The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (291 page)

“You have every right to be angry,” Mom said.

“Damn right. I’m pissed,” I said, my voice rising.

“Watch your mouth in front of your mother,” Dad said.

My mom rolled her eyes. Six months ago, that would’ve made me smile. Now, it just made me want to cry. Remembering the way she always made me feel like we were on the same side, even if that put my dad on the other. We would let him fuss and then we said what we needed to say, just the two of us.

Now, the sides were split into three. No one seeing it from the angle of the other. I hated it.

“I’m an adult, Dad. I can say whatever I want,” I said.

“Not when it’s directed at one of your parents,” he shot back. “Now, watch your mouth.”

“Fine. Whatever. I didn’t want this conversation to begin with. Let’s just end it.” I stepped around him, heading for the door, this time determined not to let anything stop me. “And I want a new filing cabinet!”

I let the front door slam shut behind me, validated by the loud noise. I stomped down the wooden steps, again relishing the loud
thunk
my boots made as I went. I hung a left, not even hesitating in my destination.

It’d been a long time since I’d been mad enough to get lost, but today, the corn stalks were just barely high enough and they were calling my name. Wandering lost in a cornfield too high to see your way out of had a way of ordering a person’s thoughts—one way or another. That and nobody was going to find you before you were ready to be found. It was the best cure for a “deep-set mad,” as Mazie called it. And it was what I intended to do.

“Quite an exit you just made.”

My head whipped up and I slowed at the sight of Frank leaning against the garage. “What if it was?” I asked, trying to read whatever meaning lay behind his words.

He shrugged. “No skin off my back. You late for somethin’?”

“Peace and quiet,” I said pointedly, continuing down the gravel path that led around the garage and out to the fields.

But Frank pushed off from the garage and stepped in front of me just as I rounded the far corner.

“What is it, Frank?” I asked on a sigh. He reminded me entirely too much of my dad. They should’ve been brothers.

Instead of answering, his eyes fixed on something behind me. I gritted my teeth, hoping like hell it wasn’t one of my parents come to finish the argument. The sound of a motor caught my attention and I turned, curious. In a cloud of dust, two dirt bikes zipped down the driveway and pulled up short in front of me. Both riders wore motocross helmets and goggles obscuring their face, but I recognized them easily by the cut of their bodies.

Casey was the leader—as usual. His shirt had an oil stain on the left sleeve and his helmet was scuffed on the left side where he’d gone sailing over the handlebars of this same machine last summer. I’d bandaged the arm he’d torn open when it slid across tree bark as he flew. He was also the show-off of the two, cocky and confident as the back tire slid around in a sharp-angled stop mere inches from my booted toes.

I waved away the cloud of dirt that rose in my face, opting for no greeting since opening my mouth would’ve allowed the dust inside.

Behind Casey, the second rider pulled to a much smoother stop and planted his feet in a competent, practiced move. I watched him downshift to neutral and then let off the clutch, his sinewy muscles tightening with the action of his hands. I imagined those flexing muscles would look so much hotter gripping me instead of those handlebars. My mouth watered before I remembered I was supposed to be pissed. A fact the sight of Ford’s flexed forearms had made me forget in less than three seconds.

“You look like you could use some wind in your face,” Casey said. His voice was slightly muffled by his helmet, but his words were clear. And I didn’t need to see him glance at my mom’s car up ahead to know what he was trying to do.

I threw a wry glance at Frank.

“Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m not going for a romantic evening dirt bike ride with my own son.”

My lips twitched. They wanted to smile at the mental picture Frank’s words made. I wasn’t going to let them. Or give in so easily. “No helmet,” I said, pointing to my head for effect.

“Extra,” Casey said, pointing behind him. I looked and sure enough, there was an extra helmet strapped to the back of his seat.

“I thought these babies were out of commission,” I said, still prolonging the compromise of my temper. I knew the second I got on and the wind began to whip around me, my anger would evaporate into the dust behind me. There weren’t many things as freeing as speed in the open air. And Casey was trustworthy enough with a passenger on the back not to get too crazy. Usually. Mostly. Okay, sometimes.

