Page 15 of Unwritten Rules

A loud revving sound came from behind the vehicles in the driveway and a motorcycle slowly made its way to the curb.

Right in front of me.

The guy on the bike flipped up his visor and I immediately knew those eyes; they’re the same eyes that stared at me just a few days ago from across the street. Darkened blue in the night’s dimming light–dangerous, and staring right into my soul as if he knew my deepest secrets. Something sharp in them made my skin prickle.

Brent Vaughn.

On a motorcycle.

Handing me a helmet.

“Do you do this with every girl?” I stood taller, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You hungry or not?” He had a mild level of annoyance in his voice. He probably wasn’t used to being questioned let alone turned down.

I planted my hands on my hips. “You aresonot coming to my house.”

He flicked out his kickstand with a smooth motion of his foot and leaned back, mimicking my body language. “Who said we’re going to your house? Not to offend you but,” he looked me up and down, “you don’t seem like that type of girl.”

He wore riding gloves, a leather jacket, and dark riding pants–the exact image you’d get if you searched ‘biker guy’ on the internet.

And he was offeringmea seat on his bike.

“Only if there’s real food,” I grumbled, snatching the helmet from his hands. “If not, I’m going to head butt you to death with this thing.”

I slipped it over my head, feeling my heartbeat in my ears.I’m not nervous. Just hungry,I reassured myself.

Brent moved forward and patted the seat behind him, urging me to get a move on.

I slipped my leg over the side and set my feet up on the corresponding spots for them. Moving around a little to get my ass in a comfortable position, it felt like I was sitting in a tiny saddle. It was a seat, but it wasn’t the most luxurious one.

He snaked his hand back and snatched my arm, wrapping it around him. “You have to hold onto me, Blondie.”

Revving the engine, we were off. The bike sped up with little effort and zipped us through town, a comforting hum keeping me grounded on my first official ride on a bike. Wind whipped past us, muffled by the helmet, as we picked up speed to get on the highway.

Oh shit, he’s taking me somewhere to kill me. My first night out and it’s to go get murdered. Kelly is going to have choice words at my funeral.

The large buildings became scarce as we made it out of Willow Bay and out into the outskirts of suburban living. The last time I’d been out of Willow Bay was to go to the airport. I’d never ventured out to explore the surrounding area before.

He was silent for the entirety of the ride; I gathered words weren’t his forte. After about thirty minutes on the highway, we finally took an exit.

We made a few turns here and there, finally slowing down on a gravel road with a building at the end. It held a flickering neon sign.

24 Hour Diner - Finest Pie in the USA

The bike rumbled as we slowed and parked in front of a diner that looked like it was straight out of 1952, the exterior was faded in various shades of reds and blues.This place sure had charm back in the day.I dismounted and pulled off the helmet, shaking out my hair and hoping that it didn’t smear my makeup. The last thing I needed was to look like a hot mess in front of this guy I’d already embarrassed myself with. Lightly combing my fingers through my hair, I snuck a peek at my reflection in the helmet.

Good to go.

“Alright, Blondie. You in the mood for greasy food and the best dessert you’ve ever eaten in your life?” He pulled his helmet off in one swift motion, his buzz cut unaffected by a helmet.

My legs wobbled as I took the first steps away from the bike. He chuckled and led me through the glass doors that jingled as they opened, alerting the staff to new customers.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” An older, graying waitress stepped out from the counter in a poodle dress and apron, fresh pot of coffee in hand.

I was immediately greeted by the smell of fresh coffee, bacon, and pie. Red vinyl booths lined up under each window, and a jukebox in the far corner played chart-topping music from my grandparents' era.

“Go ahead and sit in your regular booth. I’ll be by to–” she stopped and gawked at me. “Who’s the young lady?”

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