Page 11 of The Biker's Last Rodeo
I think this is what people call‘daddy issues.’I’ll have to Google that later.
The floor creaks under my weight, each step echoing louder than it should in the stillness of Duke’s old farmhouse. The air smells like dust, sunbaked wood, and something faintly metallic I can’t identify.
I glance up. The staircase winds like a spine into the shadowed second floor, and for a moment, I wonder what kind of ghosts Duke keeps hidden there. Something tells me there’s a lot of them. Beyond the stairs, a grandfather clock stands ticking back and forth in rhythm with my heart.
Somehow, I felt safer outside, tied up in the center of the ring.
“All that snooping, you must be hungry,” he groans, kicking his dusty old boots off by the door.
“I am, but I could use a shower first,” I stare down at my dust covered dress, “and something else to wear. I’m covered in dirt.”
Duke shifts his weight, eyes lingering for a moment too long, like maybe he wants to play captive a little longer, then finally he turns away. “Shower’s upstairs. Don’t take all day.”
I nod and turn away, climbing the wood staircase as I study the ornate wallpaper that looks original to the house. It’s cracked and peeling in the corners, frayed and worn where picture frames once sat. I wonder why he hasn’t reclaimed this space yet or made it his own. Actually, I know why. He’s been too busy chasing down the devil.
When I’m finally upstairs, locked behind the door of the small bathroom, I turn on the shower and pull out my phone to text Kera. I’m sure she’s nervous considering the way we left things earlier, and I’m desperate to tell her all the filthy things that happened this afternoon.
Me: This is me letting you know I’m not dead.
She replies a second later as though she’s been sitting by her phone waiting.
Kera: What’s the password?
Me: LOL. Strawberry sprinkles.
Kera: Okay, I guess. So what’s going on? Where are you?
Me: Currently in his bathroom, taking a shower while he makes dinner.
Kera: Sounds like a date.
Me: I don’t date red flags, remember? I wave them.
Kera: Right! You want me to pick you up?
Me: Let me have dinner first. I think maybe I’ve got him on the edge of something good.
Kera: You’re not talking about the story anymore, are you?
Me: I would never.
Kera: …
Me: What? Don’t act like you don’t know me.
Kera: I do… that’s the problem.
Me: And how’s it going convincing your mom not to hire a bodyguard to follow you to school in the fall?
Kera: She’s interviewing ex-Navy Seals. One of them has a neck tattoo that says ‘discipline.’
Me: I don’t know what’s scarier, his tattoo or the fact that your mom probably asked for references.
Kera: She made them do background checks on themselves. I think she’s trying to start a private army.
Me: If you disappear this semester, I’ll bring the big, bad cowboy. He’ll scare the Navy Seal away.
Kera: Big, bad cowboy? Please. If he’s making you dinner, he’s halfway to domesticated already.
