Chapter 9
Trouble
Ivy
Icarriedmyduffelbag out of my bedroom, and Ryan took it from me.He stood close while I locked my door, but he was scanning the area outside my townhouse.
He led me to the end of my driveway.I realized we’d be riding on his motorcycle and I nearly tripped.
“Are you okay?”he asked, looking down at me.
“I’m fine, but are you sure you’re alright to get both of us to your clubhouse?”
His lips quirked up.“Feeling better now that I’ve got food in my belly, and it isn’t that far from here.Probably five miles, maybe six.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Why’d you stutter-step?”
I shrugged.“Nothing big.I’ve just never ridden on a motorcycle before, and I forgot that you followed me on your…is this a Harley?”
He opened a leather saddlebag and to my surprise, my duffel fit with no problem.After he closed the bag, he faced me.“No, it’s a Triumph.Once I’m on the bike, you climb on behind me.Under the circumstances, I’d like you to hang on to me.”
“What circumstances?”I asked reflexively.
“The fact that I don’t trust you aren’t at one-hundred percent and there could be someone looking for both of us.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to remind him that was enough reason to take me to Chad’s, but I didn’t want him to be in danger either.
I nodded.“Got it… Nickel.That’s what I’m supposed to call you, right?”
“Yeah, at the clubhouse that’d be good, though I don’t care if you call me Ryan in private.”
I didn’t expect I’d spend much time with him in private after tonight.
He swung a leg over his motorcycle and I found I’d been wrong last week.I didn’t stop myself from watching him mount his bike because it was an intrusion, I’d done it because it turned me on so much.
“Grab my shoulder, use the foot peg, and hop on, Trouble.”
I did what he said and managed to settle behind him more easily than I expected.
His head turned toward his shoulder.“Hang on to me.”
I suddenly felt awkward.I wanted to put my hands on his waist near his hips, but that felt entirely too intimate.I’d look like a fool if I held onto his shoulders.I decided to put my hands on his lower ribcage.“I hope you’re not ticklish,” I muttered at the same time he started the engine.
He shook his head.“I’m not,” he said loud enough to be heard over the bike.
Then we were off.He started slow, but once we were on 103rd Street he took off.We had to be going ten miles over the speed limit.I had a bad habit of speeding, but speeding down the road on a motorcycle was so much better.
From the circuitous route he took to get to Blanding Boulevard, I got the impression he knew as many back roads as I did, and I wondered why that was.For me, it was an occupational necessity.The average person – and especially someone who was new to town – didn’t normally go out of their way to take side streets.
I took in the large patch for the Riot MC on the back of his leather cut.Perhaps he knew the same shortcuts for reasons I didn’t want to know.
He slowed to turn off of Blanding Boulevard and after a half-a-mile, he turned left into a property surrounded by a black iron fence.A two-story building took up a chunk of the property.There was plenty of room for bikes to park, and a grassy section where there were cars and a couple other motorcycles parked.
He eased his bike into a space next to a beat-up Kia Rio, lowered the kickstand, and shut down the engine.“Do you need help getting off?”
That sounded like fun.
