She smiled softly. “That’s really sweet. Is he still around?”
The sudden ache in his chest made him suck in a breath. “No.” He didn’t want to get pulled back to that day. That was what usually happened when he thought about his grandfather. After that fateful day, his mother had moved them out of his pap’s house and in with his aunt.
“What’s your real name?”
Her question drew him out of the past. “Here’s the deal… You don’t get that ’til after we deliver your Scout back to the shop. Yeah?”
Her lips curled up slightly at the ends. “Oh, I see. A little bit of blackmail.”
“Ain’t gonna deny it. But here’s the rest of the deal… Ain’t leavin’ you here. Tellin’ you it’s for your safety to not stay behind.”
Her smile disappeared and she glanced around. “This road really isn’t safe?”
“Ain’t the road, but who lives on it.”
“Who lives on it?”
“People who you do wanna remain strangers with. Trust me.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It ain’t good,” he confirmed.
“Okay,” she sighed, grabbing her helmet off her luggage. “Where’s this hiding spot you speak of and how do you know about it?”
Chapter Three
He never did explain how he knew about the hiding spot before he pushed Agnes off the road and hid her. That spot was so well hidden with trees, brush and evergreen bushes, Fallon’s bike would never be seen if someone drove past.
She had pulled her helmet back over her head and waited for the cute mechanic with the very sexy smirk to mount the Yamaha. Once he did, he waited for her to climb on behind him.
Cute was the perfect way to describe him because he seemed young. His mannerisms, his sloppy speech, his slang, his… She mentally sighed… everything.
Young or not, that smirk could make most women’s toes curl and panties melt.
Including hers.
And that caught her off guard.
At this point in her life she thought she was beyond falling for a cute boy.
Or cute guy. Or even a handsome man.
Attraction had to do with more than looks.
She wasn’t one who was normally attracted to men younger than her, either. In the past, when she’d occasionally dated, she had done so within her circle. Successful businessmen. Men who put their wealth above everything else.
But then, at the time, she had the same mindset, so of course, she’d been drawn to the same. Now, those same men turned her off.
She wanted authentic with a personality, a sense of humor and a heart of gold. Someone easy to talk to and not self-absorbed. A man who wasn’t hyper-focused on his success and forgot that a whole world existed outside his bubble.
She admitted she had forgotten that last one, too.
But then, dating had actually become a luxury and not a necessity as she focused on her career and climbing that damn slippery ladder while keeping her eyes on the prize at the very top. Only to take a size ten Tom Ford dress shoe to the chest as they knocked her back down.
Who the hell was she to think she deserved the top spot reserved for a man?
An “overachiever.” Someone who was “trying to sleep her way to the top.” A “bitch.” Those were only some of the whispers she heard. She couldn’t imagine what she didn’t hear.
Apparently, women never got ahead on their own merits. From their hard work and dedication. From their intelligence and management skills.
Sure.
What a bunch of misogynist bullshit.
Unfair? Of course.
Would it ever change in her lifetime? Probably not. At least not to the extent it should.
All the women who had come before her breaking that glass ceiling and all who would come after her would move the needle. But only a fraction. That glass was pretty damn thick.
What was even more disturbing was other women could be extremely catty about any woman more successful than them. Instead of being supportive, they were undermining and toxic.
Instead of paving the road for future women leaders, they took a jackhammer to it to create obstacles.
It didn’t make any damn sense.
Fallon’s road to success had been a threat to both women and men alike.
She knew climbing that ladder would be a challenge, a lot of hard work and dedication. She just didn’t realize how many people would want to kick her off that damn ladder along the way.
It didn’t matter now.
She was free from all that.
All that she worked for… gone.
Well, not all of it…
She had Agnes. Though, right now, Agnes wasn’t feeling herself. She needed a bit of TLC.
She was glad that the Yamaha had a backrest for the passenger, similar to Agnes’s setup—what Whip had called the sissy bar—so she wouldn’t have to hang on to the mechanic.
She’d never ridden on the back of a bike. She’d never even rode a bike until she bought Agnes and took a safety class. No one she knew owned a motorcycle, so the whole experience had been new.