Jahleel by S. Ann Cole Page A

and kiss him? Would he let me? Would he reject me?
    “Let me speak first,” he said, calm as you please.
    As a go ahead, I waved my hand. It’s not as if I was capable of speech at the moment anyway—I was still in drool mode.
    “You need to give him a little more credit,” he started “Yeah, he’s slow in some areas, so much to a point where it seems hopeless sometimes. But for the most part, he’s a quick learner. And honestly, I’ve never enjoyed training anyone as much as I enjoy training him.”
    “He’s not a fucking dog.”
    “I never said he was,” he replied, holding his cool. “Lessons. I’ll use the word ‘ lessons’ since ‘ training’ offends you so much. Cool?”
    When I didn’t answer and kept my arms crossed with a hateful scowl on my face, he warned, “Keep actin’ bitchy, Sassy, and I’ll just fuck you. I like fuckin’ bitchy bitches just to watch them cry and beg like the girls they really are.”
    My mouth dropped, and so did my hands, balling into mighty fists. How arrogant! “Well, aren’t you a nasty bloody wanker, you detestable bugger!”
    “What?” he said, scrunching up his face, looking lost. “ Sorry, I don’t speak British,” he added with a careless shrug and continued on with the issue at hand. “If you think I’m a bad influence on your bro’, fine, I’ll fall back. My advice, however, is that you allow him to get out like he’s doing now to keep his brain active, instead of followin’ you around like a lost puppy. Hanging around you gives him no hope. The doctors haven’t diagnosed him with shit, so there’s nothing wrong with him. What he needs is patience, not being shut off from livin’ a goddamn life.”
    “How dare you accuse me of—”
    “Not accusin’ you of anything, Sassy.” Pausing, he slid his fingers back through his hair, “You know what, fuck this. I’ll fall back.”
    “Okay, then.”
    “Okay, then,” he echoed, pushing off his bike. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them in a ‘job complete’ gesture. “So, can I go now?”
    He asked the question but was already swinging his leg over his bike.
    I didn’t want him to go. I’d acted like a bitch when he was, for a first, being nice—a refreshing break from his arsehole side.
    And even being pissed off and annoyed with him, I loved the feeling of him being near me. Also, I needed to make up with him, or Ferbie might hate me forever for chasing off his mate.
    “No,” I answered.
    Scoffing, he muttered, “Wasn’t really askin’, sweetie.”
    Sweetie? Ew. I hated that word as much I hated ‘baby girl’, and I figured he’d used it condescendingly, not as an endearment.
    Pushing off from the column, I made the few steps it took to close the distance between us. Shamelessly, I curled my fingers around the bike handle as a non-verbal way of asking him to stay.
    But as if I wasn’t there, he reached for his helmet from the other handle, his complexion a beautiful olive glow under the sun.
    “What kind of bike is this?” I asked, hoping he’d answer.
    Pausing his movements, he set the helmet down between his manly thighs, watching me without a word for several heartbeats. After a long moment of intense silence, his gaze fell to my lips and lingered. “Suzuki Hayabusa.”
    “Oh,” I trailed my fingers against the cool metal, grappling for something else, anything else to ask. What can I say to make him stay even a second longer?
    “You give a shit about this bike, Sassy?”
    Biting back a smile, I dropped my head and answered honestly. “No.”
    Leaning in, Jahleel slid a finger under my chin and lifted my face up so our eyes met. “So, can I go now?”
    As searing as his gold gaze was, I fought to hold it like a woman. “No.”
    With a sigh, he dropped his hand from my face, turned his eyes from me, looking off at some imaginary oasis in the distance. His eyes narrowed as he seemed to wrestle with some decision, his wheels churning.
    “Fuck it,” he