Every Little Dream(16)
He raises an eyebrow, with a glint of humor in his eyes. “Honey, are you sure you want to do that?”
I gasp in fake shock and slug him. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
He raises his hands, claiming innocence. But when he speaks, he’s serious. “Can’t help it when I’m with you.”
I huff. “You want to hear my deal or not?”
He sits back on the bike seat, flashing me a look like this ought to be good. “Love to.”
I swallow my nerves and just spit out what’s been on my mind. “I figure you need me as much as I need you.” I pause, judging him for any sign of reaction, but his face is impossible to read. “I’ll help you clean up your image, be seen as the good guy, and you’ll show me a little excitement.”
He presses his lips together, staring hard out at the sand dunes. “I’ll follow you home, just in case.” Then with a roar, he turns the key and the engine roars to life, making any further conversation impossible.
He waves me on and just like he said, he follows me all the way back. Only once I’m parked and heading inside does he roar off. Whatever. He can’t just decide the conversation is over without talking about it. Real life doesn’t work that way. I certainly don’t. And, okay, so I lied. I’m not the sweet little good girl he thought I was. I race back to my car, cursing that my yellow bug is so obvious. I follow the sound of his motorcycle toward his beach home. I stop about a hundred feet away and take a right turn down a small side road. I turn around in a driveway and stick the nose of my car out so I can see if he leaves.
It doesn’t take long before he walks out all dressed up. Huh? Now I’m even more curious. What did he mean he was going to take care of everything? How would he do that dressed in a suit and tie? My lower stomach twinges with butterflies. He cleans up nice.
When he heads my direction, I back my car up behind a minivan, praying he’s keeping his eyes on the road.
Again, I follow the distinct sound of his bike. He turns away from the shore and heads toward town. I lose him but it doesn’t take long to spot his bike parked along Main Street. I drive past and find a spot down the road behind a monstrous SUV. Then I jog down the road and slip into the coffee shop across the street from his bike. After ordering a black coffee, I find a window seat.
The main street of town has a charming feel with lots of small tourist shops with jacked-up prices. The kind of place that begs someone to stroll the sidewalks, their hand laced with someone else’s, possibly with ice cream in hand and romance swirling. Someday, maybe, that will be me with the right guy. I automatically think of Chad and remind myself that’s crazy. He needs a friend. I need a change. That’s it.
For some reason I feel like he can see me, so I hold my to-go cup close to my face as if I could hide behind it. His bike is parked in front of a tall, impressive brick building. The front doors are made of glass and gleam in the sun. I can’t imagine what business he has in an uppity place like that.
Every few seconds, I glance at the clock. Time is passing slower than a turtle in a race. What’s he doing? A little investigating couldn’t hurt. It’s not like he’s my keeper or anything, and I’m right here in public with just as much right to be walking down Main Street as anyone else.
With a confident stride, hoping I don’t look guilty, I leave the coffee shop and stroll past the gleaming doors. Pressed into the glass is gold lettering: Blake and Seymour Law Offices. A lawyer? Why would he need a lawyer? Chad is turning out to be more mysterious and more full of secrets, the good and bad, then I originally thought.
I’m about to pull open the heavy glass door, when someone clears their throat behind me. I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“Miss?”
I turn and squint into the sun. A casually dressed man with silver tinting the stubble on his face gives me a curt nod. “Could I talk with you?”
“Um, yeah, I guess so.” I glance through the glass doors into the fancy lobby, then step away. “What? I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Follow me.”
Seriously? Does he think I’m an idiot? I don’t move.
He turns around. “We are aware of your threatening experience with a certain someone this afternoon and would like to offer you protection.”
What? I step closer. “I’m not going to go anywhere with you until you give me more details.”
He fidgets like he wants to get away from the front of the office. After spotting my coffee cup, he says, “How about the coffee shop across the road.”
“Fine.”
He leads the way across the street. A bad feeling settles into my stomach. For some reason, I feel like I’m in a movie and the audience is screaming at me again to run away.