“That one there’s been good since last weekend. Finished this one up last night,” he said. “Ford helped me.”

“I see.” I frowned, making sure not to look in Ford’s direction, even when Casey acknowledged him. One more glance at those arms, flexing as he worked the clutch and throttle, and I was a goner.

“We’re gonna tear up the creek trail. Make sure it’s clear for Friday.” Casey winked. “You coming or what?”

I shifted my weight side to side, trying to think of another worthy argument. I couldn’t say no. Not when it meant wind and speed and most importantly, an escape. I wasn’t going back in that house until she was gone. And the cornfields were out. Casey would only follow me down there. Or worse—send Frank.

Finally, I blew out a breath and walked over to unstrap the half-shell helmet. “Yeah, I’m coming,” I said.

Casey’s eyes crinkled with what must’ve been a grin inside his helmet. With his right hand, he revved the throttle and the engine roared. I strapped the helmet underneath my chin and put a hand on Casey’s shoulder, about to swing a leg over the back.

“Nah,” Casey said, shaking his head. “This one isn’t stable enough for two. You should ride with Ford.”

My eyes narrowed instantly. “What do you mean ‘not stable enough?’” I’d never heard of a bike not being stable enough for two. Not when the seat was big enough and passenger pegs were there. This one had both.

Casey shook his head again. “I’m serious. It’s been giving me trouble with extra weight. You should ride with Ford, just in case. I don’t want to dump you.”

I chewed my lip. Casey knew his way around anything with an engine. Either he was full of shit and wanted to see me ride with Ford—although why he cared so much, I hadn’t figured out yet—or I’d learned even less than I thought I had in all my time hanging in the garage. Either one was entirely plausible but since I didn’t have proof, and I was already wearing the helmet ...

“Fine. Whatever.” I turned on my heel and marched over to Ford. “Casey says I have to ride with you.”

He blinked. I couldn’t see his expression behind the helmet and it unnerved me. “Then I guess you have to. If Casey says.”

I put my hands on my hips. “How long have you been riding?”

“A few years.”

“Be specific.”

“Okay, um. Four years, give or take. My uncle used to motocross so he had a bunch of tricked-out dirt bikes we messed around on.”

I didn’t allow myself a mental picture of Ford in tight motocross pants. I could do that later. When I wasn’t required to carry on a conversation with him at the same time. “And you’ve ridden with passengers?” I pressed.

“Yes.”

“Off-road?”

“Is there going to be a test later?”

“Not killing me is the test.” Before he could argue, I swung a leg over the side of the seat, balling his shirt between my fists and sliding on. I settled myself, staring at Casey and trying very hard not to think about the smooth hardness of abs underneath my fingertips.

“Ready?” Casey called out.

“Let’s do it,” Ford yelled back.

Frank gave us a military-style salute and Casey twisted his throttle, kicking up a cloud of dust in our faces. Using one hand, I returned Frank’s salute begrudgingly. With the other, I held on as Ford gunned the engine, kicked it into first gear, and took off. When the momentum caught, I was thrown forward, my chest hitting firmly against Ford’s back. I wrapped both hands around his firm middle and held on, catching myself before our helmets could crack together. Dammit, I was riding like a complete newbie.

And where was I supposed to put my hands again? I looked for handles beside me but there was nothing. These little bikes didn’t have the big bars like street motorcycles did. And Casey liked these better. They were lighter, easier to whip around and make airborne. I normally agreed. But no handles meant I had no choice but to grip Ford around the ribs and pretend it didn’t send a tingle of nerves from my fingertips all the way to the tip of my scalp.

Ford could ride. I’d give him that.

Not once during our dip-and-turn through the woods did I worry he would dump me or lose it. He was competent and careful but not so cautious I didn’t get an adrenaline rush when he down-shifted to take a left curve sharp and fast.

“Wooo!” I yelled when the bike righted itself underneath me and we sped up.

I felt rather than heard Ford’s laughter as his torso shook beneath my arms. I smiled along with him. It’d been too long since I did this. The rush of a motorcycle was the best. No time or space to think about your problems, much less dwell on them. Nothing could eat at you out here. It was only you and the machine and the trail in front of you. Get too distracted and you’d miss something important like a mud hole or tree stump and go flying.

