping his backpack on the floor.
“Watch my stuff. I’ll get us a tray. And don’t talk to anyone or draw attention to yourself.”
“Yeah, babe. I’m aware.”
“Don’t call me babe.”
“Sure thing, brat.”
“Whatever.” I glance back at him to see him staring at his phone, tight faced. What crawled up his ass?
I’m not that difficult.
Okay. Maybe I’ve been a little rude, but no one would be happy about the situation I’m in. having to worry that my father will show up and do something outrageous or hurt me to get at my mother while navigating my senior year.
I look over to where Jonesy and some of the other players from the team are seated and wonder if he’s noticed that I’m not sitting by them today. I hate how much I overthink every single thing.
I wish he would ask me to the dance already. I should have listened to Kimber when she said to make him chase me. But I don’t exactly know how to do that.
My phone buzzes and it’s a text from Jimmy.
Hey brat, grab me something to drink.
He’s got some nerve. How’d he get my number so fast? Probably my uncle.
I roll my eyes at his demand and reluctantly grab a can of Cherry Coke for him from the vending machine and a juice for myself. I pay extra for a second serving of chicken tenders. I don’t know what Jimmy’s preferences are, but surely everyone likes chicken tenders and mashed potatoes.
I slide the tray onto the table and hold out the can of pop for him. “Do you like Cherry Coke?”
“Not really.” He snatches my juice off the tray instead and pinches a corner of the roll to dip into the mashed potatoes.
“Everyone likes Cherry Coke,” I grumble.
“Let me guess. Jonesy loves Cherry Coke.” His voice comes out acidic, dripping with sarcasm. “Shouldn’t you be having lunch with him and bringing him a Coke?”
“None of your business.”
“Come on. Point him out. I need to see this kid.”
I ignore him. There’s no way I’m letting him know who Jonesy is. He’ll probably do something to embarrass me in front of him on purpose. “You do know there’s an extra fork you can use and don’t eat all the mashed potatoes.” I elbow him in the rib as I scootch in next to him to share my tray, temporarily forgetting my annoyance at his intruding on my day.
“Sorry, brat.” He grins at me, twisting the tray around so that the mashed potatoes face me.
“You’re such a slob.” I laugh, handing him a napkin to wipe the food away from his mouth.
“You’re really not going to point him out? Is he even here?”
I shrug. “You know how it is for football players.”
“Not really.”
“Everyone always wants a piece of them.”
“Maybe you should go for someone less popular then.”
“That’s part of the appeal.”
He frowns at me like my answer disappoints him. “So, you’re one of those types.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The kind of girl who only goes after someone for their looks and their status. Doesn’t matter if the guy is a dickhead as long as he’s popular.”
Clenching my fork, I stab a chicken tender, aggressively. “What would you know about it? Jonesy’s nice. Mostly. I don’t care that he’s the captain of the football team. You wouldn’t understand.”
Jimmy shrugs. “Trust me. I get it more than you know. Gotta climb the social ladder or else you won’t get invited to the parties.”
“Let me guess. You never got invited.” I smirk. “I bet you would have loved to have been popular when you were in school.”
“I used to think so.”
“What changed?”
“I graduated and realized it didn’t matter what anyone thought of me. What mattered was what I think of myself, and I happen to like me.”
“Did you read that on a fortune cookie or read it on a quote somewhere?”
“Nope. Are you going to point this crush of yours out or what?”
Ugh. He’s so annoying that I almost miss Bethany.
Chapter Three
“So that’s the guy?” I chuckle. I’m not sure what I expected Kiesha’s crush to look like, but this chump isn’t what I was picturing for her. Not that I care.
“Why are you laughing?”
“No reason.”
“You’re a shit liar,” she huffs at me, crumpling her napkin and tossing it onto the nearly empty tray.
“And what am I lying about? Enlighten me.”
“I don’t know. You just are.”
I look back to where Jonesy goofs off with his buddies. He’s a stereotypical jock. Wearing his jersey, hair gelled back, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Dude thinks he’s the cock of the walk. “Tell me something. What’s so great about him?”
“I don’t have to explain my reasons to you.” She shifts in her seat, her thigh brushing against mine. “He just. I don’t know. He notices me when others don’t seem to. He’s different.”
“That doesn’t tell me much of anything.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t. But I know his type. Full of himself. Thinks he’s God’s gift to everyone. Especially girls.”
“You probably can’t get a girlfriend,” she snaps and shoves an apple slice between her pouty lips.
“I’ve had no complaints.” Sabrina said she took one look at me and knew she was going to love me forever. Ember teases it’s because I was the only guy in our town Sabrina wasn’t related to. She’s not wrong about that.
I twist the cap off the bottled pineapple and mango juice Kiesha grabbed. I can feel the heat of her stare as I gulp down a drink. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing. Sure.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Cocking my head to the side, I study her profile, wondering if she’s always so sassy.
Her brows knit as she catches me staring out the corner of her eye. “What?”
“Quit asking ‘what’ whenever I look at you.”
“I would if you’d stop staring at me.”
“You’re too pretty for a guy like that.”
Pink stains her cheeks. “You don’t know him. I…you…”
“I know the type. You forget, it wasn’t that long ago that I was a senior.”
“Right.” She sucks down half of her Coke.
“So, what’s the deal with your father?”
“Don’t call him that. He’s a sperm donor. Nothing more. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk at all.”
An awkward silence stretches between us. Sabrina keeps texting and asking what I’m doing, and I keep ignoring her. I can’t focus on her being needy for attention and do my job.
I distract Kiesha and myself from our problems with conversation.
“What are your plans after graduation?”
