Jahleel by S. Ann Cole Page B

muttered under his breath, grabbing up the helmet from between his thighs.
    Thinking he was still going to leave, I moved in even closer, contemplating begging him to stay. But I was close enough now that he reached up and jerked the helmet onto my head, shifting my wild curls around so it fit snuggly.
    Snapping down the visor, he ordered, “Get on.”
    What? I looked back to the house—I couldn’t just leave.
    “Take a risk, Sassy,” he dared, revving up the bike. “Get on.”
    Fuck it .
    I pressed one foot on the side pedal and smoothly swung my other leg over, fixating it to the pedal on the other side. Bum sticking out, I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his middle, ready to roll.
    Jahleel glanced over his shoulder, “Didn’t even have to give you instructions. You’re the real deal, Sassy.”
    Not quite.
    When I was eighteen and a bartender back home, I used to fool around with an outlaw biker. Bad attitude, swore like a sailor, and loved having my arse perched out on the back of his bike.
    But I preferred to let Jahleel think I was a ‘badass’, so I kept my trap shut.
    He kicked up the stand, and took off with a jolt and a zing.
    Thrilling!



Chapter Eight

    J ahleel rode around with me without purpose for half-an-hour, and I got the feeling he wasn’t sure just what to do with me.
    While I could come up with a million things he could do, I enjoyed being pressed up against him while we rode at blink speed, life passing in a blur. So, I relaxed and revelled in the moment, because only God knows if his mood would be this good and tolerable the next time I see him.
    One never knew with Jahleel Kingston.
    Each time we stopped at a stoplight, he glanced over his shoulder to ask if I was doing alright, and being more than alright, I’d nod in reply.
    We ended up in Union Square, where he pulled over at a Levi’s outlet on the corner of Post Street, parking at the curb. Getting off at the same time as him, I made to remove the helmet, but he stopped me. “Keep it on.”
    “What?”
    Without answering, he took my hand and tugged me off into the store—me looking like an idiot with this helmet on. He made a beeline to the back of the store, to a section of denim jackets. Releasing my hand, he fingered through a few options before selecting a denim jacket two sizes too big with a black cotton hood attached to the collar.
    “Wait here,” he mumbled, slipping off through the clothing aisles to the cashier.
    He returned with the jacket tossed over his shoulder and reaching up, he took off the helmet and handed me the jacket. “Put this on.”
    Eying the jacket with disdain, I scoffed. “Pssh.”
    Biting back a smile, he explained, “I wanna have a drink with you.”
    “So have a drink with me.”
    An eyebrow winged up. “Do you want your picture blasted all over entertainment news with some lowly dancer?”
    “You’re not—”
    “Okay,” he cut me off. “Do you want it out that you’re sneaking roun’ with Tiara’s guy? She idolizes you, you know. It wouldn’t look right.”
    A slap to the face. All I could do was stare at him open-mouthed, as he stared back at me, pokerfaced. Again, he was being a dick just for the sake of being a dick. No reason behind it.
    There had never once been any kind of gossip linking JK to Tiara, so, clearly, he liked toying with me. It was him who didn’t want to be seen with me, for whatever reason. Protecting me, or protecting himself?
    “ Are you Tiara’s guy?”
    “Next question,” he responded without so much as a blink.
    Arrgh!
    Fists clenching, I resisted the urge to punch him straight on the forehead and grabbed the jacket from him instead.
    “This isn’t even going to fit,” I grumbled, angrily fisting my arms through the sleeves.
    As if he was used to people moving when he moved, he stalked off, saying, “That’s the point.”
    Like an obedient disciple, I followed as he made his way back out of the store. “It’s not even sexy. I look