Red (EBOOK)

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“You belong to Hell’s Jury.”
He chuckles, deep and sensuous. A man’s chuckle. Not a boy’s. “I am a member of the club, yes.”
“Club,” I repeat. “Not a gang then.”
“Well, we think of ourselves as a club.”
“So is that what you do? Be part of the club?” I take a cautious sip of my beer.
“Not just that. I have a life outside it.” He swings his hand towards his house. “This, for instance. And I manage an auto body and repair shop. Lenny’s.”
“Do they call you…” I hesitate. Bikers have nicknames or something, but I don’t know how to ask it.
“Red. They call me Red.”
“Cool,” I reply. Cool? Seriously Stella. You sound like you’re 13. I clear my throat. “I’m in college.”
He looks down at me. “What’re you taking?”
“English degree. I also play basketball for the Wolf Pack. The degree is kind of necessary if I want to play in NCAA.”
“Athlete, hey?” He raises his eyebrows and grins. “I figured.”
I scowl. “Figured I was a basketball player?”
He laughs. “No. A gymnast.”
I can’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed. “I could’ve been a model or something like that.”
He reaches over and tugs on one of my wayward curls. “Doesn’t seem like that would suit you.”
I’m about to reply as my mom drives up and parks in the driveway. I slide the beer cautiously behind me. Don’t need to start the day with her lecturing me about the lethal combination of alcohol and men.
She gets out of her car, peeks into mine, then heads toward the door without looking around.
“Guess she’s home,” Lachlan says as he drains his beer.
“Yeah.” I stand, hesitate. Maybe it’s too early to meet the parents. But it’s not too early to meet the neighbor. “Want me to introduce you to my mom? You know.” I shrug casually. “Since you’re neighbors.”
“Let’s pretend I’m not corrupting their little girl by supplying her with alcohol.” He guzzles what’s left of my beer, sets both bottles behind a bush next to the steps, then pops up beside me.
My face heats. Little girl. I love the sound of it.
We’re almost across the street when Lachlan says, “Hold on.” He grabs my arm to stop me, then plucks at my hair.
“What’re you doing?”
“Bug,” he replies, still rooting through my curls.
I freeze. I hate bugs. “What kind of bug?”
“Spider.”
Of my god! I hate spiders more than any other bug in the world. Like they are my nightmare. I scream like I’m being stabbed and start jumping around. “Get it out! Get it out!”
Then, well, chaos happens.