Get over yourself.
Okay, so I was going to pull my shit together and act like a grown-up, starting with an apology for being rude to him this morning. Did he make me uncomfortable? Yes. Had he been rude? Definitely. But he’d also rescued me on the side of the road and traditionally that calls for graceful tolerance and a pleasant thank-you.
Not like he had to stop in the first place, right?
Moving quickly, I crossed the lot to his truck before the girls standing around smoking had the chance to start with the questions about him. They’d try to get his information out of me tomorrow—we did enjoy our gossip at the school—but I’d worry about that when it happened.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, climbing up into the truck. My eyes took him in and I felt a wave of lust hit me. Beautiful. That’s what Caitlyn called him, and I was tempted to agree, but it wasn’t really the truth. He was too rugged and scarred to be beautiful. She’d hit it just right with “fuckable,” though.
He grunted, turning up the radio in the universal signal to shut up, so shut up I did. We merged onto the freeway and started out of town in silence. Not a pleasant, comfortable silence. This was strange and uncomfortable, with every line of his body radiating tension that made me nervous. Was he about to snap?
I’d grown up around bikers so I knew better than to ask him about his day or why he was so obviously not a happy camper. He wouldn’t tell me and I didn’t want to know anyway. Okay, I did want to know but I shouldn’t. Even so, by the time we’d turned off and started up along the river I couldn’t take the silent treatment any longer. I had to say something.
Keep it friendly. Break the tension and let him know you’re ready to move on.
“Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow?”
He didn’t respond, and I bit my lip, stealing a look at him. God, he was good-looking. Not traditionally handsome—nope, between the scar and the broken nose, that ship had sailed. And he wasn’t cute, either. Way too terrifying to be cute.
But there was just something so compelling about his face, the way he held himself, the controlled power in every move he made . . . Drove me crazy every time I thought of it. Drove me crazy, heated me up, and scared the crap out of me—the situation was utterly ridiculous and completely inescapable.
I had to remember that Puck was a biker, and not one of the nice ones. There was a reason the Silver Bastards protected Callup and all its inhabitants. Not out of the goodness of their hearts—I didn’t believe that for a minute. Nope, their protection was all about territory, kind of like a dog with a bone.
The Silver Bastards might not shit where they ate, but they had to shit somewhere.
Since leaving California, I’d lived my life according to one basic rule—I called it the Mom Principle. When in doubt, think about what Mom would do. Then do the exact opposite. It’d never failed me. Mom loved bikers, which meant I needed to stay the hell away from them. Hold out for a nice guy.
Nice. Normal. Boring . . .
Joe.
Ugh.
When Joe kissed me I just sort of checked out. There was no burning need, no heated desire . . . Puck turned me on just by existing. With him actively existing right next to me, it was almost more than I could handle. To this day, I blame my hormones for my actions, because my brain certainly didn’t get a vote. I should’ve let it die, made a clean escape. Instead I had to open my big fat mouth and make things worse.
“You didn’t answer my question earlier.”
“What question?”
“Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow?”
Puck ignored me, but I swear—his hands were suddenly squeezing the steering wheel so hard it should’ve snapped in half. The truck abruptly slowed and he swerved off the next turnoff to the river, brakes slamming hard. For a minute I thought we might go over the embankment into the water. I froze as he opened his door and got out, slamming it behind him. Then Puck walked away from the truck, kicking a rock hard as he looked out over the water.
Long minutes passed.
I fidgeted, wondering what was going on. Finally my idiotic, self-destructive curiosity got the best of me and I undid my seat belt, stepping out and moving toward him. He had to hear the crunch of the gravel under my feet but he didn’t say anything.
“Why did you get out of the truck?”
Silence. Had he heard me? Then slowly Puck turned, radiating a restrained intensity. His eyes flared as he started stalking toward me. Not walking—stalking. Like a predator in slow, inevitable pursuit of its dinner. Crap. Puck liked to play with his food, too. I remembered that from California.
What the hell kind of mistake had I just made? I needed to run away, but it was too late—he already had me backed against the truck, although I couldn’t remember exactly how I’d gotten there.
“What exactly do you think we have here?” Puck demanded, his voice harsh. My knees threatened to let go so I grabbed the truck behind me with both hands.
“I don’t understand.”
“You just invited me over for dinner,” he sneered, like it was a dirty word. “Who do you think I am? One of your girlfriends?”
Um, no danger of that. Crap. Damn, but Puck was big. He loomed over me, pinning me with the sheer force of his presence. My heart pounded, utterly convinced that Batman was going to eat me if I didn’t do something right now.
“I think you’re the guy who pulled over this morning and gave me a ride so I wouldn’t miss school,” I said breathlessly. Puck’s mouth twisted into a snarl. Jesus Christ, he’d gone from scary sexy to flat-out scary as fuck faster than Danielle could down a shot. And Danielle was fast. “You didn’t have to, but you did. You’re my new neighbor, too. Things have always been weird and uncomfortable between us. Maybe they don’t need to be.”