Before we even reached the creek, my anger had melted off. I’d known it would, but instead of fading from the love of a bike ride, it was being slowly replaced with the heat of straddling the small space of seat while pressed against Ford.

I’d given up on not reacting to the closeness. Now all I could do was pray my reaction wasn’t showing on my face when we stopped. His abs and pecs were solid underneath the pressure of my palms. I could feel the ripple of muscle, the planes and angles where chest became abdomen. We hit a bump and my hands slid quickly up and then down again. My breath caught. Holy hell, his nipples were hard. Heat built between my thighs, sending a delicious burn straight into the lower reaches of my stomach. It took everything I had not to lift my legs and wrap them around him instead of the machine I straddled. I held very still, holding my breath until I was sure I could exhale without moaning.

Before I’d fully recovered, we slowed and stopped. “What’s going on?” I asked, dazed.

“Casey just waved and turned off the trail,” Ford said.

I sat up straight, the haze of desire completely evaporated. “What?”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone where?” I looked around and realized for the first time, the sound of us idling was the only motor I heard.

“That way.” Ford pointed, but all I saw was overgrown brush and a downed tree.

“But ... what’s he doing? We can’t follow that way, not with both of us on this thing.”

“I think that was his point,” Ford said wryly. And I knew. This had been Casey’s plan all along. He knew I wouldn’t want to talk about Mom. To him or Frank or anyone. In Casey’s mind, the only way to cheer me up was a complete and total distraction. Hence, Ford.

“Stupid freaking liar,” I muttered, thinking of the bogus line he’d fed me about his dirt bike not holding two people.

“What?” Ford said.

“Ugh. Nothing.”

“You want to take a break? Stretch your legs?”

Without waiting for an answer, Ford killed the engine. Around us, the woods were quiet save for the cicadas. Far off, a single bird called once and then fell silent again. It wasn’t quite cool enough for them to make an appearance. Later. For now, it was humidity, cicadas, and the heat that could only be caused by riding a dirt bike with Ford O’Neal.

Oh, yeah. Casey was good. I’d get him for this.

I slid off and removed my helmet, hanging it on one of the handlebars before wandering down toward the water. Leaves crunched underneath my boots. I didn’t bother finding the trail or waiting for Ford. I found a spot on a rock and sat. Some of my earlier irritation had returned now that I was on two legs again.

“You want to talk about it?” Ford asked, sitting beside me. He was close enough to reach out and touch but far enough away that it didn’t make me squirm. I could think clearly as long as he stayed over there.

I stared at the water, watching the gentle ripple where it trickled around a rock that stuck out above the surface. It was peaceful here. Farther up, where I’d have to race with Casey, it was deeper, the rapids much faster. I liked it better here, where the sound was soothing and more of a background noise instead of in your face and roaring. “Not especially,” I said finally.

“Wanna make out?”

“What?” I whipped my head up, sure I’d misheard him.

He laughed. “Casey said you needed a distraction. Just trying to help.”

“Casey’s an ass.” My cheeks burned at the thought of accepting Ford’s invitation, even if it had been a joke.

“Agreed. Doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”

“Depends on who you ask.”

There was something so easy about the way he bantered. Like nothing ruffled him. Nothing shook his center. I wished I could be like that. Then again, maybe he’d never had something happen that was big enough to shake him. And somehow, the thought lessened my irritation. I couldn’t snap at him. He didn’t know my baggage. I didn’t know his.

“Ford.” I took a deep breath, letting my shoulders rise as the oxygen filled me completely and gave me the patience and courage to continue. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but I don’t know you. I’m not going to just spill all my problems. And you don’t have to bring me out here and do ... all this.” I used my hands to gesture around us. “It’s not your problem, it’s mine.”

“I’m not arguing the first part. You don’t know me. But I’d like the chance to let you. And sometimes talking to someone who doesn’t know all about it helps you see it clearer.” He spoke slowly, as if he’d considered his answer carefully rather than just throwing out what I might want to hear. Another layer of defenses crumbled.

“You might be right,” I admitted. “I just ... I don’t do that.”