Still, Brock’s like a brother to me, my best friend since we were kids. My head’s fucked, warring a battle I’m sure it’s gonna lose. When I’m around Amber, every line I’m not supposed to cross becomes zigzagged, blurring the direction of my moral compass. She blinds me to what I know is wrong, provoking what I’m sure is inevitable. I’m about to commit the sin of all sins: I’m gonna steal Brock’s girl right out from beneath him without giving it a second thought.
Dangerous territory at its motherfucking finest.
“You ready to go?” I ask, trying to dismiss my thoughts.
“Sure.” Amber scoots out of the booth, stretching her arms above her head. Her back bows as a sleepy yawn leaves her lips. Fuck. What I’d do to wake up holding her. “Do you think you can give me my purse? I need to use the restroom before we leave.”
“Yeah, sorry.” I hand it to her, realizing how fucking psychotic I must’ve seemed taking it to begin with. “I’ll meet you up front.”
Amber nods and traipses toward the bathroom, her ass catching the attention of every guy in the diner. Lethal possessiveness hits me, but I kill it fast, knowing I have no right to react. If I did, I’d gladly knock a few skulls around. On a heavy sigh, I swipe my keys from the table and head to the cashier to pay the bill.
After a few minutes, Amber reemerges, her eyes meeting mine. “You know what?”
“No. But I heard he’s a pretty cool cat,” I deadpan, shoving my change into my pocket. “Do you know him?”
She giggles, a smile crossing her face. “I’m happy you held me hostage today.”
I open the diner door for her and step out into the early evening heat, shocked at her confession. “You are?”
“Yeah.” She stops and looks up at me, her hand poised over her forehead to block the sun. “Yeah, Ryder, I really am.” Her smile widens. “It’s good to know there’s more to you than an arrogant prick who thinks about sex all day long.”
I chuckle as she bounds down the stairs and over to my car. “Well, I’m happy I’ve gained your approval, but I can’t say I’ll ever stop constantly thinking about sex.” I unlock the passenger-side door. “At least not while you’re around.”
“It can’t be all that difficult,” she says coolly, sliding into the seat. “Can it?”
Yup. Off her fucking rocker.
“You have no clue.” I close the door and round the car, her giggle music to my ears as I get in and start the engine. “Not a fucking clue.”
“Willpower, dude.” She pulls down the visor, whips a small plastic tube from her purse, and coats her puckered lips with strawberry-scented gloss.
My nostrils flare, my dick reacting to the sweet smell the way any dick would—fully alert and hungry for what it needs, it all but demands a rental spot inside Amber’s warehouse. I’m convinced she’s trying to kill me as she smacks her lips together. It’s either that, or she knows she’s a walking aphrodisiac to the entire male species, using it to her advantage any chance she gets.
“Willpower’s free,” she continues. “Utilize your willpower, Ryder. Dig deep, really, really deep, and utilize it.”
I’m about to utilize the backseat if she continues to fuck with me. “What do you think about politics?”
“Huh?” She tosses the gloss back into her purse. “How did we go from you thinking about sex around the clock to politics?”
“I’m utilizing my willpower.” I groan, pulling onto the highway. “Humor me.”
“Okay. Politics.” She nods, drawing up a serious brow as she tries to hide a smile. “What’s your stance on ObamaCare?”
“Hell no. I don’t talk politics. It gets people too riled up.”
“Now you have me feeling like I’m nuts, and that’s hard to do. Kudos.”
I swing her a sideways glance, enjoying the way her forehead’s pinched in confusion. “What’s your major?”
“Psychology.”
“No shit. A psychologist?”
“No shit.” She shrugs. “I figure someone as fucked up as I am can help others who are equally fucked up better than someone who’s never been fucked up at all.”
“Well, fuck, Moretti, I think that’s a pretty fucking good way at looking at things that are fucked up.”
“I agree.” She laughs. “What’s your major?”
“This year I’ll complete my MBA in banking and financing.”
“Really?” Shock widens her eyes.
Considering very few spots on my body aren’t inked, and my tongue is pierced, I’m not bothered by her reaction. To be honest, I’m used to it. Most people can’t picture me sporting a suit, let alone handling their retirement funds. “Yup.” A cheesy smile teeters on my mouth. “Your friendly local banker.”
“Very impressive,” she appraises. “So what’ve you been doing in the meantime for cash? You’re not working at Burger King with a ride like this.”
Black cherry in color, chrome Bullitt staggered rims, and holding a 427 big block under her hood, other than my mother, sister, and grandmother, I live and breathe for my sixty-eight Mustang Fastback. “My grandfather gave it to me before he died.” I swallow, remembering the only man who served as a father in my life. “I’ve restored it over the last two years.”
“I’m sorry,” Amber whispers, noticeably uncomfortable. “I keep bringing up sore topics. I completely suck.”