“I’m good here.” I don't want to hurt her feelings, but all the crosses and pictures of Jesus hanging on their walls freak me the fuck out.
“You know they’re going to think you don’t like them if you keep refusing to attend church or to stay over for supper.”
“Hillary…”
“Yeah, Riley?” She tips those pretty pink lips down, in the beginnings of a frown.
Guilt punches me in the gut. Hillary deserves better than playing second best. As a seat filler. Eventually a bed warmer. Fuck. When did I get so soft? “Nothing, sweetheart. I’ll wait in the truck.”
“Okay.” Her smile returns and uneasiness fills me.
I see her neighbors watching me as I get back in my truck to wait. Judgmental assholes is all they are. Wondering what a good girl like Hillary who comes from a good family is doing with a piece of biker trash like me. And hell, I’m wondering that myself.
It takes Hillary about five minutes to tell her folks bye. Probably trying to convince them I’m not going to corrupt or murder her. Though to be fair I might corrupt her a little. I should drive off and never look back. Leave her alone before I inflict any real damage on her reputation.
I’m a selfish bastard though so I sit, and I wait. Then I take her hand once she’s seated in my truck and place it on my thigh, loving the thought of her good girl hands on my cock. Not because I’m falling in love with her. Because I’m lonely and I sure as hell don’t want to fuck the club bitches like Death has been doing.
Even if I could there’s still the problem that Hillary or anyone else isn’t Freya.
We get to the theater, and I purchase her a bucket of popcorn and a soda. I position the popcorn bucket between my legs, so that every time she reaches for some, her hand is brushing over my cock because I’m an asshole. No wonder Freya left me.
I lean over like I want to ask her something about the movie. Sweeping her hair from her neck, I get close and notice her visibly gasp at the intrusion. Goosebumps pebble along her left arm. I press my lips to the base of her throat.
“Riley,” she coos like a little dove.
“You gonna tell me you’ve never made out in the back of the movies before?”
Pink stains her cheeks. “No, but what if someone sees us?”
“Then let’em look.”
“What if they tell my father?”
“Are you out with your daddy or me?”
“You but…I…”
“Right,” I clip. “Maybe I should take you back home.”
“Did I upset you?”
“No. I’m just an asshole.”
“Why are you acting like this?”
“Because I’m hoping you’ll get fed up with my shit and storm out of here. Go call your daddy to come pick you up because Riley Fisher is exactly what everyone says he is to save me the trouble of letting you down gently.”
“I thought you liked that I’m saving myself for marriage. That you understood.”
“Any other man yeah, they’d eat that shit up. Truth is I’ve got no business with a pretty, sweet girl like you. I’m a biker and fuck—I need a girl who isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty and can’t keep her hands off me. I’m still hung up on my ex and that ain’t fair of me to string you along until you let me in them cotton panties you wear. Because once you let me in there, I’ll drop you like a bad habit. It’s what guys like me do. So do yourself a solid and go home. Find you one of your father’s choir boys to date.”
“Wow. You know what you are, Riley Fisher? You’re a bad person.”
I chuckle at the absurdity of her pathetic insult. How I ever thought we were compatible is beyond me. We don’t have a damn thing in common. Not music. Not movies. She’s boring as fuck.
Hillary surprises me though. She takes that soda I bought her, flips the lid off, and dumps the drink right over my head. “Don’t bother to call me. Like ever.” She shoots me a mean glare then stomps out the door.
Not even a minute later one of the ushers is asking me to leave.