"Because," I said, "I was just messing with you. And besides, you got it back, didn't you?"
That was how long ago? At least seven years. I'd been only sixteen at the time. Back then, Jake had been a twenty-something bad-ass with a terrible reputation. I'd taken that bike on a dare. I bit my lip. Okay, so it wasn'tonlybecause of the dare.
Mostly, I'd been hoping for a ride.
I'd fantasized about it, actually. In my adolescent dreams, I saw myself riding behind him, feeling the wind in my hair and savoring the tautness of his abs as I wrapped my arms around his waist and held on for dear life.
In my fantasies, I pressed my cheek against his muscular back and squeezed my thighs against his tight hips. And maybe, just maybe, when we stopped, Jake would turn around and kiss me like I'd always wanted him to. And then, somehow, in that impossible moment, he'd realize that I was the girl for him, even if Iwasstill in high school.
It never happened.
Now, inside his car, I heard myself sigh. I didn't get that ride. There was no kiss. And I'd almost gotten arrested for grand-theft, well, motorcycle, I guess. Worst of all, Jake had called me a brat, like I was still a chubby-cheeked kid who played with dolls.
At the time, that had been the worst part.
Sitting in the passenger's seat, I stiffened my spine. That was a long time ago, and I'd grown up a whole lot since then. I didn't want a ride, and I sure as hell didn't want to be Jake's girlfriend, not that he'd offered.
"So youdidn'tsteal the bike?" he said.
"It's not stealing if you return it," I said.
"Uh-huh."
I turned to face him. "Will youpleasestop saying that?"
"Why?"
"Because it's annoying, that's why."
"You know what's 'annoying'?" he said. "Losing your motorcycle to a sixteen-year-old smart-ass."
"Oh quit whining," I said. "That was like a hundred years ago."
"It was seven," he said.
"Close enough," I said. "Besides, it's not like I actually drove it. Remember?" With the help of a couple girlfriends, I'd rolled the thing at least a mile though. Probably, I should have ridden it all by myself. Then I would have gotten at leastsomefun out of the deal.
When I'd been younger, I'd watched as my older sister rode around with Jake's brother, who was practically Jake's twin. Just like everyone else, I'd been shocked as hell when she'd hooked up with a Bishop. To think, she had always been the good girl in the family.
Me, not so much.
Still, the thing with Jake's brother had cost my usually smart sister plenty – a full scholarship and half her sanity. The way I saw it, she'd dodged a huge bullet the day she left that guy.
Bishops were nothing but trouble.
Inside the car, I glanced toward Jake. In profile, he looked just as good, maybe better, than I remembered. My heart gave a little flutter. Damn it. If my own sister had finally wised up, why couldn't I?
From the driver's seat, Jake gestured toward the phone. "Keep reading," he said.
Reluctantly, I returned my attention to his cell phone. Funny, I'd almost completely forgotten about those text messages. That had to be Jake's fault too, right?
See? Hewastrouble.
I resumed reading. "So you ask, 'Stole what?'" I scrolled down. "And they say—"I glanced toward Jake.
"Read it," he said.
I didn't want to. But I did anyway. "A little black book."
