Don't Look / No Promises

THREE

Bella

Bella was driving her father’s new station wagon down Hemlock Street two days later when she saw him again.

The radio was tuned to the newest station, the one her father grumbled about, that dreadful rock and roll, the Chief called it. It was her favorite. If she turned it up loud enough, she could feel the guitars in her heartstrings, could feel the drums behind her eyes, the melody trapped in her blood until it was singing along and she slipped right into the costume folds of the song. The girl with the body of a lover and the soul of a siren. She wanted to be those guitar strings, caressed by rough fingers until she was wailing. She wanted to be that microphone, the place where chapped lips and exhaled breath pressed up against. She wanted to be those drums, pounded upon until the rhythm was buried beneath her skin strong enough that she’d never forget it.

The light ahead changed, flashing red, and Bella stomped hard on the brake peddle, her bottom lifting off the seat with the effort to stop the beast in time. The Ford was too big for her, too much power her father said, just before he grumbled about the radio. She’d promised to wear her seatbelt. Promised to follow all the rules and to err on the side of caution. She was a good girl, a copper’s daughter.

But she had also promised not to listen to the radio either.

A roar suddenly drown out the music as a motorcycle pulled up beside her. She glanced over and then whipped her head straight forward, gripping the steering wheel tight as she gulped. It was him. The guy with the blue car and the hair combed back shiny and slick. The wind had blown it loose, now messy and tumbled on his head, and he had the same kind of glasses her father wore with the shiny reflective lenses.

He had a tattoo on his arm and a dirty white t shirt and a vest covered in patches and a face that made her want to crawl out of her skin.

“Well, hi there, doll.”

Oh God.

He was leaning in the window, the passenger’s side, his arms folded over the door and a godawful sexy smirk on his face. The sunglasses now dangled from one hand and his eyes were so green that Bella felt a little dazed. His bike was propped on its side behind him, abandoned.

“I didn’t know you had a bike,” she stuttered.

“Yeah, well, some chick stole my car.” He winked at her. “She jacked the tranny somewhere halfway to the ocean. It took me and the boys two days to get her back to town and it’s gonna take another two weeks to get her back up and running.”

Bella’s mouth fell open.

She clamped it shut.

“That was your car?” she asked, trying to sound surprised.

“Beauty, isn’t she?” He licked his lips and Bella wasn’t entirely convinced he was talking about the car anymore. The way he was looking at her was downright indecent. “Sold my soul for that jewel, hurts to see her treated so badly.”

The light changed, flashing green, and Bella blinked, seeing double.

“Let go,” she told him and pressed her foot to the gas before he had time to respond, lurching forward, almost running over his foot. She sped ahead, heart fluttering hard enough to blur her vision, almost making a complete getaway except for the next unfortunate red light.

“You keep running from me like this and I’m gonna have to chase you!” he yelled over the roar of his motorcycle as he crawled to a stop beside her again. Bella flushed, gripping the wheel even tighter, certain that her father would kill her if she wrecked his nice new car over a boy.

“I’m not running, I’m driving,” she told him, chancing a glance in his direction. Bad move. He had his glasses back on and he was gripping the handlebars tight enough to make his tendons stand upright and he was leaning toward her, angling the bike with that cocky grin that made her stomach tumble.

“That what you call it? ‘Cause the Bird was still smoking when I found her and I don’t think they call that driving, doll.”

Wink.

Green light.

Bella lurched forward, nearly stalling the car, and raced ahead of him again.

God hated her, probably because she didn’t go to church on the regular anymore. She hit another red.

---

Edward

Edward chuckled to himself as he pulled up beside her for the third time. She was blushing such a pretty color and her eyes were bright, looking rattled and sexy and guilty.

He loved it.

“What would your daddy think about you speeding like this?” he chided her.

“He’d tell me to speed away from boys on motorcycles.”

“Ah, we’re not all bad. Some of us are just looking for a little fun.”

She glared at him and, oh man, he loved that too. Her face wrinkled and her lips pulled down but he had a thing for girls with a mean streak. They were the ones that looked all sweet and nice and won over your parents, then clawed the shit out of your back in your steamed-up car before you drove them home. Kept you on a leash, at arm’s length, until they broke, and then they were on you with biting and clawing and the kind of filthy language that could get them a one way ticket to hell if they ever confessed to it.

This one had it buried deep, but it was there.

“I am not a play toy,” she spat.

“Sure about that? ‘Cause I play for keeps.”

She took off again, straight up running the red light. A delivery truck skidded to halt in the intersection to avoid her and he watched her go,  shaking his head in amazement. Girl damn near killed herself to get away from him and he didn’t even know her name. He’d spent most of the day with his hands under the Bird, trying to piece the poor thing back together and she had the balls to deny causing the damage. He wanted to bend her over the hood and rub her nose in it, like a bad dog who shit in his shoe. Give her a good spanking to make up for the new tranny and the chips to the paint job.

He wanted to spread her out across that big back seat and make her beg him for forgiveness.

He drove the bike all around town looking for her, imagining the slide of her panties down her thighs and what her mouth might feel like. Spotted her car in front of a big house with a big gate and sat outside for hours, wondering if she’s ever been with a guy before. He hoped so. The innocent ones, the ones who needed you to take over and love on them, give them something soft and sweet, they weren’t for him. He wanted a little bit of knowledge. A little understanding, maybe some confidence, enough to get them upright and demanding. Enough so that they could tell him where to lick and kiss and bite without stuttering, pant harder, faster, don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck me, don’t stop instead of the virginal silent treatment.

He knew it was loneliness, this infatuation over her. Seth and Jacob tried, but they weren’t filling up the big gaping hole in his middle. He was still haunted, still surprised, still too bruised to even think about it much but when he did, it felt like dying must feel. A pull in his gut that just didn’t feel survivable, as though his insides were tearing away and his blood was breaking loose. It had been more than two years and even still, he ached deep in his belly when he thought about it.

Basically, he blamed everyone and everything but himself.

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