7
After eating we lounge around for about half an hour before going back into the water. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this relaxed.
“Did you always want to be a biker?” I ask as I sit on my knees, the water up to my breasts. “I mean, it’s not exactly a career choice.”
He throws his head back and laughs, and I watch the muscles work in his throat as he does.
“No, I guess it’s not, although it is lucrative. I’ve always loved riding bikes, but I just did it in my spare time. I was in the army, and when I came back I guess I was kind of lost, and ran into Prez at a biker bar. We got chatting, had a beer together. When I was leaving, I saw him out front surrounded by three men. When the first one went to hit him, I knew I had to do something. Three against one? That’s fuckin’ bullshit. So I stepped in, and the two of us took all the men down. I guess you can say that the rest is history.”
“That’s a pretty great story,” I reply, smiling. “So being a biker found you, and not the other way around.”
I think this says a lot about him. He’s obviously an honorable man, and I have even more respect for him now. He served our country, he has honor, he’s a gentleman, and he seems like a great father.
And he’s sexier than I’d like to admit.
Why am I resisting him again?
“Something like that,” he says, droplets of water running down his beard. “How about you? Always wanted to be a journalist?”
“I’ve always wanted to tell stories, to show everyone a part of the community they might not know about,” I explain. “I love sharing news, observations, and updating everyone on what’s going on in our city. I don’t just love the writing—I also love the chase, searching for the next story. I was always good at English and knew I wanted to do something in that field. At first, I wanted to teach English overseas, but later I changed my mind and went with journalism.”
“You’re very intelligent and good at what you do. I read some of your articles, remember,” he says.
“What can I say? I’m more than a pretty face,” I reply with a head tilt and cheeky look. “I’ve worked hard to get where I am, that’s for sure.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he murmurs, splashing some water over his shoulders. “Meanwhile, I didn’t even finish high school.”
“There are different kinds of intellects,” I reply, shrugging. “Not being book smart doesn’t make you any less smart, or maybe you are and just didn’t stick it out. Either way, I can tell you’re smart just by having a conversation with you.”
He smiles and ducks his head. “Never said I wasn’t, just that I didn’t finish high school.”
I should probably just shut up from now on.
He laughs. “I’m just fucking with you, I know what you mean, Celina.”
“Oh, good,” I whisper, feeling a little awkward.
He gently grabs my waist and pulls me closer to him, his touch sending sparks straight to my nipples, which instantly pebble.
“I tease; don’t take me seriously,” he says in a gruff tone. “I could listen to you talk all day, you know that? You have the sweetest voice, but you never know what words are going to come out of that mouth.”
“Probably not great considering my line of work,” I say, blinking slowly.
“You have sass,” he states.
“You’re saying that like it’s a good thing,” I reply, moving out of his reach.
“It is,” he says, smirking. “Sweetheart, a man like me needs a strong woman. One who knows exactly who she is and isn’t afraid to show it.”
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” I sniff. “I don’t have any friends to hook you up with. My best friend, Akeira, is married, Erin is with Ace, and I don’t really have any other people I’d call friends.”
“Stop playing, Celina,” he commands, looking me dead in the eye. “Why are you fighting this?”
“Why do I need a reason?” I ask him, scowling. “You’re just so used to getting what and who you want that you don’t know what to do now that I’ve told you there will be nothing more than friendship here. Never been friend-zoned before?”
“You’re in serious denial, you know that?” he says in a gentle way that doesn’t make me defensive, just a little sad.
“It’s where I need to be right now,” I say, being both honest and vague. I lay back in the shallow water, half floating half sinking. I know I have issues. I’m being weak because I’m not willing to give this man a chance. I’m . . . scared. There, I said it.
I’m fucking scared.
I don’t want to get hurt, I don’t want to feel vulnerable, and I don’t want to look stupid by trusting the wrong person again. I’ve been let down by every male who has come into my life. What’s going to make this one any different?
“Dinner isn’t the end of the world,” he grumbles, sighing. “You’re really difficult, aren’t you?”
“Do you know how to make chicken biryani?” I ask him, sitting back up in the water, thinking of something I could never even make myself. “It’s Indian food.”
I sincerely doubt he knows how to make it.
“I know what it is,” he says, sounding smug. “I can make that. How much chili can you handle?”
“A lot. Why? Can’t you eat anything spicy?” I ask, tone challenging.
“I can eat more spice than you,” he states.
Now I have a few negative traits in me, and I think my competitive streak is one of them. Not the worst one, but one of them nonetheless. I don’t like losing, and I never back down from a challenge.
“Prove it,” I push.
“I will, tonight, when I make you dinner,” he says, grinning to himself like he won.
“I walked into that one, didn’t I?” I mutter, running my cool hands on my warm shoulders. “I think I’m getting burned. Should we head back home soon?”
“Yeah, sounds good. I need to prepare to cook my masterpiece.”
And I need to prepare my mouth for a chili-eating contest.
When we get back to my house, Knuckles walks me to the door but then heads home to shower and change, which gives me some time to think. I obviously can say no to his coming over tonight, but I let it slide once again, and I don’t know why I keep doing it. I should have stuck to my guns. I pull out my phone and send Erin an SOS message.
Knuckles is cooking me dinner tonight. What the fuck am I doing?
Erin’s reply is swift and not what I needed to hear.
Hopefully letting someone in? He’s a great guy, Celina. But if you don’t like him just tell him so. There are plenty of other women lining up to have him.
That bitch.
She could have left the last line out.
I reply:
You’re a terrible person. Did you tell him to bring me food? Using food as a weapon is a very dirty move.
I might have mentioned we share a love and weakness for food. Love you! Just have fun. You deserve it.
I knew it.
I decide to text Akeira, to get her opinion, since I’m clearly getting nowhere with Erin.
Should I let a biker cook me Indian food tonight?
Men know how to cook? And he’s a biker? Why is this even a question? Shit, you should husband him. Trap him. Get pregnant, or something.
Well. Safe to say she’s of no help either.
I shower, then distract myself with some research on ideas for stories I’m considering writing next. I take the dogs for a long walk, and when I come home I have a mental freak-out.
Men always let you down.
My father did, coming in and out of my life as he pleased—he was never there for me when I needed it. My ex-boyfriend cheated on me, and it wasn’t a one-time thing. He began to date this other woman, take her with him to events, and even to meet his family, and I had no idea. I was going to work, coming home, and thinking everything was fine and that he was “the one.” Everyone knew what was going on except me, including our so-called friends. Every time I think of that period in my life, I feel so out of control. My pride took a hit, and my pride is such a big part of who I am. Another negative trait, I know, but it’s honest.
And I’m never ever going to let a man make me look stupid again.