Page 17 of Won't Let Go
Is this because he slept in my bed with me last night, and I actually got sleep? That must be it.
“H-hi,” I croak and clear my throat. “Hi.”
Josh smirks. “You ready to go on this date?”
“Where’s Hunter?” I ask, ignoring the fact he’s calling it a date. I know he called it that this morning, but I thought it was a slip of the tongue.
“He’s meeting us there.”
“How? Did he start driving, and I didn’t know?”
Josh huffs a laugh. “He’s got a ride.”
Right. He’s thought of everything, like always.
I glance around Josh to the two wheels sitting in front of the shop, all ominous and shiny. “You brought the bike.”
“Yep. I sure did.”
“I’m wearing a dress.” I point to said dress, on my body, like an idiot.
Again, that smirk makes an appearance, but Josh’s head tilts to the side just a little, and his eyes soften around the edges like he finds me…something not bad. “I know, babe. I dropped you off at work, remember?”
Babe.
Oh.
“Yes.” I half huff, half awkwardly growl, crossing both arms under my breasts. “But a dress and the bike don’t mix. I can’t wear this.” I pluck the fabric on my skirt, then eye his jade-green motorcycle. “On that.”
Pressing his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh, and doing a piss-poor job of it, Josh stutters out a breath and schools his features. “I know the bike freaks you out. You can just say that.”
It’s not that it freaks me out. Well. Okay. It does. I’m not a small woman. Riding behind anyone makes me uncomfortable. I’ve done it a few times, but I don’t like it. It’s too intimate, and I worry I’m taking up too much space, or holding on too tight, or that I’m gonna lean wrong and we’re gonna go down. I may hang with bikers, but I’m not one.
“Just tuck the dress between your legs. That’s what I do,” Pixie, my boss, who obviously likes throwing me under the bus, says, ruining any chance for me to get out of this.
I huff, again, which everyone ignores.
“Smart woman.” Josh grins, lopsided and far too adorable, and offers me his hand. “Let’s get ya fed. I’m sure Hunter’s already there, waiting on us.”
That lights a fire under my ass.
Clasping my palm in Josh’s, he pulls me to my feet and doesn’t let go when I grab my purse. We’re still holding hands as we stroll out of the shop, into the broad daylight. He leads me to his bike, drops my hand, leaving my palm damp, and retrieves a second helmet from his saddlebag that he fits over my head.
Crooking his finger under my chin, the man forces me to look up at his too-attractive face as he fixes my chin strap. “This looks good on you.” He knocks against the side.
“It’s a helmet.” Black and simple. Nothing special.
“But it fits, and you look cute in it.”
He can’t talk to me like that.
“I’m not cute.”
“No. You’re usually hot. But the dress and the helmet.” Taking a step back, he appraises me from head to toe. “Adorable.”
More of those weird things go haywire in my belly, and I hate it as much as I hate the blush he elicits.
To stop feeling like this, I punch him in the shoulder. “Eww. You’re just buttering me up, so I stop freaking out about riding bitch.”
