Our mouths merge into one sloppy mess of pleasure.
And that’s when I pull away.
I step back and pray that my balls will still be intact after this.
“What are you doing?” Vex asks.
Since Vex is the only one who hasn’t given in to temptation, I direct my order at him. “I need you to take her back home.”
“We were just getting started,” Skipper protests.
I catch Carmen’s unbelievably beautiful green eyes and hope that my face looks threatening enough. “All of this is way too dangerous. Venom Vultures is no place for a girl.”
11
CARMEN
I’ve lostcount now of how many times I’ve ridden on the back of a Harley.
I clutch onto Vex as we drive through the desert. I’m half-glad Carter put a stop to things before they got too out of hand. Preschool will be finishing soon. I have Otis to pick up.
But first I need to sort out the problem between my legs. The one Carter and his friends weren’t kind enough to resolve before sending me away.
Before I have time to think about being annoyed with Carter, Vex is slamming on the brakes and bringing the bike to a screeching halt.
Did he change his mind?
“Duck!”
I ignore his command until I realize that debris is flying everywhere. We come to a complete stop, the force of gravity throwing me into Vex’s back.
There are worse people I could be pressed up against.
I open my mouth to speak but my jaw ends up hanging open. The car whooshing past us must be going at least two hundred miles an hour. It cuts through the desert in the same direction we just came from, leaving clouds of dust in its wake. I squint through the hazy atmosphere to try and follow it, but the vehicle has already disappeared into a dramatic cloud of smoke.
I may not be able to see it anymore, but Icanstill hear the engine.
Vex watches with me, his eyes set ahead.
“Did you forget to tell me about the Grand Prix?” I say.
“Cars don’t come out here,” Vex says. “And if they do, they go slow because of the uneven terrain.”
Don’t I know about the uneven terrain? I’ve been out of my seat more than I’ve been in it. Vex has been rushing against the speed of light to get me home.
Until now.
Now the rush continues. The only difference this time is that we’re going in the opposite direction.
I wrap my arms around as much of Vex as possible, holding on as we race back through the desert.
“What are you doing?” I yell in his ear.
“Going back.”
I’m all for doing a U-turn and heading back to the clubhouse to resume what we didn’t finish, but I draw the line when death is involved.
I have a two-year-old son waiting for me at home who finishes preschool in precisely two hours. I can’t afford to get wrapped up in stupid motorcycle drama.
