GRIND (The Silver Nitrate Series Book 1) (16 page)

“No. Are you here for yours?”

His smile faded in a flash.

“Well, uh, you ride I take it, right? What type of bike do you have?” The man slipped his hands in his jeans pockets, forcing his company shirt to bunch from his movements as he bent forward and swayed. Developing a quick dislike for the bastard, she secretly prayed he fell flat on his face. A few seconds passed and her prayers went unanswered… Damn.

How unfair.

Rolling her eyes, she went over the items, comparing one sticker price with another, doing mental computations of her best options. “A Suzuki Marauder,” she muttered, taking note that her brief silence hadn’t proved a deterrent.

He burst out laughing. “That’s a beginner bike, baby! I see what’s going on here; you’re a new jack. Let me help you out.” He came a bit closer as if she’d waved his ass over.

“No.” She raised a hand to stop him. He faltered, sporting a bewildered expression, mixed with what appeared to be a dash of anger. “I’m not a new jack, but yeah.” She smirked. Pulling herself to her full height, she crossed her arms firmly over her breasts. “It’s a starter steed for many, but I’ve been riding for years. It was my first bike, so I hold onto it for sentimental reasons and it coincidentally outlasted my others.”

“Hmmm.” He trailed his finger slowly back and forth along the sparse beard dotted along his chin. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, luckily for me, your belief system isn’t used for what’s fact and what’s fiction.” She delighted in the newly formed sneer on his face, the typical, ‘
This bitch ain’t stupid’
kind. “I use it as a commuter bike in the warmer weather, saves on gas. I’ve ridden everything from a Yamaha FZ-9 to an Indian Chief Classic. I know about bikes… I got this, but thanks anyway.” She waved him away, hoping he’d finally take the damn hint.

“Indian Chief, huh? Those are nice.” He nodded, giving his uncared for seal of approval. “It’s just hella strange to see a woman up in here. Thought I might help.” He shrugged, a hint of forced sadness conveyed in his tone. “People try to take advantage of y’all. I make sure that doesn’t happen.” At this, Silver rolled her eyes.

“I can’t be taken advantage of. I know what I’m doing, okay?”

“You angry?” He positively beamed. “No need to be mad, baby. It’s not like I’m going to give you a quiz or anything.”

He set up his challenge, and after a long, nerve racking pause, she stepped aboard his bullshit train going nowhere, prepared to shut the whole goddamn thing down once and for all.

“Look, boy… I know
what
and
where
the carburetor is and how to fix it if I felt so inclined. I don’t need anyone to break down to me how the four stroke engine works, okay? I know a shaft drive has absolutely
nothing
to do with sex and I’m a pro at ergonomics, which is why I select the specific bikes for myself that I’ve chosen in the past and will continue to buy in the future. And I don’t fuck with Honda Gold Wings because though the ride is decent, the damn things have so many intricate parts, many of which are sensitive to the slightest wrong touch, that they are a repairing nightmare! Now.” She cracked her knuckles. “Is there
anything
else that you wish to say or attempt to add to this conversation, Mr. Ignoramus? Otherwise, I’d like to finish my shopping in peace.”

The man’s smile faded, then he huffed and stormed out of sight… But she didn’t miss the word ‘bitch’ he uttered as he made his mad dash away from her. She was called that so often as of late, it did little to distract her, let alone elicit an incensed response. Grateful for the bastard’s departure, Silver began to scan the filter prices once more. Her eyes narrowed as she compared two that looked as if they might fit the bill. A few seconds later, she heard humming… deep, masculine, rich humming…

I know that song… Where have I heard that before?

Looking to her right toward the end of the aisle, she saw someone that made her stop cold.

Oh no… it’s HIM.

The bastard with the foul mouth, the boy that beat his bongos like his soul was infused with the rhythm, stood in the not so far distance from her. She could almost
feel
the music he created from his hands vibrating through her once again, just like at the club… She’d pulsed from her head to her damn toes that night for he’d beaten her listening ears into submission. Shadowy images of the night continued to assault her. He’d clobbered the damn drums in such a harsh, brutal, beautiful way, it was as if that was the only way to recapture his very own soul.

He was good… Very talented mothafucka… I wish he wasn’t over here though.

There he stood with a gray hoodie, the wide hood casually draping along his shoulder, the material droopy and sad in its own pathetic way. Over his long legs, he donned an untidy and slouched pair of dark denim jeans, the knees somewhat worn as if he’d been working in them, kneeling and scooting about. His dark tan work boots were covered in russet and black smudges and in one big hand, he held a can of WD-40.

