Page 17 of Mine for 24 Hella-Hours
“Fine.” She crinkles her nose, pouting her puffy, seductive lips and narrowing her glossy hazel orbs at me. She’s cute when she gets angry.
“Are you in pain? Do you need something?”
“No, it’s manageable. Thank you though.” She drinks the last drop of water.
“Resilient,” I note.
“I know the qualities I possess.” Sleepy and she’s still sharp like a gun’s needle. “I can sleep on the couch.”
“Go upstairs, Dylan.” The dead-serious look on my face encounters her and she gets the message. The stool creaks under her legs as she makes her way up tomybed.
“Sweet dreams, wildflower.” I can’t scrape the joker smile off my face. “Tell me all about your dirty dreams of me in the morning.”
“You wish,” she chants with a dreamy smile.
I didn’t hear a denial.I chant to myself.
She kept her part of the deal now it’s my turn. It’s the first time in my life I have a feeling she’s more than I bargained for. And I’m not sure twenty-four hours are enough.
Never have I ever been this ensnared, dazzled by a woman previously. It’s alarming and so fucking tempting.
So what if we’re doing it backward? That’s the best part. Unpredictable right?
I check her sleepy form one last time before I hop on my Kawasaki Ninja H2 and twist the key in the ignition. The streets are void of people. The loud rev of the bike is the only thing breaking the dead silence as my skilled hands control the speed I’m at until everything blurs.
Ronnie revs right behind me as he glides the street on his bike. Still a slow fucker. Maybe I need to slow down a bit and let him win this round before I beat his ass again. Swerving my bike sideways, I take it down a notch.
We both wish to have someone with the truest of intentions behind us so we can go on these rides together. Fuck, it would’ve been hotter ifherhands wrapped me from the back andherthighs hugged me to her warmth.
I knew it from the second it dawned on me that she was the same woman from a month ago. The same fire that ignited in me and stayed torched in my core. Patiently waiting to be spellbound by her. The chance of meeting her again was exhilarating and uncertain.
A game I most certainly played with myself. Until she came back and played her part.
Building my businesses only cost me one thing. Finding someone to share it with. And I want that. I want that kind of love my parents had. The kind I grew up surrounded by. I’m finally ready to say it out loud. Deep down I knew it was there. I just postponed it long enough to realize, I don’t want to do that anymore.
People tend to think that because I own two businesses, I’m known as a tattoo artist, I ride a bike, etcetera—plenty of women are jumping on my bed regularly.
That’s not the case.
I’m picky and aware of flags I don’t want to occupy. Freedom trapped me under its wing, yet I want someone to spend it with me. It can be shared. Become even bigger, and more meaningful with the right one. Loyalty can be accomplished alongside freedom as long as you wear your heart on your sleeve and communicate with your significant other.
Ronnie veers his gaze toward me, opening his helmet’s visor. “Did you slow down on purpose?” his voice is loud and clear in the new intercom system we installed.
“No, I got distracted.” I stare at the stoplight, leaning forward on the fuel tank.
“You’re such a bad liar.” He says in a whimsical way.
Lost in my thoughts, I answer, “You know me best, mate, had to give you a head start before I beat your ass.”
He laughs in his helmet but turns quiet and serious pretty fast, and I know there’s something on his mind.
“A woman is lying in your bed right now and you’re out here, thinking about her.” He says.
“She’s sleeping,” I clarify in a steady tone, “and I need to run and buy some groceries.”
He corks an eyebrow at me, humming.
“What, Ronnie? Spill it out?”
