Old School (A Bad Boy Biker Romance) (2 page)

“Hop in before I change my mind!”

He didn't have to be told twice. I was serious.

Vince

Getting hit by cars wasn't exactly new to me. As a teenager, crazy with adrenaline from the purchase of my first bike I was pretty careless on the road. I'm pretty sure some of the drivers were aiming to hit me and I can't exactly blame them. If I saw a dumb kid zig zagging across the street I would have trouble stopping myself from hitting him too.

In the last few years, since I'd started making enough money to get some decent bikes and customize them the way I liked them I was a lot more careful, and hadn't seen a collision in years. Then again, I'd never been hit by a sexy girl asleep at the wheel before. What the hell was she doing that made her so tired? I could tell from her outfit that she didn't work in fast food. Her job had some serious pressure to it. Though I should have been angry at her, I just couldn't bring myself to be. She wasn't bad.

Lola was crazy, absolutely nuts. I liked that about her, among other things. The way that tight little dress showed off those tits, that tiny waist and those thick hips drove me crazy. I wanted to tear it off her and fuck her on the dented car bonnet as soon as I saw her. My head was bleeding and my bike was in pieces but those were the furthest things from my mind. All I wanted was her.

She was surprisingly resistant to my charms at first. Usually the chicks get wet at the sight of me and then I give them a slight nudge and they're on all fours, waiting to be fucked. Lola was different though. I seemed to make her agitated rather than aroused. That was OK though, I liked a challenge. There was an awkward silence as she drove, her eyes positively glued to the road. Maybe it was her

way of showing me that she was normally a better driver. I didn't care. My head was hurting but I didn't give a fuck. I couldn't keep my eyes off of Lola's sweet rack, which bounced beautifully every time she drove over a bump or a pothole.

“Stop looking at me,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road. How did she know? A girl like that was probably used to getting attention from every guy she met. She would soon learn that I wasn't like other guys, not one little bit.

“I'm not looking at you,” I lied, “Don't flatter yourself babe, I get enough ass as it is without adding yours to the mix.”

She snorted contemptuously, reminding me of one of those tiny little handbag dogs. Adorable, but vicious.

“You're such a prick,” she said through gritted teeth. OK, that was too much. Banter was good but I didn't want the girl to hate me.

“Hey, hey. I wouldn't be here if you didn't run me over, would I? Fuck, you hit me so hard my whole life flashed before my eyes. Actually,” I put my hand on the sore spot on my head, which had faded to only a slight throbbing pain and hammed it up, “I'm feeling kinda woozy. Maybe we should go to the ER.”

To my surprise, the car screeched to a halt and Lola turned to me, a panicked expression on her pretty features. I wasn't exactly a top class actor so I wasn't sure how she had fallen for my woozy routine, but I didn't question it. If it worked it worked, and I was happy.

“Holy fuck, are you OK?” she pressed her hand against my forehead, “You don't have a temperature. Does that mean anything? I don't know. Can you see OK? How many fingers am I holding up?”

Seeing her in such an advanced state of hysteria was pretty funny to me but I decided to hold in my laughter. It was sweet really. OK, so maybe she was more concerned about a lawsuit than my well being but it was still cute.

“Two fingers,” I said, enjoying the view of her breasts as she inspected the top of my head, “Is that how many you like? Two?”

She pulled away from me and looked at me with disdain that would make a lesser man shrivel up in his seat. I stared her down until she looked away, a soft blush warming her cheeks.

“You were faking it, weren't you? You don't feel woozy,” she said gently. I shrugged, allowing her to take that as confirmation of her suspicions. “You really are a prick.”

I ignored that little jibe and decided to make use of our time together. There must have been a reason why this chick wasn't wet for me yet. A boyfriend or a husband maybe? That had never stopped me before. Maybe she was into girls? I tried not to get my hopes up about that one.

“Do you have a guy at home?” I asked. She wrinkled her nose and looked at me.

“What? What are you talking about? Maybe you do have a concussion.”

“No I don't. I've had concussions and I know what they feel like. This ain't it. Look, sweet cheeks -Lola,” I corrected myself and when she glared at me and she gave a little nod of approval, “I just wanna know what I'm dealing with. You got an old man? A boyfriend? A husband? A sugar daddy?” Lola shrugged and sat back in her seat, seemingly losing all interest in starting the car up again. I couldn't say that I minded.

“No, none of those.” she said. I couldn't tell from her expression if she was happy or wistful or sad or bored, or maybe all four of those things at once.

“A girlfriend then? A lady lover? A bi-curious gal pal?” I said, and she shot me that same look of contempt.

“You wish, perv.”

“OK, maybe I do. But that means your single then?” I said hopefully. She laughed at my statement and nodded.

“Yup, single as fuck. And I still don't want to sleep with you. I hope that doesn't dent that giant ego of yours too much,” she said, shooting me a daring smile. This chick really was feisty. I couldn't help but enjoy it. I wondered how that would translate into bed. I still hadn't given up on that. We still had a long car ride back to my place and I intended to make very good use of it.

“Not as much as the dents in your car. Hey, I could have charged you for that and I didn't.” She gave me an over the top thank you gesture.

“Look, I'm not usually a shit driver OK? I just have a very tiring work day with a really long commute. I was tired.”

I didn't argue with her. She started up the car again and I gave her directions to my place. Like I said, I wasn't giving up yet.

I listened to her go on about her bitchy boss at the magazine. It was called Catwalk. She said the name as if it was very impressive but I hadn't heard of it. That seemed to annoy her even further. “Why don't you just quit?” I asked and she shook her head, laughing spitefully.

