Fearless (The Story of Samantha Smith #1) (26 page)

Okay, I want to officially go on record here and say that anyone who rides motorcycles in a dress and heels is schizophrenic, or worse. I absolve myself from guilt, because I hadn’t realized what I was getting myself into.
 

At one point, Christos accelerated and switched lanes. He did it expertly, but I’m pretty sure I peed my panties. Of course there was so much wind, it probably blow dried my pee right off the seat. I could tell that my dress desperately wanted to fly up behind me, but I wasn’t going to give a bra and panty show to the other cars on the road. I willed my dress to safeguard my humility. Thankfully, it obeyed.

Pacific Beach was only a few miles from La Jolla, but I’m pretty sure the ride there took at least five hours, or five seconds. I couldn’t tell which. They say speed is relative. But I did know we were going excruciatingly fast, even if we mostly did the speed limit.

I heaved a sigh of relief, but luckily not my dinner, when we got off the freeway. We made it to the coffee shop unharmed.

He parked the bike on a side street and turned it off. I didn’t let go.
 

He flipped up his visor. “You okay back there?”

“I think I have frost bite.” It was warm, but wind chill had done its damage. My fingers felt locked together, although that could’ve been the adrenaline.

“Then a hot drink will be perfect.” He waited. “You can let go now.”

“Gimme a minute. I want to make sure we’ve stopped moving.”

He laughed. “I told you you’d be safe. But if you want to hold on for awhile longer, I don’t mind.”

I had to repress the urge to run my hands all over his sexy chest. But I restrained myself. I let go and he climbed off. I pressed my dress down quickly. I had been too scared at all the stop lights to let go of him and fix it.

“You okay? You look like you need to hit the ladies room.”

“I think I did, on the freeway.”

He chuckled. “I thought I felt something wet on the seat. I just didn’t think it was pee.” He winked at me.

“Okay, gross!” He may have been right. I was so ashamed. Okay, okay, ladies. I exaggerate. The seat was dry.

Once again, he picked me up easily and set me down on the ground in one fluid motion. “How much do you weigh?”

“You can’t ask a girl that!”

“I was going to say fifty pounds. You’re a feather.”

“I’m not anorexic! But thank you for the compliment.”

He grinned. “Coffee time.”

We walked to the main street and found the coffee shop. It was called Xanadu.

A rowdy crowd of big, rough looking biker guys blocked the entrance. A row of Harleys were parked next to them in the street. I supposed this was a regular hang for them.

“‘Scuse us, guys,” Christos said, flashing the bikers a smile.

The bikers fell silent and eyed Christos warily. I suddenly felt nervous, like the amount of testosterone in the immediate vicinity had multiplied beyond acceptable levels of safety. I waited for them to start pounding their chests while hooting and hopping around.

Then they noticed me. Great.

“Hey, babe,” said a guy with tattoos on his forehead and huge spikes through his earlobes. While I liked tattoos, too much of a good thing was exactly that. This guy was frightening. “Where you going so quick? Stay and talk with us.”

“Easy, dog,” Christos said with a welcoming smile. “The lady and I are going inside for a drink.”

“Who you calling dog, dog?” Ear Spikes snarled. He didn’t seem interested in friendly conversation. “If I wanna talk to your lady, I’m going to talk to your lady.”

I watched Christos’ brows lower and bunch aggressively. His jaw muscles flexed repeatedly.

Okay, I knew Christos knew how to handle himself in a fight. I’d seen him in action the day I met him. But there were six guys this time, and they were all pretty big. One of them was so huge and hairy, he looked like Bigfoot. Six on one only worked out for the best in movies.

“Let’s go,” I whispered. “We can go somewhere else.”

Christos stared down Ear Spikes while talking to me in a low, dangerous voice sharp with malice. “We don’t need to go anywhere else because these guys are not going to bother us.” It was clearly a threat.

“Oh yeah?” Ear Spikes scoffed. “You sure about that, Easy Rider?”

I didn’t get the reference but I knew we were in way over our heads.

Christos stood his ground. “I’m sure,” he hissed.

My knees started to shake at that point. I glanced around, looking for help. I couldn’t believe our luck. At that moment, a police car slowed to about one mile an hour right next to us on the street and buzzed its horn with a brief bark.

