Griffin wasn’t sure that he appreciated the gathering clouds, and his concern grew with the first raindrops that splattered onto them as they drove. He could feel Natasha move against him as they rode, a wonderful distraction that he was trying to focus on instead of the weather. If the rain kept up like this, he was fairly sure that he would be able to keep driving through it, but if it got much worse they were going to make to make some sort of contingency plan.

 

Driving away from Brazos seemed to be the best course of action for them now, with everything as dangerous as it was. Griffin couldn’t risk Natasha attempting to run again, and even if she did, he could at least put her in a place where they couldn’t find her. Going back to Austin wasn’t an option, because if they knew enough to want her dead, they at least knew where she was going to college.

 

Griffin wracked his brain to try to figure out where to go. They couldn’t go back to his place; apart from being the vice president of the Disciples, it also wasn’t hard to ask any number of girls that spent time at The Bootheel to figure out where he lived. He could imagine someone sidling up to any number of the tall biker girls that he had spent time with in the past in order to ask a simple question, and for the first time in a long time, he began to wonder if maybe he had been an idiot about that whole thing.

 

Of course, the presence of Natasha also made him wonder. He had never been so affected by a woman before, and he had been around the block enough times to think he had been immune. What was it about her? He had slept with plenty of girls who could ride, but could any of them ride with such confidence and grace as she had? He had been with plenty of hot blonde girls, and yet, there was something about the way her amber eyes flashed when she looked at him, something about the way that she stood up to him that made him want to pull her down and possess her right then then there.

 

She made a little noise from the space in front of him, and part of him thought that maybe it was out of some sort of pleasure or wanting, but as the rain came down harder, he was pretty sure she was just commenting about the weather. For some reason, he was disappointed.

 

Relax, Griffin, he thought. You haven’t even slept with her yet.

 

However, it was the “yet” that he kept mulling over, the “yet” that kept distracting him when he should obviously be focusing more on the crisis that they were facing instead of the look on her face when she climaxed. A jolt of desire went through him as he thought about it, and he made a mental note to find out soon… multiple times.

 

The rain grew harder, soaking both of them, although Natasha was lucky enough to be wearing a helmet. The water dripped down his face into his eyes, but part of him still thought that they could continue on. He thought as much anyway, until the tell-tale clank of hail on the top of Natasha’s helmet gave him pause. He wouldn’t be able to drive in hail, there was no way, but they were so far from any sort of hotel, motel, or house that he wondered where they would take shelter.

 

Visibility grew worse, but Griffin refused to show anything close to worry. A gray shape began to show on the horizon. It was an overpass, and Griffin knew what he had to do.

 

Natasha mumbled something as he began to slow down upon approach. The overpass loomed gray above their heads, and Griffin did a quick sweep of the area to see if anyone could possibly be hiding underneath it: homeless or not. They were blessedly alone, and he allowed himself a few seconds of peace as he climbed off of the bike and watched her dismount. They were both soaked, and the hail battered the landscape around them as they stood together and watched it fall. The hail was roughly the size of a golf ball, and the two of them stared in amazement as it fell, bouncing this way and that.

 

“Thank god we’re not riding in it anymore,” Natasha said. He turned to look at her, her face was flushed red, her lips parted. He wanted to lean in and taste her words.

 

“We’re going to have to ride it out here,” he replied. “For as long as it takes.”

 

She smirked a little bit. “Do you think you can handle spending so much time alone with me?”

 

“At least I know you’re not going to run again.”

 

Another moment erupted between them, full of that tension that Griffin wished would just break already. Her wet shirt clung to her curves in a delicious way; he couldn’t help but stare at the wet cloth clinging to her breasts, her nipples hard from the cold of the weather, or was it from something else? She was breathing a little heavily, her golden hair curled into wet tendrils around her face. Even completely drenched she was breathtakingly beautiful.

 

“Should we sit?” Griffin asked, looking around the area for any place that might work. She looked around as well as he shrugged off his jacket and laid it down. Giving a weak gesture that meant “sit”, they still stood there, watching each other, waiting for the other to break.

 

Her eyes burned like fire, torturing him, and finally the only thing that sprang to Griffin’s mind was a single phrase. It was one he had used many times in the past with varying meanings, but this one blew them all away. “Fuck it,” he said, and he pulled her towards him.