Page 17 of The Biker and the Gamer
If only he was as good with his fashion sense as he is with his grooming.
“Missed me?” he asks as he walks up to me, shoving the camera in my face.
“Get that stupid thing outta my face before I break it,” I snap.
“Yeah,” he says with a smile, “she missed me.”
Annoying much?“Where’s Zach and Conroy? Luke and Carissa?” I demand. “They’re the ones who usually pick me up.”
“It’s going to be just you and me today,” he informs me.
“Why?”
“Because I gave them the day off.”
“Why?” I ask again, sounding broken.
“Because they deserve it.”
“Does that mean I get today off, too? I deserve it.”
“Nope.”
I cross my arms. “Why not.”
“Because you’re getting half a mil to frolic for two weeks,” he replies easily. “They aren’t.”
I can’t argue with that, so I grumble, “Whatever,” and march to the Jeep, hopping into the passenger side.
I’m pissed. Not at him, but at myself, for feeling like I did back when I was fourteen and had my first crush on the senior bad boy across the street. Back when I didn’t know how to control my emotions and feelings. When lust unfurled and body twisted with desire. When I offered up my virginity like a sacrifice because I was weak.
I can’t be weak with this one. We’re so mismatched it’s not even funny. We’re oil and water. Plain and simple.
“This is hour one of The Kendra ‘Kenny’ Tisdale show,” he says as he strolls around to the passenger side of the Jeep, the camera still trained on me. “The most fascinating creature I’ve ever stumbled across. Come along with us, and fall into…um,fascination. Like I have.”
I don’t know why I’m so annoyed with him and his stupid camera. For the past week and a half, I’ve had a minimum of two cameras trained at me from various angles at all times. Always being recorded or snapped, for “authenticity purposes”. It’s what I signed up for, so I never had a problem with it…until now.
That said, whether it’s the team or Alec holding the camera, it’s still my job. At least for the next two days. So, I need to suck it up and go along with it.
“Where are we off to today?” I ask the camera.
He points to the steering wheel. “You tell me. You’re driving.”
“What?”
“You’re driving,” he repeats. “We’ll go wherever you want to go.”
“Very well,” I say with a shrug, then climb over to the driver’s side.
As I whip the Jeep around and pull out of the lot, I ask, “How was your trip?”
He throws my words from a week and a half ago back at me, “Not fun.”
I shove the mouth of the Jeep out on the main, forcing an oncoming vehicle to let me into traffic. The driver honks their horn in one continuous ding, expressing their aggravation, but I don’t care. That’s why I’m a rider. I haven’t got the patience for cars. On my bike, I can zip through any crevice or tight space and get on with my day. “How come?”
“Because it was just business,” he replies.
“Thought you’d be glad to be back home.”