All the bikers swiveled to look at the squad car like a bunch of prairie dogs sensing danger. They knew when it was time to hide their heads.

“Shall we?” Christos asked, gesturing into Xanadu with a broad smile.

I worried that if we went in, and the bikers were still outside when we left, there would be trouble later, and the chances of the cops showing up like the cavalry twice in one night were low.

But Christos didn’t seem at all worried. He was as calm as could be. Oh well, college was about trying new things. Danger was one of them. I hoped I wouldn’t regret it. “Okay.”

We walked in together.

Inside, Xanadu was fairly crowded for a Thursday at midnight. College age kids filled many of the cramped tables. The decor was something out of a West Indies trading company. I loved it.

We got in line and ordered hot spicy chai. I didn’t usually go for caffeine at midnight, despite my tolerance. I really wanted an Italian soda, but I was too damn cold. The chai was served in tall glasses too hot to hold comfortably.

Christos found a table against the wall, which had a bench. We set our motorcycle helmets on the bench and I felt like we were the cool couple that rode everywhere on a motorcycle together.

The guy to our right had a pile of textbooks and a laptop open in front of him, and wore headphones. The two middle-aged women on the left frantically discussed vacation destinations.

All the same, we talked low. I asked about the gallery show, but Christos played it down like it was no big deal. I couldn’t tell if it made him uncomfortable, or if he was being humble.

“I heard you say your grandfather came earlier. I would’ve said hello if I’d seen him.”

“No worries. He likes to leave before the crowds arrive. But trust me, he made sure everything was tip-top before he left. He’s had a gallery show or twenty in his career. I’m surprised Brandon didn’t kick him out sooner for micro-managing.”

I could tell Christos appreciated his grandfather’s attentiveness.

“What about your dah—” I stopped myself mid-sentence. I remembered seeing Christos’ jaw clench when the subject of his dad came up with Mrs. Moorhouse at the gallery.

He took a sip of his tea. “What about my what?”

I lifted my tea to my mouth to cover myself. I blew on it. “Boy, this tea sure is hot.”

“My what?”

“Whew. Hot tea! I think I need some ice cubes.” I glanced around the coffee shop. “You think they have an ice maker around here?”

“Finish your question. Please?”

I met his eyes. For a second, I expected to see tension, or the face I’d seen when he yelled at me on the hike today about his dad and grandfather and the family bench. But I saw only sorrow. “Uh, well, I was going to say ‘your dad.’”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He grimaced.

This was obviously a sore subject that needed Novocaine. “Do you not want to talk about it? We can totally talk about something else, if you want.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

I sipped my tea. What was I supposed to ask now? I felt like an idiot, like I’d purchased a one-way ticket to awkward. “So, uh, did your dad come earlier, like your grandfather?”

“No.” He traced the woodgrain in the table top with his fingernail, like he was waiting for me to continue.

“Where is your dad?”

“Around.”

“Does he live in San Diego?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you ever see him?”

“Rarely.”

“You said he was an artist, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are all his paintings?”

“New York. Private collections.”

I wished he’d just tell me so I didn’t have to play twenty thousand questions with Greg Gregarious’ brooding brother Tony Taciturn sitting across from me.
 

I drank my chai, needing something for strength. And warmth, which I wasn’t getting from Christos.
 

I sensed he wanted to talk about his dad, but sort of didn’t. I could certainly relate. “We can talk about something else. It’s really okay.”

He stared at the table top. “My dad hasn’t been around much for a long time.” He took a swallow of chai and slammed his cup on the table. It was final punctuation to the discussion of his father.

I changed the subject. “So, what’s up with Tiffany? She’s seems to show up everywhere you do.” Boy, was I smooth. From one drama bomb to the next.

Christos smiled. “Ahh, Tiffany. She’s a piece of work. I’ve known her for a long time. Her family knows Brandon’s family. My family knows Brandon’s family. We all bump into each other.”

“She was all about your painting of her at the gallery.”

He shook his head. “Tiffany likes to own things. It makes her feel better about herself. Especially if she has something that no one else does. It makes her feel special.”

“Is that why she wants you?” Whoops. Could somebody pass the sugar? I needed it for my foot. Mmmm, toe jam.

