That hasn’t changed.
If anything, she’s gotten more gorgeous with time. She’s not the girl I once knew anymore. She’s all woman, with more curves than before. More shadows in her eyes.
I slow as I pull into town, and to my absolute surprise, Jules tips her face forward and rests her cheek on the center of my back.
It makes my chest ache.
Yet, at the same time, I’m not ready to let it go.
So instead of taking her home, I drive through the residential areas of town, and she doesn’t say a word. Her grip on me has loosened a bit since we’re not going as fast.
When I go to take a turn, I reach back and lay my hand on her thigh, keeping her in place. Dammit, that feels good. She scoots a little closer to me when we come out of the turn, and I let go of her.
Because this isn’t real.
I’m giving her a ride home, and that’s it.
Setting my jaw, I drive behind the restaurant and cut the engine. Jules hops off the bike, and I follow. She starts to fumble with the strap of the helmet, but I step up to her, brush her fingers away, and unfasten it myself.
Her baby blues watch me.
“Have you ridden much over the years?” The question surprises me. I don’t really want to know if she was wrapped around some other asshole the way she just was with me.
“Not since the last time you took me,” she admits. “I think I missed it.”
I’m relieved.I have no right to be, but I am.
“Come on,” I say, gesturing to the stairs. “Let’s go up.”
“What? Why are you coming upstairs?” She takes half a step back from me, and that has me narrowing my eyes.
“To see the receipts and to make arrangements for your car.”
Could she bring those to me at the garage? Sure. But I want to see her place. I shouldn’t, and I’ll hate myself for it later, but I can’t help myself.
“I probably have stuff lying about.”
“No, you don’t. I know you. Let’s go.”
Jules hates clutter. There’s no way her place is messy. And even if it is, I don’t give a fuck.
“Thanks for the stairs,” she says as she leads me up them. “It helped a lot.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She huffs out a laugh, making the side of my mouth tick up.
“Sure, okay. Well, thanks anyway.”
She unlocks the door, and I notice she has two deadbolts. Not one. Our town might have its fair share of crime, but it doesn’t usually warrant that kind of security.
What are you afraid of, Wildfire?
But I immediately forget about the locks when I get a look at her apartment.
Oh, fuck no.
The walls are bare to the studs. No insulation or drywall. The electrical and plumbing are exposed. She has a little area sectioned off for a kitchen, but it only has a portable fridge and a microwave. No sink.
