Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)(47)

I expect him to smirk at me and toss one right back, but instead, I watch the light in Jack’s eyes dim.

“Yeah. No problem.” He lets go of my door and takes a step back toward his bike. “I’ve gotta get going.” He quickly zips up his jacket, pulls on his helmet, and throws his leg over the bike.

Umm . . . I definitely said the wrong thing somehow. Jack has completely shut down and is ready to get away from me as quickly as possible.

“I’ll see you back in our neck of the woods,” he says, and then gives me a brief two-finger wave before he backs his bike out of the spot and cruises toward the parking lot exit.

I watch him go, wondering what in the hell I said wrong, before turning my key in the ignition and only earning a little whine from the engine before it quits altogether. I try again, but the second time I turn the key all I get are clicks.

“Dammit,” I say, hitting my steering wheel.

I really don’t want to have to go back inside and endure Marissa while I ask to use her landline because my phone never gets service at the school, but Jack is already gone and—

I hear the sound of his bike getting louder again. Out my window, I see he’s turned around and is heading back in my direction. Had he been waiting to make I got out of here okay?

Gentleman, indeed.

“Is it dead?” he yells over his engine after pulling his bike up beside me again.

“I think it’s just napping.” I try one more time but again nothing happens.

I look up when movement beside my window catches my eye. It’s Jack, holding out a motorcycle helmet to me. “I’ve got a spare just in case.”

“No, no, no. I’m not getting on that bike with you.”

He shrugs. “Your call. Either you get on here with me and let me drive you home to call a mechanic, or you go back in there and beg your favorite person to let you use the phone.”

He extends the helmet further in my direction. I look toward the school, and then again at Jack perched on the bike, looking tempting as sin.

“Damn you, Jackson.” I get out of my truck and slam the door behind me.





Chapter Fourteen


Emily


“You okay?” Jack asks, getting off his bike to help me.

I have the helmet on my head and am trying to latch the hook under my chin, but my hands are shaking too bad.

I swat his hand away when he tries to help. “Of course, I’m okay. I’m fine! Great. Perfect.”

He holds his hands up. “You just seem a little jittery.”

“I’m not jittery. I just can’t see these damn fasteners under my chin! And it’s so hot in here. And . . . Agh!” I drop my hands and stomp once against the ground.

Jack’s helmet visor is flipped up so I can see his infuriating smirk. “That was a cute tantrum.”

“I don’t throw tantrums.”

He has the audacity to laugh. “Yes, you do. I’ve witnessed four so far in this year of our Lord and Savior. And that was definitely one.”

“I’m going to smack you.”

He points to his head. “Can you do it while my helmet is still on?”

I drop my eyes from his face to the sleek, black death trap beside us. My heart rate ratchets up and suddenly hanging out with Marissa all day doesn’t seem so bad. Maybe she likes to puzzle. Puzzling sounds nice right about now.

“Tell me what’s going on in that head. I can see your thoughts running a mile a minute. Are you scared?”

“Stop doing that.” I ball my hands into fists.

His eyes drop to my fists and next thing I know, his gloved hands are wrapping around them, gently unfolding my fingers one by one. “Stop doing what?”

“Perceiving me so much!” I look up at him and we’re helmet to helmet. “Believe it or not, there are some thoughts and feelings I like to keep to myself.” But most of the time I feel liquid in front of him. Like he can see straight through me. He’s probably reading these thoughts as I have them.

I’m thinking of a number, Jack . . .

He smiles. “I can’t help it. I see you and I want to figure you out. Why don’t you ever wear your red cowboy boots to school? And why do your hands ball up so tightly when you realize I’ve seen something about you? Because you want to hit me or because you’re trying to hold back any more feelings from showing? Why did you immediately hate me in college—it had to be more than me spilling coffee on you? And how the hell did you sense there was more to the story of my glasses without me ever hinting at it?”

We’re both silent for a few moments in the wake of his flood of questions. And then Jack blinks and steps away, looking almost embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say all that. Forget it.” He laughs softly and flips his visor back down. “Listen, if you’re not comfortable riding with me, you can stay here, and I’ll go back to the house to get the Land Rover and then come pick you up.” He’s walking toward his bike. Snaps his visor back down. Problem solved. “That way you don’t have to see Marissa or ride on the bike.”

“Jack . . .” He stops and turns his head back to me. “Why did you have a spare helmet?”

All I can see is my own refection in his visor. He waits so long to respond that I know he’s looking for a lie but can’t find one. “I hoped you would ride with me some day and I wanted to be prepared.”