I shake my head, running my finger back and forth over the seam where the visor fits into the helmet.
His next question is even softer, his voice so low I wonder if he actually asked it. ‘Why?’
I drop my eyes from his and inspect his leather work boots. They aren’t even laced up. He wasn’t lying about how quickly he got here.
‘Cat—’
I bite my lower lip. My buzz is fading and all I’m left with is a growing sense of shame.
Dally sighs and runs a hand over his mussed hair. His knuckles are bleeding, split from the punch he threw. His hair falls over his forehead with a softness that only comes after he’s showered and let it air dry. I think I like it more this way than when he slicks it back. It makes him look younger.
‘Put on your helmet,’ he orders. He gets onto the bike in front of me, sliding his own helmet into place. The bike starts with a familiar throaty purr. He glances back to make sure I’m situated. When I wrap my arms around his waist he gives a curt nod.
Dally is looking at the traffic when Tom comes out of the bar. His lip is split and he’s angry and worried and more than a little drunk. Looking at him, I find I have more regrets than I could set a number to.
‘Hey!’ Tom hollers at Dally.
My arms tighten around Dally’s waist and he shifts his attention back to the bar.
Tom takes a few steps closer, but it’s clear he’s not brave enough for a direct challenge. ‘What are you doing, Cat? Who is this asshole?’
I wince. ‘This is Dallas. My brother’s best friend.’
Tom’s eyes go wide. I may not be able to see it, but I’m positive Dally is smiling under his helmet. He lifts his extended middle finger at Tom. Then he’s whipping the bike out onto the road, the acceleration smooth as he speeds us down the darkened streets.
We end up at the pier. The boardwalk is quiet, lights starting to shut off. We pull off our helmets. Dally hops off the bike to turn around, sitting so he’s facing me.
‘Why, brown eyes?’ he asks again.
I’ve got no excuses to avoid answering now. But it’s going to sound so stupid …
His hands are warm on my knees, heating my skin through my jeans. ‘Give it up, Cat.’
I look up at that, frustrated. ‘That’s what I’m trying to do, you jerk.’
Dally’s smirk proves I took the bait. I roll my eyes in acknowledgement of his victory and cross my arms over my chest. ‘I’m gra
duating in a few days. And I’m still a virgin.’
‘So?’
‘So, it’s embarrassing. I don’t want to be a virgin.’
He’s amused. ‘Being a virgin isn’t a disease, you twit.’
I growl in frustration. Why is this so hard to explain? ‘Isn’t it enough to say I don’t want to be one anymore?’
A dark eyebrow raises. ‘No.’
‘You are making me so angry,’ I fume. ‘You don’t get it.’
I try to stuff the helmet over my head, but his hands are off my knees and he’s preventing me from achieving my goal. ‘Take me home,’ I sputter as we fight over the helmet.
‘Dammit, Cat, you haven’t explained anything. Just—’ He wins the battle and holds the helmet out of reach. ‘Just give me a second, okay?’
I glare at him, but he doesn’t fold. He never does.
‘One second, that’s all I want.’