“I can take it back if you don’t like it or it doesn’t fit,” he said, standing there looking at the pile on the table.
I shrugged when what I really wanted to do was hug him. I felt my heart crack open a little at the look on his face. He looked so earnest. So eager to please.
Do not let him in, Parker. You’ll only get hurt. One way or the other.
“Cool, thanks,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
He nodded with a small, satisfied smile. Then came the food. My mouth started watering at the array of cold cuts and bread. He even got beefsteak tomatoes and mayo.
I’d already eaten a little of what I’d found in the fridge, which wasn’t much. The sandwich from the diner the night before. I’d been afraid to eat it, but there was a napkin on top that said EAT ME.
I’d given into temptation with a moan of near-ecstasy. Then I’d explored the house and walked around outside a little. He really was deep in the woods here. If he wanted to kill me, it wouldn’t be hard. I knew I was taking a big risk by staying.
But somehow, I didn’t want to leave. I really didn’t think he wanted to kill me. I didn’t even think he was a perv anymore, but the jury was still out.
Judging from the locked cabinets I’d found, he did want to kill something. Whether it was Bambi or bad guys, I had no idea. He could be a bank robber, for all I knew.
Being a biker didn’t mean he was a criminal. But being a nice guy didn’t mean he wasn’t a criminal. I had no idea who or what he was.
“Why are you being so nice?”
He gave me an odd look.
“I’m not being nice. I just don’t like the idea of a kid like you getting worked over by this shitty fucking world.”
Then he shrugged.
“And I might not be alive much longer. All this.” He gestured to the cabin. “It could help keep you off the streets.”
I stopped looking at the clothes and looked up.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothin’, kid. Don’t worry about it. I’ll do my best not to get killed for a while.”
“You mean because you ride fast?”
I’d been on the back of his bike. I knew how fast he rode.
He laughed hard at that.
“Nah, kid. That wasn’t fast.” He sobered and looked at me. “I just deal with some really fucking bad people. And yeah, the road gets most of us eventually.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t look so sad, kid. Bikers are like Vikings. We’d rather get killed in action.” I nodded and he gave me a shrewd look. “You know how to make sandwiches?”
I nodded and he stood up.
“I need to go out again. I won’t be back until late. Eat whatever you want.” He gave me a wry smile. “Just stay out of the whiskey.”
“Okay.”
“How’s the pain today, anyway?” he asked in a gruff voice. I got a shiver down my spine at the concerned look in his eyes. Not a bad shiver either. It was a nice one. He was really nice. And he was even better looking in the light of day.
I was pretty sure I was developing a crush on the big guy. A big one.
Stupid Parker. Don’t forget he thinks you are a boy. And I doubt he likes eighteen-year-old virgins anyway.
“It’s okay.”
“Scale of one to ten, ten being the worst.”
“Four.”
“So an eight.” He rummaged in his bag and put a box of pills on the table. “This shit is terrible for your liver, but it will cut the pain. Just don’t take more than the recommended dosage.”
I almost smiled. That responsible speech sounded so ridiculous coming out of the badass biker’s mouth. Shane was definitely rough around the edges. Even if his lips looked softer than mine. They had a really nice shape too.
No, Parker. Bad. Don’t look at his lips.
I had a lot to think about, and his lips were definitely not on the short list. The annoyingly attractive guy standing across from me was only part of it. I wanted to stay here, but I couldn’t pretend to be a boy forever.
Could I?
Just stay long enough to get on your feet. Then move on.
There was no law saying I had to ever stop dressing like a boy. Lots of people had fluid or nontraditional gender identities. It wasn’t an identity thing for me, though. It was entirely a matter of practicality and protection. Boys got beat up and worse sometimes on the street, sure, but that was nothing compared to what happened to girls.
“What’s that?”
Shane was staring at the table. I looked down. I had been absentmindedly doodling on a piece of the brown paper grocery bag he’d just unloaded.
“Nothing.”
“No way. That’s cool.” He reached for the sketch, and I froze, watching as he picked it up and looked at it. It was a sketch of the table top. I had a habit of drawing what I saw. His arm and hands were even in the drawing. So were mine.