Stupid Girl(24)

Brax laughed. “Hold on tight, Gracie. And don’t let go.”





The wind pushed against my face as I peered around Brax’s shoulder. We cruised through the tree-lined campus avenues, surrounded by century-old brick buildings, and I couldn’t help noticing all the looks being thrown our way. I had no doubt people wondered what new stupid girl Brax Jenkins had lured into his web of womanizing charm. Well, the joke was on them. I wasn’t lured. And I wasn’t a stupid girl. I was fully aware of the dangerous situation I’d placed myself in by accepting a friendly dinner date. But I had it under control. Dummy. You should’ve never agreed to go. Should’ve never let him in the dorm for that matter. You know good and well he sets you on fire like no one else ever has. Friendly dinner date my ass. Now what are you going to do?

Brax’s strong hand pressed my arms tighter against his stomach.

I swallowed. Hard. Maybe control wasn’t exactly the right word. Determined? I was stuck now. On this friend-only dinner … excursion. Maybe it’d be the last one.

Once we hit the main street, Brax picked up speed, and so did my heart. He had both hands on the bars, and I didn’t need him to encourage me to hold on tighter. I squeezed my arms around him. Warmth from his skin seeped through his jacket, his tee shirt, straight into my arms. His abs were ridiculously ripped and scored with muscle. Before I’d known what was happening, my knees were squeezing his thighs.

Brax picked up speed, and I found myself holding my breath. My brothers and I had grown up with dirt bikes, and we’d played on them our whole lives. But this was different. Fast. Exhilarating.

I was positive the driver had a lot to do with it.

Soon Brax slowed as we cruised through first one small town, then the next, passing local gas stations and grocery markets. I stared at Brax’s back, his broad shoulders. A piece of his neck showed, between helmet and jacket collar, and again I noticed the black ink tattooed into his skin. I wondered what they all were, what they meant. As I peered over his shoulder again, I saw his hands gripping the bike bars, and the letters inked into his knuckles. The inked band at his wrist that barely showed beneath the cuff of his jacket. Brax Jenkins was truly an enigma. No doubt the same things intrigued every single girl he’d had on the back of his bike. Typical tattooed bad-boy. Every girl’s dream—even if they never told anyone. Was I included? Apparently so.

As we rode down the main street of a small town called Campton, there were business establishments, mom-n-pop restaurants, and bars on both sides of the road. Brax pulled into a place called Tulley’s Chowder House, and it had a big white clam painted on the side of a faded blue stained concrete building. He downshifted, pulled into a parking spot, and rolled to a stop. Killing the engine, Brax braced the bike with his legs. When I swung off he followed, knocking the kickstand with his boot heel, and his movements were as smooth and natural as his sly smile. He pulled his shades off, then his helmet, and turned to me. Dark curls hung in careless disarray. I nearly fell onto the concrete. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to those eyes. They were secretive and clear and fathomless. What in the world had I been thinking, agreeing to come tonight? Brax Jenkins, even on my very best day, was way, way out of my league. Even as a friend.

That blue gaze regarded me as he slipped my glasses off my eyes, then unfastened my strap. Not wanting him to think I was, in fact, a chicken, I watched him as intently as he watched me. A small smile quirked his lip as he studied my face.

“You always had them freckles on your nose there, Gracie?”

Stupid freckles. They made me look like a child. I shrugged, and pulled off my helmet and handed it to him. “For as long as I can remember, I guess.”

Brax hung it on the handlebar with his, then turned a focused gaze on me. “Are they just on your nose, or everywhere?” His mouth pulled into another sly, sly grin.

I narrowed my gaze and noticed his black and blue eye was a shade lighter today. “My mom would say, don’t be so damn fresh.” The freckles were just on my nose, as far as I could tell. But he didn’t need to know the character of my anatomy. The hidden parts, anyway. “And you can ease up with all the flirting or I’ll take a cab back to Winston.”

Brax stared at me, then laughed. “Swear to God, Gracie, you’re killin’ me. Fresh? Blouse? Swell?” He laughed again and shook his head. The movement made his hair fall over his eye, and he jerked his head to move it. “I feel like I’m in some, I don’t know, fuckin’ nineteen forties Honeymooner’s sitcom.” His eyes lit on me, steadied, stared. “My charm is something I can’t control, Sunshine. Don’t take it so personal. It’s all in good fun so just roll with it. You aren’t callin’ a cab, so let’s go eat. You hungry?”