Losing Me, Finding You (11 page)

“Why?”

“How would you feel if we just … I don't know, hopped on one and left?” I imagine my arms sliding around Austin's thick body, tangling in the leather of his jacket while the wind stings my face and the hot eye of the sun looks down on us with envy. I shiver. That's a romanticized view to be sure, but I can't help to entertain it. Everybody needs a little fantasy in their life; why do you think romance novels are so darn popular?

“Spill,” Christy says, looking both terrified and excited at the same time. “Did you buy us motorcycles?” I laugh.

“Not exactly.” I think of Austin again, and in the bright light of day, my request actually seems sort of … ridiculous. I don't have his number; he doesn't have mine. He never even asked for it. I don't know even know how I'm supposed to find him today. That thought hits me suddenly, like I've just run into a brick wall, and I immediately find myself short of breath. “Shit.”

Christy gives me a look.

“You alright?” I touch my hand to my belly and try to think. I guess I just assumed I'd find him in the crowd. I mean, he isn't difficult to spot. I could see Austin Sparks from a mile away.

“I … I asked Austin if we could join his motorcycle club.”
Not we, I. Me. I asked Austin if I could join his club. I'm going to have to amend that to
us
as soon as possible.
Christy laughs. She doesn't think I'm serious. I look down at my hands and then back up at her, studying the dimple in her chin and the way her earrings sway in the breeze from the air conditioner. “I'm serious, Christy,” I tell her, and she stops smiling. A horrible, awkward moment of silence stretches long and heavy between us.

“With Beck's group?” she asks, and it takes me a moment to respond because I want to say
Austin's
group. I remember that Austin introduced the redhead as his friend and assume that they're one in the same. Triple M he called it. I wonder what it stands for?

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Another moment of awkward silence.

“I thought you wanted to leave?” I ask her, wondering why her face is suddenly going all red and her eyes are starting to water again. She shakes her head and doesn't speak to me for awhile, not until we hit the downtown area and snag a prime parking space just a block away from the yellow tape that marks the festival's borders.

“I do, but I … ” She stops talking and turns the engine off, dropping the keys into her purse with a sigh. “I do, and I don't.”

“But you just said you wanted to? And last night – ”

“I know what I said!” she snaps, and then she gets out of the car and starts off down the sidewalk like she can't be bothered. I watch her disappear inside the shoe shop – Heavenly Soles (yes, that's its true name) – and climb out with a sigh of my own. Things seemed so different last night, less complicated. Now that the hot Southern sun is blaring in my face, pulling beads of sweat from my skin the instant I step outside the car, it feels like a tangled mass of heart strings and uncertainties.
Maybe I'm being childish? Maybe I should just forget any of this ever happened and move on?

But then I see him. I see Austin Sparks moving down the sidewalk towards me.

I'm coming out of the hotel with a headache the size of Texas, when I see Amy Cross climb out of a small, blue car and turn towards me. The second I catch her gaze, my body goes up in flames, and I find myself
jogging
down the Goddamn sidewalk to meet her. She keeps me locked in the whole way, using those round baby blues to tease me into a frenzy that makes me wish I could just slam her into the nearest wall and fuck the living daylights out of her.
What in the shit is it with this damn girl, Austin? You need to get her out of your system and fast.
I force myself to slow down when I get closer to her.
Or take her with you.
Shit.

“Good morning, sugar,” I say, and I smile when I see her shiver. Sure as shit ain't the weather that's pricking her skin with little goose bumps; it's hotter than hell out here.

“Good morning, Austin,” she says, all proper like. Her eyes keep flicking over to a shoe shop with a picture of Jesus H. Christ himself plastered across the window.
Weird ass little town.
And somehow complicated, too.
I gotta find Gaine and quick; this isn't a pleasure run. Things are tough.
After I left the bar last night, the shit hit the fan, and it didn't stop spinning. Bikes got trashed, and people got hurt, and I didn't have anything to do with any of it. I was too busy upstairs rubbing my cock and thinking of Amy while Gaine and Beck and who knows who the fuck else were doing my dirty work for me. “How do you do?” I laugh because the words slip from her mouth automatically, making her blush and then putting this real angry look on her face like she wants to stop, but doesn't know how. I've got a couple of ideas on how to keep that mouth occupied, but I keep them to myself. I don't have time for that right now, much as I'd like to get to know Miss Amy a little better. “Um.” She pauses and nibbles her lip, reaching up to brush some of that golden brown hair behind her ear. “Thank you.” I stare at her, and she rushes to explain, using her hands to emphasize her words. “For last night I mean?”

“Are you thankin' me for fucking you, darling?” I ask with a laugh, and she wrinkles her nose.

“I just … I don't know how these things work,” she begins, but I'm already stepping forward and hooking my fingers beneath her jaw, drawing her face up to mine and pressing my mouth against hers. She tastes sweet, like maybe she's wearing some of that flavored makeup crap that Mireya likes, but her mouth is hungry, pressing against me with a vigorous fury that I didn't expect. We tangle tongues and soon my arms are around her and I'm trying to figure out where the closest place is that we could fuck.

Amy pulls away first, stumbling back and wiping at her mouth like she can't believe what she's just done. Her eyes flicker around like a pair of fireflies, searching for anybody that might've seen. Granted, there are loads of people around, swapping rides, exchanging cash and drugs, chatting, gawking, breathing,
living.
But there's nobody looking at us.

“Stop,” she says, shaking her head and clutching the strap of her purse so tight that her knuckles go white and her lips purse angrily. “Don't.”

