Pierce
Pierce ran his eyes over the pretty little blonde thing he’d found in the desert, a smile cutting across his chiseled face. He could see the story here, as plain as if she’d written it out for him. The flaming car, the mascara streaks down her perfect cheeks, and the vixen out in the middle of the desert with no one around to come pick her up.
This looks like a scene from a movie; it can’t be real. The cheating lover who drove this beautiful woman must have been blind; never in his life had Pierce ever seen anyone so perfect. What idiot would cheat on a beautiful thing like this?
“Did you hear me?” the woman said, her perfectly sculpted brows furrowing in confusion. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you take me home. I’ll even buy you dinner,” she finished, desperately. Wincing, she even added “Please,” after a long moment of silence between them.
Pierce had a feeling she didn’t often use the word “please.” Perhaps her being a brat is why she was cheated on. He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. Days into his journey, Pierce was short on cash and dangerously low on gasoline. He wasn’t sure how far San Diego was from here, but he was pretty sure he couldn’t get there on the fumes currently in his gas tank.
At the talk of dinner, his stomach grumbled loudly. I also won’t make it there on the nothing left in my stomach.
Without the aide of his credit cards, Pierce had no money left. And the police would find him in seconds if he attempted to use any of his cards now. They would be looking for him after what Gunner had done, after what he’d framed him for.
“Guess I don’t have much of a choice.”
“Fine, but I need gasoline; how far is your house?” he growled, his fingers running through his short, black hair.
Those pretty brows knitted together. “Ten minutes maybe?” she said, sounding unsure. “There’s a gas station on the way home, though. We can stop and fill up your ride.”
“Alright then, come on.” Pierce had a feeling he would come to regret helping this spoiled valley brat, that somehow she would get him caught. But he had no choice. He needed the money so desperately, he knew he had to play along. Hopefully, he would be able to leave before this woman figured anything out about his past.
Hopefully, the gas in my bike is enough to get us to the station. He got astride his bike, turning the engine on. It came rumbling to life, the vibrations soothing some of the aches in his saddle-sore legs. Three days since I left. Three days of straight riding on back roads. I need some real sleep.
Rubbing at his eyes, Pierce looked back at the woman. She looked down at the bike with too-wide eyes, then back up at him. She seemed to come to some agreement with herself, gathered up her courage, then hesitantly got on the back of the bike. Her hands wrapped tentatively around his stomach, holding on very lightly like he might break.
Smiling wickedly, Pierce pulled away from the desert sand, rocketing forward. With a cry, the pretty girl locked her hands around his waist, her hands clutching him in fear. He laughed, but the sound was lost in the rumble of his thundering engine.
# # #
Felice
“Amazing,” Felice whispered as they stepped off of the bike. Never in her life had she ever felt such exhilaration. There was something beautiful about the open road on a bike. The purr of the engine between her legs, the feel of the wind through her hair. It was like driving one of the convertibles, but even more freeing and wild. “Perhaps I’ll have to buy myself a bike and find someone to teach me to ride it.”
But that would never be able to recreate this first time; something about wrapping her arms around sexy biker man’s body made this trip a thousand times better. She could still remember the thrill of running her fingers over his muscled stomach, of having the heat of his body seeping into hers through their clothing. Just thinking about it was enough to light a fire in her belly.
She ran her manicured fingernails through her white-blonde hair, trying to get out the worst of the tangles and put her hair back into some sort of order.
He looked up at Felice’s house with wonder, his eyes widening. “Do you work here or something?”
“Ew, no,” she said, snorting indelicately. “This is my house. Well, it’s my main house, anyway.”
Turning back to her, the biker looked her over, his eyes filled with a newfound respect. “I see.” He shut his mouth around any other comments he seemed to want to make, swallowing them down. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like the rest of the money you promised so I can get back on the road.”
“Sure thing; we’ll have to go inside so I can grab the rest of my cash. Why don’t you join me for a drink?”
He frowned but followed without a word. Felice was intrigued. Is this whole tough man thing an act, or is he really like some kind of hardcore biker gang guy? A thrill of mixed fear and excitement shivered over her skin at the thought. She wanted to ask him about his past, but he didn’t seem the type to divulge secrets to anyone, much less a stranger he just met on the road a half an hour ago.
She took a deep breath, opening her mouth to ask a question when her phone rang, interrupting her. Felice answered it without thinking. Wincing, Felice prayed it wasn’t Clay. She couldn’t stand the thought of hearing her ex’s voice right now.
“Oh my God, Felice. Don’t hang up.” It was Jennifer. The second worst person in the world.
“You calling to push the knife in a little harder?” Felice asked, her voice like ice. “Or are you calling for something work related?”
“He didn’t tell me,” Jennifer said, tears in her voice. “I didn’t know it was Clay; you know we’d never met before. He didn’t even tell me he had a girlfriend.” Her best friend’s voice sounded lost, desperate. “He even gave me a fake fucking name, brought me to his house. He didn’t even know you and I knew each other.”
For a long time, Felice sat in silence, tears slipping down her cheeks. She kept swallowing, but the tears seemed to block her throat. Clay is even more of an asshole than I ever suspected. I hope he rots in hell. How many other girls has he tricked with a false name?
Taking a deep breath, she finally said, “Okay, Jenny. I believe you. But I also don’t want to talk to you right now. Okay?”
“Okay,” she answered, sounding tentatively happier. “Will I see you at work tomorrow?”
“No,” Felice answered, tears in her eyes as she hung up the phone without saying goodbye. She turned to her visitor, who had listened to the whole conversation without a speck of emotion on his beautiful face. “How about that drink?”