The Better to Bite(14)

Before she could say more on that, I stood up, ready to dump my tray and head to my next class. Troy had grabbed Brent, and they were talking about practice being canceled for today because something was wrong with the coach and—

My gaze collided with Rafe’s. He stood against the back cafeteria wall, with his arms crossed over his chest. His face looked hard, kind of angry, and his stare was locked right on me.

I did a Cassidy move, and I inclined my head toward him in a faint nod even as my hands tightened on my tray.

“Hey, I got that,” Brent said, appearing again, and he took my tray from me. That grin of his flashed once more. “I can play the gentleman.”

I mumbled my thanks and darted another glance Rafe’s way.

I told you to stay out of the woods.

He was gone.

***

The big orange/yellow bus waited for me. Thanks to my little episode at the sheriff’s station yesterday, my dad had told me to head home after school today. No drop-ins at the station to look at photos of missing folks for me.

I knew he was “Anna—proofing” the place today. Getting anything that could mess with my head out of the way so that I’d be clear to stop by in the future. But, for now, he’d given orders that I was to take the bus back home.

The man really needed to hurry up and buy my car. I could already smell the odor of old gym socks emanating from the bus. The second day of school, and already the thing reeked. Maybe it always smelled that way.

I shuffled forward, ready to climb aboard and begin a desperate search for a seat that didn’t suck, but then I heard the low, rumbling growl.

My body tensed, and my head whipped to the left.

The growl turned into a roar and a motorcycle twisted through the parking lot. A guy was on it, a guy with broad shoulders and a dark, black helmet.

“He is so hot,” a girl said from behind me.

Things got really weird then…because the guy on the bike braked and turned back to look at the bus line.

I swear it felt like he was looking right at me.

He guided the bike and turned it around, and started driving slowly toward the line.

The girl behind me bumped against my backpack, and I realized it was my turn to get on the bus. I shook my head and stepped forward.

The motorcycle braked two feet away. I didn’t look at the guy as I reached for the bus handle.

“Hey, Anna…”

Rafe’s voice. Like I could ever forget that low rumble. And he’d actually called me Anna, not Chicago. I looked now, unable to help myself. He had the helmet tucked under his arm, and his bright blue eyes were on me.

He didn’t look angry anymore, and just staring at him gave me a weird flash of my dream.

He’d left me to die in that dream.

“Are you getting on the bus, miss?” This slightly annoyed question came from the driver, a middle-aged guy with thinning hair who frowned down at me.

I shook my head, trying to clear away the dream. “Ah, yeah, I—”

“I can give you a ride,” Rafe told me.

I wasn’t sure what to say. The girls behind me slid around and hurried into the bus.

“Come on, Anna…” Rafe’s voice almost teased. “I won’t bite.”

You sure about that?

I stepped away from the bus and could almost hear my dad yelling in my head.

Bad idea. Bad.

But he was tempting. So was the motorcycle.

“Thanks,” I told him, regretfully, “but I’ll just take—”

“My house is right next to your grandmother’s place. Well, not right next to it,” he explained with a shrug, “but about a mile away. I’m the closest neighbor you’ve got.”

That made me feel…I don’t know. Strange. Chill bumps rose on my arms.

“In or out?” The bus driver demanded, definitely irritated with me now. The bus was nearly full, and he was obviously ready to go.

The bike’s motor growled softly. The scent of gym socks stung my nose. No more good seats were left. Just the crappy ones that would have me shoved up against some new “friend” that I didn’t really want to know.

My chin lifted. “Out,” I said, and turned to fully face Rafe.

A half-smile stretched his lips then. Dimples didn’t flash—not like Brent’s smile. Rafe’s smile held more of a dangerous edge.

Trouble. That’s exactly what he was.

He gave me an extra helmet. “Climb on,” he told me, “and hold tight.”

He shoved my books and backpack into the saddlebag. I’d worn a skirt again, probably not best for motorcycle riding, and when I climbed on the bike, the fabric hiked up a bit.

“Nice,” he muttered, and his gaze lifted from my leg to my face.

I put my arms around him. I could feel his muscles beneath my hands.