something,” I tell him.
He laughs, turning to point to his house. “As you can see, I’m not exactly swimming in capital here. Besides, I think it’s better this way, keeping it between friends.”
“I know a guy,” says Storm.
Pete waves it off. “Yeah, yeah, and I appreciate the offer, but I’m doing just fine.”
Storm nods.
When we’re done, I notice that Storm leaves Texas Pete a significant tip as he leads me back to the bike. “I know it looks kind of shabby and dirty from the outside, but the best things in life usually are.”
I laugh. “Are you referring to yourself?”
“Maybe, but I take offence to ‘shabby’. Disheveled, maybe, but shabby’s going too far.”
We take off back into Millertown. It becomes clear throughout the day that Storm plays a large part in this community. Even the street urchins I saw yesterday swarm to his bike, jumping up onto his shoulders as he swings them around and play-boxes with the boys, the girls swooning as he takes off his leathers. I watch from a distance.
Am I falling for this guy?
My head almost can’t process it. It seems outrageous, wild.
We cruise out of Millertown just as the sun sets in a neon ball behind us. I press myself tighter against his body.
Back at his place he hands me a beer, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “So, what do you think?”
“About Millertown?”
“Yeah.” There’s genuine curiosity in his eyes.
“I think there’s a story to tell, for sure, and I’m going to tell it… right.”
He sinks back the beer. “I’m glad to hear it.”
I run my fingers over the condensation on the beer bottle, ringing the neck of it with my thumb. “What should we do now?”
“I have an idea.”
He comes against me, lips pressing to my own just as there’s commotion outside. He pulls the kitchen curtains across. Through the gap he leaves I see a group of bikes pulling up, men in leathers getting off and standing amongst the dust they’ve kicked up.
“Shit,” says Storm. “Stay right here. Don’t come out no matter what happens.”
“What’s going on? Who are those guys?”
“No one you want to meet,” and he’s gone, swinging out of the kitchen.
I watch the scene behind the curtain as he makes his way out to the men. A large, stockish individual comes forward with hand extended, but Storm swats it away. He looks pissed.
They start talking in a highly animated way. Storm prods into Stocky Guy’s vest twice and the others close in around him, but Stocky Guy holds up a hand and they move away. He spits at the ground and prods Storm back.
He turns and they mount back onto their motorcycles, clouds of dust swirling up into the air as they take off at full speed from the property.
The front door slams as Storm enters the house. He’s furious.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Who were those men?”
“I said, don’t worry about it!”
I flinch back and he extends his hands, coming forward. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He takes my elbows and guides my hands around his waist, pulling me close. “They’re just old friends of Dad’s, that’s all.”
“They didn’t look very friendly.”
“They’re not, but don’t worry, okay? It’s fine, really.”
I nod and he leans in to kiss me.
I can’t resist him.
The kitchen, the laundry – we mark almost every room with our bodies.
Chapter Eight
There’s a pervading sense of déjà vu when I wake.
The shower’s running again, Storm nowhere to be seen.
Automatically I reach for my cell.
The screen explodes with missed calls and messages, mostly from Mom and Dad, but the odd one from Dan to mix it up.
I scroll through them.
Want to come over?
Busy?
And from the parentals:
Where are you?
Why aren’t you picking up? Getting worried. Call us.
From Jemma:
Call me, hon. Your parents have gone mental.
I feel like I’m eighteen again sneaking off to be with Tim.
I place my phone back on the side table. I
He laughs, turning to point to his house. “As you can see, I’m not exactly swimming in capital here. Besides, I think it’s better this way, keeping it between friends.”
“I know a guy,” says Storm.
Pete waves it off. “Yeah, yeah, and I appreciate the offer, but I’m doing just fine.”
Storm nods.
When we’re done, I notice that Storm leaves Texas Pete a significant tip as he leads me back to the bike. “I know it looks kind of shabby and dirty from the outside, but the best things in life usually are.”
I laugh. “Are you referring to yourself?”
“Maybe, but I take offence to ‘shabby’. Disheveled, maybe, but shabby’s going too far.”
We take off back into Millertown. It becomes clear throughout the day that Storm plays a large part in this community. Even the street urchins I saw yesterday swarm to his bike, jumping up onto his shoulders as he swings them around and play-boxes with the boys, the girls swooning as he takes off his leathers. I watch from a distance.
Am I falling for this guy?
My head almost can’t process it. It seems outrageous, wild.
We cruise out of Millertown just as the sun sets in a neon ball behind us. I press myself tighter against his body.
Back at his place he hands me a beer, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “So, what do you think?”
“About Millertown?”
“Yeah.” There’s genuine curiosity in his eyes.
“I think there’s a story to tell, for sure, and I’m going to tell it… right.”
He sinks back the beer. “I’m glad to hear it.”
I run my fingers over the condensation on the beer bottle, ringing the neck of it with my thumb. “What should we do now?”
“I have an idea.”
He comes against me, lips pressing to my own just as there’s commotion outside. He pulls the kitchen curtains across. Through the gap he leaves I see a group of bikes pulling up, men in leathers getting off and standing amongst the dust they’ve kicked up.
“Shit,” says Storm. “Stay right here. Don’t come out no matter what happens.”
“What’s going on? Who are those guys?”
“No one you want to meet,” and he’s gone, swinging out of the kitchen.
I watch the scene behind the curtain as he makes his way out to the men. A large, stockish individual comes forward with hand extended, but Storm swats it away. He looks pissed.
They start talking in a highly animated way. Storm prods into Stocky Guy’s vest twice and the others close in around him, but Stocky Guy holds up a hand and they move away. He spits at the ground and prods Storm back.
He turns and they mount back onto their motorcycles, clouds of dust swirling up into the air as they take off at full speed from the property.
The front door slams as Storm enters the house. He’s furious.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Who were those men?”
“I said, don’t worry about it!”
I flinch back and he extends his hands, coming forward. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He takes my elbows and guides my hands around his waist, pulling me close. “They’re just old friends of Dad’s, that’s all.”
“They didn’t look very friendly.”
“They’re not, but don’t worry, okay? It’s fine, really.”
I nod and he leans in to kiss me.
I can’t resist him.
The kitchen, the laundry – we mark almost every room with our bodies.
Chapter Eight
There’s a pervading sense of déjà vu when I wake.
The shower’s running again, Storm nowhere to be seen.
Automatically I reach for my cell.
The screen explodes with missed calls and messages, mostly from Mom and Dad, but the odd one from Dan to mix it up.
I scroll through them.
Want to come over?
Busy?
And from the parentals:
Where are you?
Why aren’t you picking up? Getting worried. Call us.
From Jemma:
Call me, hon. Your parents have gone mental.
I feel like I’m eighteen again sneaking off to be with Tim.
I place my phone back on the side table. I
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