And I’m determined to make Merrick be the one.
CHAPTER 12
MERRICK
Before Marietta, being a prospect for the Wild Hair was easy. I attended church, drank beer on the back patio, and ate sandwiches on Sunday.
I occasionally helped with a protection gig, mainly if Iron Jack needed a show of force and had most of us drop in to intimidate whoever was on the wrong side of the job.
But now I’m babysitting a wild child with a protectedflower shop, getting in fights, and in about five minutes, escorting her to a pole dancing class.
Iron Jack himself asked me to do it, not trusting any other member of the Wild Hair within twenty miles of the studio where her class is held. His exact words were, “Anyone else will make off with the whole lot of them.”
How did I wind up being the honorable one?
I pull up to the clubhouse at ten a.m. and don’t bother to go in. Marietta will meet me outside. I don’t know what someone wears to a pole dance class, but I’m steeling myself for anything. Nipple tassels. Platform stilettos.
So, when she comes out in a set of plain gray sweats and tennis shoes, my anxiety drops about fifty notches.
“Yay! It’s you!” Marietta practically bounces as she skips out the door and across the patchy lawn to my bike. “And we get to ride a motorcycle!” She stops in front of it. “Is this an NFNF moment?”
“No.” I unsnap my spare helmet from the saddlebag and pass it to her.
“Awww.” She lowers her ponytail so the helmet will fit. Then she takes it from me and proceeds to put it on backward, kicking up her chin so she can see.
I lean over and pull it off, turning it around. “This way.”
“Oh!” She fastens the strap under her chin, but it dangles so low that it wouldn’t provide any more protection than a beanie.
“Come here,” I tell her.
She steps close. I snag one side of the strap and tighten it, then the other. I catch a whiff of something both floral and sweet, a scent I’ve come to recognize as uniquely Marietta.
Her eyes meet mine. I realize my hand is brushing against her cheek, and I pull back like I’ve been burned.
Her expression shifts, eyebrows drawn together like she isn’t sure what just happened. “Thanks,” she says. “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before.”
I clear my throat. I need to be all business. “Here’s how it works.” I point down to the foot pegs. “You brace your feet on these. You’ll want to hang on to me.”
She nods. “Good thing I don’t need a gym bag. Motorcycles don’t have much storage!” She closes in behind me.
I watch her in the side mirror as she throws a leg over and then slides up against my back.
“Find the pegs,” I tell her. “Once I start the motor, we won’t be able to talk easily.”
She leans close to my ear. “Even if I’m right here?”
The scent of her envelops me again as her breath tickles my neck. “Yeah. Even then. Hang on. Lean with me however I move.”
She wraps her arms around me. She’s tall enough that she can see over my shoulder. “I’m so excited!”
I snatch the clutch, hand on the throttle, and stomp the starter.
The engine roars to life.
Marietta lets out a long squeal, and I can’t help but smile. It’s her first ride, all right.
I circle the parking area in front of the club to let Marietta get used to the feel of the bike before roaring out onto the road. She hangs on tightly, letting out an occasional whoop.
