Chapter 2:

Pulling into the convenience store, I must've left my brain on the bike. I pay for the gas and walk out, running smack into a wall. Well, technically it's someone's chest, but holy shit, he didn't freaking budge, unless you count his mammoth hand catching my elbow to steady me.

"Easy, sweetheart." Damn his voice is smooth.

My eyes track the path from his fingers up his arm, which is covered in an intricate tribal sleeve. Continuing my perusal to his shoulders, then to his strong jawline, past his nose, right into the most haunting brown eyes I've ever seen.

"Shit. Excuse me. I'm sorry." I sound like an idiot, but he hasn't let go of my elbow.

Suddenly, I realize I braced myself somewhere during the collision against his chest. Each one of my cells feels the heat radiating off the skin, screaming to escape the very well fitted white T-shirt this guy has on. My fingers flinch, or maybe they're trying to cop a feel. Whichever it is, he felt it and rewards me by curling up one side of his full lips into a half-smile, half-smirk, melt-your-panties, grin.

I take a small step back, but he doesn't release his grip. This should be awkward as hell, but instead, seems rather intimate.

"Holy shit." He pronounced that with a long O sound, even longer E, and drug out the "shit." "I'll be damned. Alex-fucking-Carpenter. I heard you were back in town, but hell, girl, you sure have changed."

I'm at a total loss. I have no clue who this giant is, although I'd love to spend some time getting to know him. He obviously knows me; no one but family calls me Alex.

"God damn, you look hot."

Before I can respond, he pulls me against his chest, wrapping both arms around my middle. He smells fantastic, like a mix of earth and spice. When I pull away, his buddy comes up behind him, slapping him on the back.

"You about ready to go Chris?" Then he makes eye contact with me. "Ha-ha! Well, I'll be damned. It's little Alexandra Carpenter."

I instantly recognize my older brother's best friend from high school. He's one of the unlucky ones who never escaped.

"Billy Sugarman," I say, smiling. He's a good guy, but from what my brother says, he hasn't had it all that easy since graduating high school. If this is Billy Sugarman, his counterpart would be Chris Ballard.

They were five years ahead of me in school, but even in middle school, girls talked about Chris Ballard. Captain of the football team, track star, prom king, and smart to boot. He got a full-ride to Clemson. Everyone thought he'd take the football scholarship, but he shocked the hell out of this football town when he accepted the academic ride instead. Last I heard, he was engaged to some sorority chick and they were supposed to get married after college. A quick glance confirms it: no ring.

Billy shoots the shit, asks about my brother, what I'm doing home-the usual run-in-to-you-in-the-parking-lot kind of banter. Chris listens, but his eyes never leave my face.

"Chris, man, why don't you go pay for the gas and let's get out of here?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll be right back."

I watch him stroll away to pay the cashier. I'm entranced by the swagger in his step, the way his jeans move on his butt when he walks. He has a really fine ass.

When he returns, he looks to me. "Hey, Alex, where'd you park? We'll walk you to your car. You know this is a bad part of town."

I can't help but laugh. We are in the middle of nowhere without a soul in sight.

I point over my shoulder to the Deuce. "Right over there. I think I can make it if I stay in the light."

Chris looks confused, but Billy's the idiot who asks the question. "Where? There's no car over there."

Instead of responding, I just toss my hand up in a wave goodbye and start walking to the bike. I hear them both talking, but I guess Chris drew the short stick. "Alex, hey, wait up." His heavy boots make an angry sound on the pavement behind me.

I stop when I reach my bike. "What's up, Chris?"

"You're not really going to try to ride that are you? You're a little whiff of a thing. That bike will eat you alive."

He's lucky he's hot as hell, because I've had my fill of asshats today. "You do realize I got it here, right? This isn't my first ride, and sure as hell won't be my last."

"These things are dangerous, Alex. Why the hell are you riding a Harley?"

I decide to ignore him. I retie my hair and grab my helmet. As I'm about to pull it on my head, he grabs my wrist.

"Seriously, let me take you back to town. I can get Billy to pick me up from wherever you're going."

"I appreciate the offer, but if you want to ride on my bike, you ride bitch, and don't have Billy follow you. I'll take you home myself. Later." I have no idea where the hell all this vibrato is coming from. I am not this girl, but damn, I wouldn't mind being his girl, even if it's just for an afternoon.

"Don't play with fire, little girl."

"Are you warning me or telling me, Chris? Last time I checked, I'm not in middle school anymore, and I can hold my own. If you want to ride, get on, if not, I'll see you around."

I pretend like I'm not waiting with baited breath as I buckle the strap on my helmet. He hesitates then waves Billy on. I smile at my little victory, lifting my leg over the seat.

I pat the pillion pad behind me, better known as the bitch seat. He shakes his head, tosses it back, and laughs. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. It's deep, rumbling up from his stomach. I watch his Adam's apple bounce up and down his thick throat as he continues. His blond hair falls right back into place with a piece hanging in his face when he looks at me again.

"Where're we heading?" He asks.

"Down the road. You on a time table?"

"Nah, sweetheart. You've got me as long as you want me. You're in control." He puts both of his hands on my hips as he says it. Scooting forward until he's pressed against me, he lifts his feet to the pegs on each side, and I ease out of the parking lot.