“She wants me, but she’s never going to own me.” Christos grinned. His Adonis grin. The one the ladies loved. “The trouble with Tiffany is, once she gets what she wants, she gets bored. Then she wants something else. Her father’s money distracts her from dealing with her shit.”

“I wouldn’t mind being distracted by my own yacht and mansion.”

“You say that now, but have you ever had either?”

“No.”
 

“So how would you know? Grass is always greener.” He sipped his tea.

“So you’ve never dated her?”

“Hell no. She doesn’t want
me
. She wants the idea of me. I can tell. I could always tell.”

“What about slept?” I blurted. Why was I purposefully walking over hot coals? I needed my head examined.

“With Tiffany?”

I tilted my head back proudly, prepared for the worst. If I was going to play with fire, I was going to act like I liked it. I nodded.

“Nope.”

“No? Really?”

“Tiffany’s a one way street.”

Why did that sound hookerish? I had no idea what he meant, but I was afraid to ask.
 

When we finished our teas, I felt much warmer. It could’ve been my blood flushing through my body as I realized that Christos and I were chatting it up like a couple of friends at a coffee shop. Or a couple. I mean, if he was only my mentor, shouldn’t we have been talking about art and only art?

Not his love life?

“I should probably get you home,” he said.

No! I didn’t want the evening to end. “I need to use the ladies room.”

He stood and picked up the helmets. “I thought you peed everything out on the ride over,” he joked.

I swatted his arm. “No, silly. That wasn’t pee.” What the heck was I saying? How did Christos send me from platonic to X-rated so quickly?

“I’ll wait for you out front.”

I walked to the back of the coffee shop, and found the lone restroom, by the back door. It was in use. I waited patiently.

The screen door leading outside opened and a bearded biker dude walked through. I recognized him from out front earlier. I had forgotten all about those biker guys.

This guy was the Bigfoot looking guy that made me most nervous. Every piece of his clothing was covered with studs or patches or chains. He stopped when he saw me.

“Hey, pretty thing.” With the beard, frizzy long hair, overly hairy arms, and gravelly voice, he was certainly related to, if not descended from, the actual Bigfoot. “Where’s your man?”

He didn’t waste any time getting down to business. I stifled a gulp. “In the bathroom,” I lied.

“Lucky me.”

I rolled my eyes. He loomed toward me. Where was my bear trap? “He’ll be right out,” I warned.

Bigfoot didn’t appear worried. “What’s your name?”
 

“Waiting.”

“Waiting?”

“Waiting for you to go away,” I gave him a scowly head bob.

He didn’t seem much for brains, but he was persistent. I tried the bathroom doorknob. I knocked. No response. Was it locked and I needed a key from the front?

“I thought you said your boyfriend was inside.”

“He is.” I knocked. “Uh, Adonis, hurry up!”

“Wanna go for a ride on my Harley?”

“No,” I scoffed. I folded my arms across my chest protectively. Why did I feel like a field mouse all of a sudden? I turned my back to him.

I looked around for my quickest exit route. Because of how the hallway turned, I couldn’t see the main room of the coffee shop, so I couldn’t see Christos, or anyone else. I couldn’t motion anyone for help. Bigfoot stood between me and the back door. Was it time for a rape shout?

“Your hair is pretty,” Bigfoot mumbled. I felt him stroke it.
 

I lurched away. He grabbed for my shoulder. This was about to turn into a Lifetime movie that I didn’t want to star in. Shit.

Bigfoot lumbered toward me.

Christos exploded out of nowhere and slammed Bigfoot back against the wall. Christos remained at the ready, crouching in a fighter’s stance. Bigfoot recovered his footing. He was huge, a full head taller than Christos. He swung a mammoth fist at Christos. Christos dodged easily.

Undeterred, Bigfoot pulled out a huge knife as casually as if it were his wallet. His face was bland. He eyed Christos like this was business as usual.

Someone was going to get killed.
 

Bigfoot lunged, knife first.

Christos slipped around it and somehow managed to steer the knife right into the wall. It lodged deeply in the sheet rock. Bigfoot yanked on it. It was stuck.

Christos ducked and launched his entire body upward in a powerful spiraling motion, rocketing his fist into Bigfoot’s jaw. Bigfoot staggered back, dazed. His eyes blinked, but he stayed on his feet. He leaned against the wall behind him.