Page 15 of Come Ride With Me
“Thirty-five,” he replied after taking a gulp of water from the glass in front of him. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five,” she answered without hesitation.
She’d finished a good portion of her food but had just wiped her hands on her napkin and tossed the napkin onto the plate, signaling she was done. She lifted her glass of iced tea and took a sip.
“You make bikes and I deal with numbers,” she said. “I just received my MBA in finance.”
“So, the ten-year age gap, together with our cultural and career differences, mean you don’t want me kissing you again,” he stated, before she had the chance to go through the full speech he was assuming she’d thought of during their meal.
“We have cultural differences?” she asked. “What might they be?”
There was an edge to these questions, something he hadn’t heard in her tone before, but Nash didn’t care. If they were going to talk about this, then he wasn’t going to half step.
“You’re from Paris. Probably went to the fancy schools there and then, I don’t know why, but you came here to work,” he added with a shrug. “I’m just a greaser, working in the same shop for the past ten years. So, what kind of future do I have? What could I possibly offer you?”
She shook her head as she sat back in the seat, folding her arms neatly across her chest. The action pushed her breasts upward. Those perfectly alluring palm-sized breasts. He clenched his teeth so hard, focused so intently to keep from licking his lips at the sight.
“I’m just a woman. Yes, I was born in Paris and you’re right, I did go to fancy schools. But my mother raised me on her own and my father…well…he was a good guy who had his own business but wasn’t really there for me.” She stopped then and looked down for a moment.
When she looked up at him again, she was shaking her head. “I’m not different from you just because of where I came from or because I’m biracial and I hate that you’re looking at me like you want to say something to that effect but would rather dress it up by saying we haveculturaldifferences.”
For a moment after she finished Nash could only stare at her. He didn’t know what to say, or rather he did, he just wanted to make sure he said it correctly and so that she understood his every word.
“I have never, in any way, shape or form, been prejudice or a racist. I treat everyone the same—fairly—until they give me reason not to. So, I’m not going to waste my time feeling offended or even getting angry at your assumptions because I’m guessing that there have been people that made you feel that way before. But know this, when I decided to kiss you, it was because I thought you were an extremely desirable woman. I didn’t give a damn about who or what race your parents were, or what either of our career choices were.”
There. He thought as he sat back against the seat and stared at her, chew on that. For starters, he hadn’t any idea where all that she’d just spit out had come from. Not once in the short time they’d known each other had he given her the impression that he felt any type of way about her race or ethnicity. He’d been Black all his life, had only ever lived here in Destine and thus had grown up getting a good dose of the ignorant treatment from those who thought they were better than him—whether because of race or social standing. He’d gotten into fights with the white boys who thought they could intimidate him, had squared off against the cops who pulled him over for no other reason than the color of his skin and sat in jail a couple of nights for that episode as a result. He wasn’t a boy scout, nor was he an angry muthafucka who didn’t have any respect for himself or a pretty woman.
He also didn’t have a damn clue how a biracial person dealt with any of the shit he knew had to be thrown their way from those same judgmental people. That’s the only reason he was giving her accusatory tone some grace.
“Well, what do we have here? Hey, there pretty lady? This rough guy giving you a hard time?”
Nash didn’t have to look up to see who had joined them. Henley was already pushing his way onto the seat beside him. Mica arched a brow as she stared at his brother and Henley extended his hand over the table.
“I’m Henley. This guy’s my brother but it’s not my fault,” he said, following with his wide grin and quick chuckle.
“Hello. I’m Mica,” she said, albeit a little stiffly. Her gaze moved quickly from him to Henley before she offered a slow smile and accepted his hand.
Nash wondered if she might be the first woman that didn’t instantly fall for Henley’s charm. For all that Nash was the serious and focused older brother, Henley was the laid back, party-all-the-time one. Along with his charm, Henley was also the brash and cocky brother. He was a handsome dude, only an inch or two shorter than Nash with an athletic build.
“Mica. That’s a pretty name for a beautiful lady. You and I should definitely get to know each other better,” Henley continued, rubbing his thumb over the back of Mica’s hand.
Not at all pleased by the sight, Nash gritted his teeth and moved to dislodge Henley’s hand from Mica’s.
“She works at the dealership and we’ve been gone long enough. We have to get back,” he said, then pulled out his wallet so that he could leave some cash on the table for their bill.
“Aww, nah. I just got here. We can order some dessert. Maybe a hot fudge sundae with two spoons,” Henley said.
“Fuck no,” Nash snapped.
“We should go back to work,” Mica added. “But, first, I need the restroom.” She stood and walked away before either of them could say another word.
The moment they were alone Henley let out a long whistle. “Where the hell did you find that piece?”
“I told you she works with me,” Nash said pushing Henley out of the way so he could stand and put on his jacket. “And she’s off limits.”
“Oh,” Henley held his hands up in mock surrender. “It’s like that, huh?”
Nash looked at his brother long and hard, taking in the new clothes he was wearing—slim fit jeans, fresh leather boots, turtleneck and suede jacket. He was certain they were new clothes because Henley liked to look perfect all the time. His brother’s answer to that was to never wear anything twice. In a normal world Nash wouldn’t give a damn, but in this world, knowing his brother, he knew to worry. As Henley had reiterated yesterday, he had no job and no intention of getting one. Which led to Nash’s next question.
