I carry the pan of tamales to the table with the new potholder. “Sit. What do you want to know?”
She takes a seat across from me, tucking her leg under. “Tell me about growing up in your family.”
I snag two beers from the fridge and twist the top on hers, handing it to her. I tower over her, and stare at her with a clear expression, hiding nothing. “My mother was an undocumented immigrant. Her family stretches all the way back to the Spanish that settled Mexico. But that doesn’t matter in America. Her parents brought her across illegally back in the sixties. My father was Portuguese. He was a smart man, but he was never given a shot, so he did the only job he could find.”
She stares at me, and I know she’s really hearing my words, taking them in and understanding. I sit down and snag a couple tamales, dropping them on my plate.
She does the same. “What was your childhood like?”
“Our home was filled with love. But outside of it, I’ve never felt like I was good enough, like I belonged, like I’d be anything but someone else’s servant.”
She nods, and looks down at the table, and I like that she doesn’t try to tell me my feelings aren’t valid. She just lets me have them. I’ve never had a chick do that before.
“I’ve never felt good enough to live up to my stepfather’s expectations. I felt like I had no worth to him other than to be some pretty empty-headed ornament for his dinner parties.”
“But you were popular.”
She meets my eyes. “You were right when you said I’m a people pleaser. It’s so true. You know, except for music, I really never cared for schooling, except to be popular. It’s what made my stepfather happy, having a popular kid. I suppose it gave him an in with all our rich neighbors, so he could gain their trust and con them for everything he could get.”
“Bitter, much?” I ask with a smirk.
“Right back atcha, Mr. I-Never-Fit-In.”
I grin, because the girl can give as good as she gets. “Touché.”
We finish our meal, and it’s nice, its comfortable being with her, and our conversation comes easy. She kicks back in her chair and drinks her beer. I slouch back, too. A moment later I feel her put her feet in my lap, and just as naturally as if we’d done this a million times, I drop a hand to her pretty foot and rub it absently as I drink my beer.
“God, that feels good.” Her head drops back and her eyes slide closed. I smile and continue to rub.
“Your ankle better?”
“Hmm mmm.” She never lifts her head, so I continue. After a few minutes I let my hand stray up her slender calf.
She lifts her head and our eyes connect. I see desire reflected in Kami’s.
Having a temptation like her…legs for days, face of an angel, long silky hair, living in the same house with me? I’ve never wanted a chick the way I want this girl.
The tension between us is so tight; it’s like a rubber band ready to snap.
I know I need to change the vibe before I do something stupid like carry her to the bed. “You want to take a ride?”
One brow lifts and she grins. “Is that code for lets fuck?”
I laugh. “Only if you want it to be. I’m up for it. But I was actually referring to a ride on the bike. The moon’s full and it’s a nice night.”
She giggles. “Oh. Duh.”
I stand and clear the plates. “Go throw some jeans on and grab a light jacket.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kami—
Climbing on the back of Saint’s Harley is exciting. I’m wearing the helmet he pulled from his saddlebag, and I can’t help wondering who he has it for, but I put it out of my mind because I don’t want to ruin this night.
We roll out of the drive, and he takes us away from town and further into the rolling countryside. Moonlit fields stretch on both sides of the two-lane blacktop, and tall southern pines dot the landscape. I love the feeling of riding in the open air, and feeling it roll over us as we race along. Unlike being in a car, this feels like I’m immersed in the landscape, not just statically watching it roll past through a car window. I can smell the pines, and the grass, and the mossy stream we cross. I feel the warmth of the blacktop radiating up, and the cool foggy moisture that gathers in the dips of the road.
I tighten my arms around his waist, and he reaches back and squeezes my thigh. I think he must know what I’m feeling, and somehow I think he’s experiencing that first thrill through me, perhaps remembering his first time riding these roads.
He takes us up into the mountains where the trees are denser and the temperature drops, but its still not cold.
Eventually he pulls over at a spot that overlooks a valley. We climb off the bike.
“The view is amazing.”
He takes my hand and leads me to some boulders. We sit, facing the view.
“It’s beautiful up here.” I gaze around. Soft shades of varying blue fade into the distant horizon. The moonlight washes everything in a soft blue and sparkles on a small creek winding its way through the valley.
“It is.”
“How’d you find this spot?”
“Just out riding one day. Came across it.”
“You ever bring anyone else up here?”
“Nope.” His eyes meet mine, and I can’t help the warmth that curls through my body. “Just you.”
The corners of my mouth pull up, and he winks at me, then turns back to the view and pulls a flask out of his vest pocket.
“Brought you something you might like.” He holds up the small flask of Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey. “Ever had any?”
I shake my head.
“It tastes like those little Red Hot candies. Here, try it.” He passes it to me. I’ve never been one to do shots, but I give it a sip, expecting it to burn all the way down. I’m surprised when it goes down smooth with no bite.
My brows lift. “That’s really good.”
“Thought you’d like it. Most girls do.”
It kind of crushes my high that he brings up other girls. “You sure you haven’t brought other girls up here?”
“Nope. Actually, I’ve never even had a chick on the back of my bike before now.”
“I don’t believe you. You had an extra helmet in your saddlebag. Who was that for?”
“Got it for you.”
For a moment I’m speechless. I search his eyes trying to read if he’s telling me the truth.
“I’m not lying, shortcake.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “Just figured you being here all summer, we’d eventually want to take a ride.” He looks off at that view, as if it all makes him uncomfortable.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“You’re welcome.” He takes a hit off the flask, and then makes a face.
“What?”
“This shit’s too sweet.”
I grin. “Well, thanks for thinking of me and bringing it. I like it.” I reach for the bottle and take another sip.
We sit quietly for a few minutes enjoying the quiet night, until Saint turns his head to look at me. “How’d you like riding?”