“Why not?” I ask, stepping forward and reaching out to brush some stray strands of hair away from her face. She might not want to, but I
have
to. I have to touch her and kiss her and fuck her because she's somehow got herself wrapped around my mind, and I need it to stop. I met the friggin' girl
yesterday.
I wonder briefly if I should go find Mireya, tell her I'm sorry, and just try to forget Amy Cross.

“Just stop,” she whispers, letting me run my thumb across her lower lip. God, what I'd give to have her bent over that pool table again. “Not in public.” I raise my eyebrows.

“You wanna go somewhere else, beautiful?” She looks up at me sharply, drawing her thin brows together angrily.

“You don't even remember, do you?” she whispers, but I do. I do remember and I know exactly what it is that she's talking about. She wants to join Triple M, and, fuck me sideways, but I want to take her with me.
Bad idea, Austin. What happens when you get tired of her? What're you gonna do then? Dump her on the side of the road? Your Mama raised you better than that.

“You don't know me,” I tell her honestly. “Or the shit I've gotten myself into. You don't want this.”

She slaps me then, hard, right across the face.

“Fuck you,” Amy says, voice low and tough as leather, not exactly what I was expecting. She looks down at the cement for a moment and then back up at me. “You don't know me either, and you don't know what I want, what it's like here, living in this … this …
fucking
bubble. You can do whatever you want, whenever you want. You get to see places, meet people, screw whoever.” She throws her hands up and turns a bright shade of pink when she says this. “And I get stuck here with a dad who beats me and a mom that doesn't care, and I lose my virginity to some
asshole
in a bar.” She snaps her mouth closed suddenly, and I can't keep the grin off of my face.

“Shit,” I say and then I'm grabbing her behind the head and pulling her lips against mine, kissing the shit out of her right there in the middle of the street. She raises her hands to protest, but can't seem to find a fight in that, instead choosing to grab the edges of my vest with an iron grip. I feel myself getting hard, and I can't help but push my hips forward, grabbing her around the waist and grinding her into me, wishing we could finish this up, right here, right now.
And then maybe you'll be able to get a logical thought through that thick skull of yours, Sparks.

Amy stops us again, and I swear to God, I'm about ready to grab her around the waist, toss her over my shoulder and take her up to my hotel room.

I rake my fingers through my hair and turn away, sucking in a deep breath to stay calm.

“Austin,” she says and I remind myself that this is why women like Mireya are better for me. I understand them, and they understand me and what I want and what I need. This … girl, she don't know shit. “I
have
to get out of here, whether you help me or not.” Here, she pauses. “Who do I need to talk to?” I turn back to look at her, and see that she's squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Sweat drips down her neck and between her breasts, disappearing under the lace trim of her shirt. I swallow hard, squeezing my hands into tight fists at my side. All of this unused sexual tension is going to put me in a bad, motherfucking mood.

“Kent Diamond,” I say and she nods curtly.

“Where do I find him?”

Shit.
I stare at her hard, real hard, and I know that I can't send her to Kent. That's all sorts of messed up. I wouldn't send my worst enemy to Kent Diamond.

“I'll ask him,” I promise. I was going to anyhow. There's just something about Cross that makes me want to do it, just for the possibility of what could be.
You're scaring me, Austin,
I tell myself, shaking my head to clear it, but God, she felt so damn good last night when I was riding her ass. That feeling of wanting to own Amy Cross has not gotten any better, only worse. I wonder how many times it's gonna take before it goes away completely.

“And my friend,” she blurts. “She might … I just don't know.” She touches the palms of her hands to her forehead and closes her eyes for a moment. “You know what?” she begins, dropping her arms back to her sides. “Just forget it, just forget all of it.” And then she takes off into the shoe shop, leaving me wondering what in the hell just happened.

I think about chasing after her, realize that I have
never
even considered chasing after any woman, and then spot Gaine down the block from me, coming around the corner with a purple bruise over his left eye and a limp that sure as shit wasn't there last night. Damn it all, but Amy Cross is going to have to wait.

I wave Gaine over.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks me, getting pissed before I get the chance to. His dark hair is matted with blood, and he doesn't look like he slept at all last night. I wonder where he's been.

“Gaine,” I start, but he doesn't want to hear it.

“Fuck you, Austin,” he says, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. His jaw is swollen and raw lookin' like he took a few hits. I don't want to ask, but I have to.

“You did it, didn't you?” I say, shaking my head and trying not to hate myself. I stood my ground and my friends got fucked for it. I hate the way the world works sometimes. “You're Diamond's bitch now, too?”

I'm barely able to move before Gaine swings out with his fist, missing me by a spare few inches before he stumbles forward and leans against the side of a telephone pole. Sweat is pouring down his face and dripping to the pavement, making his tattoos as shiny and livid as the bruises on the side of his neck.

“It's not what you think, Austin,” he tells me, and I want to believe him because there's nobody out there that's better than Gaine, but I can't get behind Kent and his turf war bullshit. That's not the way things are supposed to work, and it's not something I want to get involved in. “And you know what? I'm not about to stand here and take shit from you.” He pauses and spits on the sidewalk next to my feet. “Whether you agreed with Kent's decision or not, you shoulda been there. I'm not going to justify myself to you.”

And then he's pushing away from the wood and stumbling down the sidewalk like a Goddamn drunk. I let him go, staring at his back, at the Triple M colors he's flying, and I know that whether I like it or not, I've got to step in and deal with this shit on my own.

Otherwise somebody could get hurt.

I try not to think about Amy when I say that.