“Sam and I are going to cosmetology school. I want to do makeup and nails, and they are studying to do hair.”
“They?”
“Sam is nonbinary and prefers they/them pronouns.”
“Noted.”
“Good. Don’t say her or she. Just call them Sam, but better yet, just be invisible.”
“I’m not happy about this arrangement, either. You think I don’t have something else I’d rather be doing?”
“Like what? Washing motorcycles in a skirt or scrubbing puke coated toilets?”
“Ha. Ha. I should be having lunch with my woman, but instead I’m stuck repeating my senior year to babysit a smartassed brat.”
“Ouch.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You meant it exactly like that. But I get it. My own alleged father doesn’t give a shit about me. Why should you?”
“Obviously, people care about you or else I wouldn’t be here.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be. I can look after myself. You can go. I won’t rat you out or anything. It’s fine. I doubt my sperm donor even knows where to find me. Not that he’d ever bother to come looking.”
“Kiesha.” I pause, trying to choose my words wisely. Teen girls can be ultra-sensitive. “Whatever his reasons, I’m sure your sperm donor cares about you and doesn’t want to do you harm. Not really, but addiction is a nasty beast and changes people. Takes them over. Makes them choose to lash out and be destructive. And trust me. However much you think you hate him. Deep down, he hates himself triple that amount.”
“What would you know about it?”
“I’m the product of two addicts. I’ve been through some bad shit. Trust me, he’s been doing the greatest act of love by keeping out of your life. The shit he’d bring with him.” I shake my head. “You don’t want any part of that. And yeah. He’s the one missing out on his beautiful and talented daughter.”
“You think I’m beautiful?”
“You know you are.”
Her cheeks color a deeper shade of pink as unshed tears glitter in the creases of her eyes. “You’re just being nice, but thank you.”
“Trust me. Lots of guys in this school wish they could get with you.”
“No, they don’t. I’m not popular. I’ve never been asked out. Guys don’t approach me.”
“They’re intimidated. Even your crush that keeps glancing over here.”
“Oh my God. Jonesy’s looking?”
“Yeah.” I grin. “About every two minutes.”
“Don’t stare at him, but what’s he doing right now?”
“Probably debating on coming over here or wondering why you’re not over there.”
“Shut up.” She shoves me in the chest with both palms and I nearly fall out of my seat. “What should I do?”
“Why are you asking me?”
“You’re a guy and have a girlfriend. How did you win her over?”
“I didn’t. She sort of just chose me when we were kids, and I’ve been with her ever since then.”
“Whoa. So you’ve only ever dated the same girl?”
“Yup.” I scratch the back of my neck, pushing the hood down.
Kiesha touches the tattoo on my neck. “You have her name on your neck?”
The muscle in my jaw pulses as I swallow, hard. “Stupid, right?”
“I think it’s romantic.” She smiles at me and quickly pulls her hand back to her lap.
“Careful. Your jock might get the wrong idea.”
“Is he still watching?”
He’s not. He’s flirting with some cheerleaders, but I lie. “Yeah. He looks jealous.”
“Really?” she brightens.
“Absolutely.”
“Do you think he likes me?”
“He’d be a fool not to, even if you are a brat.”
“Ugh.” She deflates.
“I’m only teasing you.”
“I know that.” She sits up straighter and pokes at the remaining apple slices with her fork. “After this I have anatomy, then art. You can hang in the library or chill in the bathroom until the final bell. I can meet you at the back door or at your truck.”
“You sure you don’t want to lock me up in a broom closet or the boiler room?”
“Uh no. That’s the make-out spot. You definitely will get caught.”
“How do you know it’s the make-out spot? Thought you said guys don’t approach you.”
“Everyone knows about it. I don’t know from experience or anything. It’s just a fact.”
I want to tease her further, but let it go. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea and think I’m trying to flirt with her, but she makes it too damn easy to get a rise out of her. “Library it is then.”
I grab a book off the shelf not really caring what it is and take a seat on the floor, hoping no one asks questions or even notices I’m here. I flip the book open to a random page and pull my cell out to let Link know that Kiesha is in class and fine, other than being a brat.
At the school. She’s good. Do you have a picture of this asshole I’m supposed to be keeping a lookout for?
Do a mugshot search and his latest will pull up.
I type in the website and after a few minutes I ping the fucker’s image. Seems like he gets arrested often. How do people like him continue to be released to repeat their same transgressions? My father was the same damn way.
Proved time after time how selfish he was. How he loved drugs more than he hated himself. I never gave up on him. Not even in the end, when he was on life support from his organs, giving out from years of abuse due to his continued drug usage. I sat at his bedside praying for a miracle. For him to wake up and turn into a new person overnight.
The reality was it was never going to happen. He was who he was, same as Kiesha’s father is who he is.
There’s no changing or helping someone who can’t see past the disease of addiction.
They eat, sleep, and breathe their next fix.
My mother wasn’t much better. I had hoped my father’s death would wake her up, but in the end, his loss had the opposite effect. She was determined to join him in death as soon as possible. And she succeeded, thanks to Cloud Nine.
I don’t talk about my childhood much. Not even with Sabrina. One of the main reasons I wanted to join the club was because of how hard they work to prevent others from suffering the way I did. The way my parents did.
Protecting Kiesha from a man who will destroy her to get what he wants is personal for me.
If I can save her from that pain, I will.
No one understands what she’s going through better than me.
Chapter Four
Finally, the last bell rings and I dash to my locker, hoping to see Jonesy before he hustles off to football practice. I pretend to be looking through one of my binders as he struts down the hallway like royalty. He’s the king around here and I’d give anything to be his queen.
