Page 39

Post anxiously locking the front door with a concerned Noodle on the other side, I skittishly begin strolling down my front path towards where Hogan is patiently leaned against his parked motorcycle, looking off in the distance, not a care or concern to be found anywhere in his vicinity.

Gah.

What a beautiful sight.

Not just the phenomenal way those jeans are fitted on his hips or how his tattooed biceps are practically bursting out past his leather cut or even how the blue of his tee somehow slightly softens his scruff covered face, but the ease in his expression.

The confidence.

The content.

All things I’ve never had.

Wanted.

Picture future me having learned.

As much as he and his lifestyle and his age make me uneasy…they make me curious.

And curiosity is how we know we’re still alive.

I know a famous philosopher said that; however, now is so not the time to ask me to recall which one.

Hell, I’m lucky I can remember how to put one foot in front of the other whenever this man is around.

He seriously turns my legs and my brain into Jell-O.

“This okay?” I cautiously question upon my arrival on the sidewalk.

“Damn, Teach,” breathes the man that smells like smoke and mango and sin, a combination that’s got my lady parts already trying to riot.

“The outfits from an 80s rock theme day at school.” Fidgeting with my fingers in front of me mindlessly occurs. “Jacket’s pleather. Not real leather. I can’t afford real leather. I mean…I probably could…because it’s not like I’m spending my money on more than Noodle and books and fun things for my classroom because I don’t have a mortgage since the place was my grandmother’s – Gam Gam – and she left it to me when she died, but I’ve never had a reason to buy real leather or anything leather for that matter and…um…” The tiniest bite is taken out of my bottom lip in hopes of stilling my runaway mouth. “Will this work?”

Hogan grips the edge of my black shirt with two fingers and gently tugs. “You look so good like this.”

“Yeah?”

“I’d rather have you ride me than Nigel.”

“Who the hell is Nigel?!” I shriek on a gentle push away of his arm. “Is that one of your biker buds?!” One hand slams fiercely across my chest. “Ohmygod, do you think just because you had me that they get to have me too?!”

Darkness drifts over his deep amber glare prior to him calmly correcting, “Nigel is my bike.”

“Oh,” quietly falls from my lips.

“Named after the pelican from Finding Nemo.”

“Cute movie,” I guiltily whisper.

“And you’re not a Cookie, Emaline.” He harshly points his index finger near my face. “You are not for sharing.” The digit drifts to my glasses and gently pushes them up. “Ever.”

A tiny tap to my nose has a small smile slithering onto my face. “What’s a Cookie?”

“Club pussy.”

“Colorful language.”

“Honest.” Cockiness returns in full force. “That’s the shit you like about me, Teach.”