“I can't quit. It's my dream job, Vince,” she said, but that didn't make sense to me in the slightest. I decided not to argue with her. Lola obviously knew what was best for Lola. At least, that was what I let her think.

Lola

Hiding my attraction to Vince began more and more difficult as the car journey went on. He was arrogant, rude, abrasive and seemed to pick an argument with every innocuous thing that I said or did. I put on the radio and he told me that country music was for inbred hicks who couldn't read. When we got to the city a homeless guy washed my windows so I gave him a few dollars. Vince berated me, insisting that the poor man would only spend my money on drugs and booze.

It shouldn't have been hard not to sleep with Vince, it really shouldn't have been. But somehow, it was.

As I drove I couldn't help checking him out from the corner of my eye. The inside of the car was warm so it didn't take long for him to remove his leather jacket and toss it in the back. Underneath he was wearing a tight white t-shirt, stained slightly by dirt and blood. It was a thin enough material that I could make out every line and contour of his muscles. The guy was ripped. His arms were

also decorated with a number of colorful tattoos that I hadn't been able to see when he was wearing the leather jacket. Fuck, tattooed men had always been my weakness. I had never been with one, they had always been too intimidating to me. The closest I ever came to it was my college boyfriend, who got Bugs Bunny tattooed on his ass when he lost a bet. That wasn't what I would call sexy and our relationship ended soon after, but I'd always wondered what it would be like to be with a real tattooed stud. Now that I had one sitting next to me, I found myself getting more and more distracted.

I thought I was being subtle but then a smirk appeared on Vince's smug face. “Eyes on the road, sugar tits,” he said.

I wanted to tell him to fuck off, to get out of my car and for fuck's sake never ever call me sugar tits again. I wanted to, but I didn't. A bigger part of me wanted him, though I wasn't about to admit that to myself. I could admire someone without fucking them, of course I could.

“So, which neighborhood are you in?” I asked, trying to hide my agitation though it came out in my voice.

“Oak street, take a left turn here,” he said, but my hands were frozen in place. He grabbed the wheel and turned it left and I took it from there, “Oh jeez, are you falling asleep again?”

“No!” I insisted, putting my eyes back on the road, “I'm just surprised, that's all.”

Oak Street was part of the wealthiest suburb in the city. I had driven through there on occasion and seen a lot of swimming pools behind wrought iron gates and beautiful women walking tiny dogs. I knew that my boss, Jennifer lived there with her equally rich husband (though if the rumors were true, they slept in separate beds at opposite ends of their mansion). There were also a few famous actors from soap operas and one or two former reality stars who had managed not to squander their money, but it was mostly CEOs and wealthy bankers. Vince couldn't possibly live here, could he? He read my mind.

“Surprised that I have money?” he asked, smiling. I couldn't tell if he was joking or not and I didn't want to look at him in case he scolded me for not paying attention to the road.

“Well, you said you were a mechanic.”

“I am,” he replied, “I also own a few custom bike shops. You might have heard of 'Vinny's Bikes'? Yeah, that's me.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar. My eighteen-year-old brother had been begging my parents for a bike last thanksgiving dinner, I was sure he had mentioned the place. My Dad had shut him down immediately, insisting that most of those bikes cost more than our house. Wow, so Vince did have money. No wonder he seemed so nonchalant about me wrecking his bike. He probably had a hundred others.

I played it cool. I didn't want him to think that I was impressed by money. I wasn't, really. If all I wanted in a guy was money then I could easily reel in some old perv to buy me a new purse every time I blew him. That was what a lot of my former college friends seemed to be doing. There wasn't enough money in the world to make me sleep with someone I couldn't stand. Still, it was impressive that Vince had been that successful. He must have been smarter than I gave him credit for. Playing it cool was definitely the way to go.

“I might have heard of it, I don't remember. Anyway, which one of these palaces is yours, 'Vinny'?” I asked. The name sounded so stupid that Vince laughed at it.

“Vince is fine. I'm just up here, number forty two. It's not a palace either, just a house.”

The house was just as beautiful as its predecessors. If it wasn't for the motorcycle parts laying around the drive way then I wouldn't have believed that Vince really lived there. I wondered what it must be like to be as young as I was but with that much money. You could do whatever you wanted. The gate was open so a pulled up into the driveway, carefully weaving between the motorcycle pieces until I got to the garage. Vince pressed a button on his phone and the door opened, allowing me to park inside before it closed behind us.

I stayed looking ahead even when the engine had turned off.

“Most chicks are impressed with this place,” teased Vince, “You want a house tour?” “No, I really don't.”

“OK OK, no house tour. How about a kiss good night then?” he asked mischievously. What a tool. He must have thought that I was in idiot if he expected me to fall for that one. Well I wasn't. I would show him.

I turned and looked him straight in the eyes.

“I somehow don't think that you're gonna peck me on the cheek, Vinny.” I said. He frowned at me. “I told you, don't call me Vinny. It's Vince, I just used Vinny as the company name cos it sounds friendlier. And I don't think you realize how lucky you are right now. Most chicks would give their left tit up to kiss me.”

He was so disgusting, I just wanted to leave. At least, that was what I told myself. Now that I was getting him a bit aggravated he was turning me on even more. I had to keep that piece of embarrassing information to myself. If Vince realized that I really was wet for him I would never hear the end of it.

“Right, well I'll be keeping both of my tits attached to my chest and fully covered, thanks. Now get out so I can leave,” I said sternly. Vince's frown deepened.

“You really don't back down, do you?” he sighed, “OK, I'll settle for a kiss on the cheek then.” Seriously? Was he kidding me? After all that he expected a kiss on the cheek? He was luck that I didn't slap him across the face! That was what I should have said, but the words I spoke came out differently.