“I’m going to go check on Daisy in the garage,” I tell them, avoiding any plans they have to convince me to see Jonathan Hale. And plus, I want to know what she’s fucking doing alone in there.
“Tell her the food is almost ready,” Lo says.
I nod, heading to the back door.
We each have our roles, and I know mine is to keep an eye on this girl and that guy.
I just don’t ever want to be faced with the decision of having to choose between them.
If that day comes, then fuck me.
< 5 >
RYKE MEADOWS
I shut the door behind me, finding Daisy almost immediately. She sits backwards on her parked Ducati, the same brand as mine, only red to my black. She leans back against the gas can near the handles and props a map on her legs, a Sharpie cap between her teeth.
Her carefree nature always fucking draws me to her—even when I wish I could stay fifteen feet away. It doesn’t help that her legs are spread apart. I’m so fucking thankful she’s single right now. I hate her ex-boyfriends, and I hate how men look at her and all they see is a girl they believe they can mount. They can’t. She’s out of their fucking league, and yet, she entertains them, too nice not to.
It pisses me off.
“There’s a party inside, you know,” I tell her roughly, “and it’s for you.” I walk across the concrete floor to reach her side.
“I know,” she mumbles and then spits the cap out. “Rose and Lily shut the door on me when I tried to go to the bathroom with them. And Connor and Lo looked like they wanted to talk about something private too, so I figured I’d let them discuss what they needed to.”
I frown. “Why would your sisters do that?”
“Lily is five years older than me and Rose is seven,” she says with a shrug. “I’m used to being left out. It’s the younger child syndrome.” She sits up and hands me the map.
I scan it quickly.
“It’s for your road trip to California,” she explains. “I marked some places that are supposed to be cool.”
“You also drew a fucking smiley face over North Dakota.”
“That’s because North Dakota is the happiest state. Everyone knows that.” She grins, brightness in her eyes that I haven’t seen in a while. It’s gorgeous beyond fucking words. But at night, that light starts to slowly wane. It’s like Daisy Calloway is powered by the sun.
“Says who?” I ask, folding the map and tucking it into my back pocket.
“I read it somewhere,” she says. “I’ve forgotten the source, but I’m sure it was credible.”
“Yeah, says the girl who reads her horoscope every day.”
She mock gasps. “How did you know that? Have you been reading my diary?”
“No, I’ve just been sleeping in your bed.”
“I thought that was some other guy,” she says.
I scrutinize her position on the bike, her legs on either side of the seat, clutched tightly, still backwards. I’ve ridden on the same motorcycle with her before. She does this thing where she rests her hands on my thighs instead of wrapping them around my chest. I always have to grab her wrist when she purposefully nears my cock.
She likes to tease, to see how far she can push me, and I’ve never had a girl play with me like that, with confidence that radiates. It drives me fucking nuts, and I find myself wanting to be around her even more, seeking those give-and-take moments and her fucking joy.
But there’s a silent understanding between us. We both know we can’t cross a certain line.
“You’ve let other guys in your bed?” I question with the rise of my brows. Anger burns my muscles as I imagine the losers she’s been with, all fucking her, all older. Don’t think about it.
“Not lately.” Her oversized sweater snags on the handle behind her, almost flashing me. “Oops.”
My body heats, and the only thing that stops any kind of arousal is the idea of another strange guy getting hard at the sight of her. I don’t want to be one of them.
She adjusts her shirt, and I read the words stitched on her chest: Ooh la la.
I think it’s been about a year since she started choosing clothes with sayings—kind of like her way of talking back to the paparazzi without speaking. It’s cute.
“Have you ridden like this before?” she asks with a playful smile.
“Backwards?”
She nods.
“No. I didn’t want to kill myself the billions of times it’s crossed my mind,” I say dryly.