“Sit,” I command her and although this appears to stun Janelle, she obediently sits and awaits my oil-stained brown paper bag with our to-go order of tacos. The bench where we sat had a little bit of shade, but it’s still hot enough to make you sweat, so I ask Janelle where she would prefer to eat.
“Here is fine,” she says. “I’m starving.”
Why the hell is it that everything she does seems attractive to me? The second I find out she’s going to rip into those tacos in front of me, I want to watch her eat more than anything. There’s something sensual about her lips and teeth ripping into a soft taco shell and I can’t help but crave wiping – or licking – the sauces off her face.
Maybe I’m hungry too.
Janelle liberates her order from the bag and hands me my serving of beef and fish tacos – she got me double what she got herself, which suits me just fine. I put an entire taco in my mouth at once and Janelle gasps.
“How did you open your mouth that wide?”
“Talent.”
She laughs. “I didn’t realize men with no body fat ate like that.”
“Can’t build muscle without fuel.”
I eat another taco and watch Janelle take her second polite bite out of her delicious looking chicken taco. The chili scent wafts through the air and as the sun burns a little pink on my nose, I realize that this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time. And maybe I joked about this being a date because it’s exactly what I want…
And what she doesn’t want at all.
Janelle’s next bite drips sauce down the sides of her cheek and I take a napkin to wipe the juices away. She looks up at me with smiling brown eyes.
“Thanks.”
It feels good to take care of her.
I don’t want to stop.
But what if she’s not happy with me? This experience has scared the crap out of Janelle enough. If she sees more of me and more of my world… I just know this isn’t what she wants. She’s too good for me. Sexy. Kind. Easy to get along with…
But she’s not a biker thug. She’s a New England woman with a job, with ambitions, with a whole life outside of mine. What would I do with Janelle in my world aside from ruin her?
Chapter Thirteen
Janelle
After our taco lunch – which wasn’t a date – Zebulon falls suspiciously quiet. I shouldn’t read into it, but I can’t help wondering if I said something to offend him, or if he’s changing his mind about helping me out of this pickle. He hasn’t put his hands on me or done anything remotely romantic in days, and I’m in two minds over it. I’m about to go over the edge since I can’t read his mind, and he offers up no words that I can cling to for clarity.
He sets a time for us to leave for our next ride and has so far been watching TV the entire time until we have to leave without telling me a word – or regulating my phone usage. I text Rana.
Janelle: I’m on Route 66 with Trigger.
I figure using the club name he told me – not just the shortened version of his name on his jacket – is safer in case my phone gets picked up by the cops. Honestly, I don’t even know if that line of thinking makes sense. I’m not a natural born criminal and frankly, I never got into True Crime, so I don’t have any techniques or tactics to get away with murder stored in the back of my brain. I do have a friend working as a defenseattorney, but that doesn’t feel like the smartest person to confess a crime to.
Rana: OMG! Did you guys ?!
Is she asking if we bombed a bed together?! Wait… It’s probably not that.
Janelle: No.
Rana: Woah, he must really like you.
Is that how it works? Men will pretty much hop on the chance to sleep with anyone, and I’m pretty sure the condition only worsens when they have a real reason to like a woman. If he liked me, he wouldn’t have been able to spend all these nights in a hotel room without even one second of inappropriate touching.
Am I totally wrong about relationships?
Janelle: Or he’s going to sell me to a drug lord in Mexico…
