Alphas on Top(117)
I stop the bike and Cash holds it up while I get off. I walk towards Asher. His mom and dad are standing to the side while he yells at his friend about how in the hell he let me get on his bike. Hearing what he is saying pisses me off. I'm not some helpless child who needs constant supervision.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. I look around and notice everyone is watching.
“What the hell are you thinking?” Asher glares at me. “That bike is too big for you. Do you realize you could be seriously hurt?”
“Are you serious?” I ask, looking at him like he grew a third eye. I can hear the guys chuckling behind us.
“Deadly fucking serious,” he growls.
“You listen to me, Asher. You are not the boss of me. I'm going to learn how to ride a motorcycle and then I'm going to buy one so I can ride it whenever I want, and there is not a damn thing you can do about it,” I say, poking him in the chest.
“Fuck, no, you’re not.”
“My dad’s teaching me on his next day off,” I say, smiling sweetly.
“Baby, I'm telling you right now, if you think I'm going to let you ride, you’re crazy.”
“And, baby,” I say sarcastically, “I'm telling you that I don’t need your permission to do anything.”
“We’ll see,” he growls then pulls me into his chest and kisses me hard with tongue while everyone watches. When he brakes the kiss, I am in such a fog that I don’t even yell at him for kissing me in front of his parents. He puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his side. I look around and everyone is smiling. I am wondering what the hell just happened. We were arguing then we weren’t…is that normal?
“Alright, kiddos. Let’s go eat,” Asher’s mom calls loudly. I start giggling and Asher just looks down at me, smiling.
“What?” I shrug my shoulders. “She makes me feel like I'm five years old.”
Asher’s mom makes amazing BBQ pulled pork in her crockpot then toasts giant potato buns and loads them with meat. She even makes sweet potato fries and homemade coleslaw. It is delicious.
We sit around a large fire pit, drinking and eating, then she brings out marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolate bars so we can make smores. It is perfect.
I am tucked close to Asher with my belly full and my favorite hard apple cider in my hand. Life can’t get any better than this. The guys start telling stories about tricks they played on each other when they were younger and other stupid things they did.
“So Asher and me used to skateboard when we were in high school,” Sven says, starting his story. “One time, we were out riding around when Asher fell while trying to do a trick off a set of stairs near the library. Well, he missed his landing and ended up doing the splits down the stairs, hurting his groin muscle. We went back to my house so he could put some ice on it. I was in the kitchen getting ice out for him when I heard him screaming from the bathroom like a damn girl. I ran to the bathroom to figure out what happened. I banged on the door and he didn’t answer. All I could hear was moaning and crying. So, I said fuck it and walked into a scene that, to this day, is still burned into the back of my eyelids. Your man,” he says, looking at me and laughing, “was laying on the floor in the bathroom with a jar of icy/hot He decided to put that shit on his groin, thinking it would help. He got that shit on his balls and almost passed out from the pain.”
I am laughing so hard, I fall backwards off the log that we are sitting on. I haven’t ever had this much fun and I am dirtier than I have ever been in my life. I have mud in my hair, on my face, and all over my clothes. I'm sure I look like a homeless person but everyone else is just as dirty. Even Asher’s mom is covered in dirt. I love all of them and I love Tennessee. The laid-back lifestyle and the friendly people are so different from New Yorkers.
I realize, lying on the ground in the dirt, that I am happy. Really, really happy for the first time in my life. Asher leans over and helps me back up on the log. He puts me back under his arm and kisses my nose, smiling.
“I'm stealing your girl,” Sven deadpans.
“Fuck, no,” Asher says, smiling at him. The guys go back to talking about the jobsite and things they have to get done before the next inspection, while Susan and I plan our trip to Nashville the next day.
“So, I’ll pick you up around nine,” she tells me.
“Okay, sounds good.”
“Twelve, Mom. No earlier,” Asher says, breaking into our conversation.
“Nine,” his mom says, looking at him, daring him to disagree.
“Twelve. Tomorrow is Sunday and we’re sleeping in.”