Hang on a second.
She thought he was hot?
“So, that’s the only excuse you have?” she pressed. “That your girl threw a tantrum and that’s why you stood me up?”
That was twice she’d used those words.
Stood her up.
But they’d both been on dates.
“A, I—” he began.
She didn’t let him get any further.
“So no, J, I didn’t leave you a note because you blew me off and I’m not feeling this.” She motioned between them, but explained it anyway. “I see you for the first time in years, and you get all up in my face because I didn’t keep connected after you didn’t connect with me and I was just off, living my life.”
“You gotta know I’d never leave you hanging unless something came up I couldn’t avoid,” he told her.
“I don’t know that because that’s what you did. You left me hanging.”
“My chick was throwing a hissy fit.”
She shrugged. “So walk away.”
“If you were throwing a hissy fit, would you want me to walk away from you?”
“Brother, I would not ever throw a stupid hissy fit.”
She said these words like they were gospel and her face registered nothing but disgust at not only the idea of chicks who did, but that he’d think she would.
Jag found that interesting.
As well as promising.
But again…
Still.
“So you’re telling me it wasn’t a four-year long hissy fit that was the reason I got no fuckin’ note after that happened?” he demanded.
That hit.
He knew it when she hit back.
“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not anything to each other, J,” she informed him. “I don’t even know your name.”
He stepped back.
She watched him do it and winced.
But no fucking way.
Maybe he’d screwed up, and then she’d screwed up.
But she knew that went too far.
“You’re right, we’re not,” he agreed. “Sorry to fuck up your day.”
He headed to his bike.
She moved with him.
He was firing it up when he felt her hand over the leather on his forearm.
He looked at her standing beside him.
“J, hang on a sec,” she requested.
“Do your thing, A, live your life,” he threw her words back at her. Then he finished it. “Hope it’s a good one. Later.”
With that, he opened up his bike and glided away.
* * * *
Jagger lost track of how many times he saw her after that.
At concerts, mostly.
Also at some bars.
Couple of times, out to eat.
Even at the mall once.
She’d been with guys.
He’d been with girls.
She’d been with friends.
Ditto with him.
Also alone.
She kept her distance.
He did too.
Eye contact and then avoidance.
Through all this, over the years, even though he was born there and he knew a lot of people and there was more than a rare occasion he’d run into one of them, it was the first time he realized how small of a town Denver was, even if it was a big city.
But it wasn’t lost on him they had the same taste in music, food and social life.
It also wasn’t lost on him that was way cool and it way fucking sucked because she was enjoying it, so was he, but never together.
He knew he should boss up, apologize for acting like an asshole and getting in her shit after she got back from college.
That said, she was the one who lowered the hammer, so on one of those occasions they were in each other’s space, she could have bossed up too.
She didn’t.
And the longer she didn’t, he got to the point where he just wouldn’t.
So he didn’t either.
* * * *
In the end, it wasn’t about bossing up.
In the end, it was about the fact he was on his bike and he saw some kid motoring down the sidewalk, totally being chased.
And seconds later, he saw it was A doing the chasing.
So yeah.
No hesitation.
He waded right into that.
Fuckin’ A.
In both ways he could mean that.
Chapter One
Touché
Jagger
The kid took a turn at the end of the block, and Jag took that turn on his bike.
He passed the kid, pulled up into a drive to cut him off, and to avoid Jag, the kid jetted right into the street.
Fuck.
Jag parked quickly, swung off and saw A racing across the street, following him.
In his motorcycle boots, Jag took off after her.
It was good he did.
She was losing steam.
The kid was not.
Jag passed her, sparing her a glance as he did, through which she wheezed, “Thief.”
Shit.
Great.
He kept motoring.
The kid was twelve, maybe thirteen, he had a little extra weight and was carrying a backpack, but he was twelve, thirteen.
He had legs that could go forever and the same kind of energy.
He darted around another corner, then, halfway up that block, he shot into an alley.
Jagger followed.
Bad luck for the kid, someone was moving, and the alley was plugged by a massive truck it wouldn’t be easy, even for the kid, to get around. Jag didn’t know how they got that behemoth wedged back there in the first place.
But there it was.
The kid decided to double back and take a shot at evasive maneuvering, but as he tried to cut past Jagger, Jag caught him by the backpack.
The pack was important, he knew this because the kid wasn’t losing it. He grabbed hold of the straps and twisted vigorously to get away from Jagger. In order not to lose hold, Jag had to catch him by the back collar of his shirt.
That was when the kid started shouting.
“Help! I’m being attacked! Pedo! Pedo!”
“Cool it, kid. I know more cops than hopefully you’ll meet in your life, and they know me, so trust me. That’s never gonna fly,” he advised.
Desperate times called for desperate measures, apparently.
“Help!” the kid kept shouting, pulling at Jag’s grasp. “Pedo! Pedo!”
At this point, A rounded the corner, jogged up to them, stopped about four feet away and immediately went hands to knees, head bent, her long black hair falling forward, her torso moving as she hauled in deep breaths.
“Shit,” he heard her rasp. Then her head jerked back, hair flying, and she squinted at the kid. “You little turd.”
“Fuck you,” the kid spat back.
Hmm.
No.
“What’d I hear you say?” Jagger asked.
The kid looked up at him. “Fuck you too.”
In an effort at control, Jag turned his attention to A.
“What we got here?” he asked.
She sucked in another big breath before she straightened and stated, “He’s a thief, and that’s why he’s no longer in the group. He was kicked out. But until now, it was never big. Cash register stuff. Candy. Gum.” She homed in on the kid and her eyes narrowed again. “Today, it was big. You take off with what you grabbed, I lose out and my consigner loses out and it’s never been cool, Mal, you lifting stuff. It’s really not cool now.”