Page 56 of Bad Attitude
Wise words.
Six o’clock, I take a shower and try real damn hardnot to think about anything—with no success whatsoever. Six-thirty, I pull my leathers on, hating that I have to do this at all.
Then I collect my helmet, check my gloves are in it, sit down on my couch, and put the TV on.
Fuck ‘em all if they think I’m going to turn up early and sit there waiting like a nice obedient girl. They can wait for me.
I don’t know what I watch; I can’t take it in, and I don’t care anyway. What I’m really watching is the time, crawling by, figuring out how long I can leave it without risking Kurt’s irritation.
The self-imposed wait isn’t doing my nerves any good, and by twenty before seven, I curse, get myself up, and onto my bike. It’s a twenty-minute ride, but as I approach the 210, I take the onramp west, not east, kicking myself for not doing this sooner. I don’t have to think when I’m on my bike, I can just ride and feel free. Go around the long way. Add twenty minutes to the journey. Get there later, without having to sit around.
That’s the plan, but it doesn’t work.
The problem is that Idon’thave to think when I’m on my bike, and that means I have far too much time to think.
Fucking Declan Hale and his goddamn Fireblade and his goddamn pale blue eyes and his goddamn strong jaw and tight abs and tight… fuckingeverything. And that smoldering, playful expression that I just want topunchoff his far-too-handsome face.
Focus, Raven. One briefing, say nothing, in and out. Gohome.
I should be too angry to think straight, but my head doesn’t seem to know that. Thirty-six minutes it takes me to reach Kurt’s unit, andevery single secondI spend thinking ofhim.
But that’s not the worst bit. The worst bit is that I know it’s not just my head that’s not obeying me. It’s mybody. Because I’m aroused. My panties are soaked, just from thememoryof him, and what he did to me.
God, I really hate that guy.
I pull up outside the building, seeing Declan’s Fireblade already there. I park as far away as I can get, cramming my Ducati between the wall and Cole’s R1. Almost scrape my baby as I reverse it in, and if I’d done that, Declan would know wrath like he’d never seen it before.
I hit the entry buzzer and yank the door open when it clicks unlocked, stomping up the first few steps like I… want everyone in the building to know I’m pissed?
But I don’t, do I?
That’s not the right play.
No, I’m going to be cool. Collected. Calm and reserved. Utterly unaffected and unfazed by thatmotherfuckerwalking out on me the morning after.
If he hadn’t left, I’d have kicked him out. That’s the position, and I’m sticking to it.
I pause on the steps, pull my gloves off and throw them in my helmet, unzip my jacket, check my braid is hanging nicely, brush any loose strands back with the palm of one hand. Check if I’ve missed anything. Adjust my gloves inside my helmet. Only then do Iproceed in a slow, moderate pace into Kurt’s rooms.
No one is saying anything. Tasha’s sitting in her armchair with her laptop on the coffee table, two steaming cups beside it. Kurt is next to her, in his Chesterfield. Cole and Dario are on one sofa, drinks in hand. Cammy’s on the beanbag.
Fucking Declan Hale is sitting on the second couch, by himself, and the only seat left available is next to him.
I hate my life.
I throw Kurt my best smile. “So sorry I’m late.”
He regards me with flat eyes that see right through my performance, but it’s not for him, so I don’t care. I embrace Tasha, who rises to greet me with a slightly worried expression, then make a point of giving Cole and Dario a hug too. I haven’t even looked athim. Cammy gets a fist bump.
“Coffee, anyone?” I ask blithely, setting my helmet down on a shelf next to Kurt’s spray cans and delayingeven longer the moment I have to sit next to him.
“I’m good, thank you,” Cammy says into the awkward quiet. I wasn’t expecting anyone to say anything; they’ve got drinks already.
Declan stands up. “I could use a refill. I’ll come and give you a hand.”
Shit.
The kitchen is a small space just off the main room, where carpet becomes tiles. I busy myself finding a cup, emptying the drip tray on the machine Kurt had installed, fitting it back again, checking there are beans. Delaying as long as I can.