He moved a bit closer, oblivious to her presence as he scanned the aisle back and forth, brows slightly dipped in concentration. Snatching herself from the moment, she quickly turned away, her heartbeat accelerating as memories of the infamous night ambushed her once again, refusing to let her go. His eyes… dark and mysterious… the kitschy expression on his face… and those damn lips.
Oh, and let’s not forget his damn scent…

The man had smelled damn good that evening. When he’d drawn close to her, invaded her coveted personal space, she got a whiff of his cologne… Ralph Lauren’s, ‘Polo Red’—she was certain of it. The aroma had mixed in with the scents of salty sweat of his skin and the leather of his jacket he’d put back on before approaching her, creating something new and arousing. In that instant, though he wasn’t directly by her side, it seemed she could smell it again, on the spot, as if he were standing near, whispering a thing or two in her ear…beating the damn truth out of her, one drum stroke at a time. His memory was laced in leather, and his acidic harsh words in molten oils and hard work.

She plucked a filter from the shelf, made a final decision, and dared herself to not look his way again… but it was too late.

When she failed her own test, she met eyes with the man and about swallowed herself whole. His fleshy lips parted, his forehead creased and his thick, black brows dipped into something that looked like annoyance and intrigue, then finally relaxed, smooth and easy. Hitching her purse strap higher onto her shoulder, she prepared to walk past the man and keep it steppin’. It wouldn’t be her first time pretending to not see someone she’d known, and it undoubtedly wouldn’t be her last. He stood still, tall and statuesque…simply watching her, burned holes inside her with those dark, hooded almond-shaped eyes of his…

And then, he smirked.

Cocky bastard.

She kept walking, pretending he wasn’t in her vicinity. At the checkout counter, she spotted the half asleep clerk and a customer talking loudly about needing to exchange a part or two without a receipt.

DON’T. LOOK. AT. HIM!

Why was this so damn difficult? Surely she could pull it off. As she prepared to pass him, she kept her face and eyes straight ahead, but she lost the match at bat…

“They don’t sell ice up in here,” he said. So the sly bastard ended the game with a quip of his tongue. The charade was up.

He looked her slowly up and down as he jammed his tongue against the side of his mouth.

She placed one hand on her hip and glared at him. Clown number one had been sent on his way, but apparently this was a circus that would never end. She positioned herself to bolt and leave him right where he stood. But a traitorous part of her wanted to stay.

Torn, she froze.

“What are you tryin’ to infer? That I’m frigid? Some ice queen?” She grimaced and rolled her eyes. “I’m quite warm and toasty, but thank you for the store inventory information just the same.”

“Yeah.” He raised an arched brow, nodding matter-of-factly. “No freezer aisle for you here, baby. You need something to cool and calm you down. If you’re warm and toasty, the fire must be that snowball’s chance in Hell. Life’s too short to be so high strung.” He spoke as if that last bit of advice would turn her entire life around.

“I’m not high strung, Zenith.”

“Ahhhh!” He pointed at her, clearly tickled with himself. He moved around as if he were about to go into a dance of sorts, one filled with giggly delight. “You remembered my name! I remember yours, too,” he said, settling down.

I don’t care…

“Really…what is it?” She wasn’t even certain why she’d asked… but she had, and now it was said and done. “What is my name, Zenith?” Her lips twisted as if bread ties were gripping them on the ends… She’d be fresh until Wednesday.

“Rumpelstiltskin! No, Gold! Purple! Oh, wait!” He slapped a palm on his head and stomped his foot, pretending amnesia. “Silver! Yeaaahhhh…” he said real easy like. His gaze kept raking over her, not the least bit concerned about hiding his lust. “It’s Silver…like a bullet to my damn heart.” He palmed his chest dramatically, falling into the theatrics of pretending to be shot.

MAN DOWN.

“That fake brain freeze of yours would go perfect with the ice you suggested I purchase. I’m on my way to get a snow cone and I suggest you get an agent for your acting career, Wolfman Jack. Too bad the bullet didn’t render your ass on mute. You take care.” She turned to walk away.

“Why are you so damn mean?”

She paused to throw him a look over her shoulder and caught him flinging his hand in the air as if exasperated while the other one gripped that can of mechanical grease for all it was worth.

For a moment, her mouth primed and prepped to fire back… give the wolf something he could gnaw on and chew. Yes, she could muster it, something obscure and snarky; something nasty and dipped in a shady insult or two, the kind she could work up without a moment’s notice. Instead, she simply looked into his midnight eyes for a second or two, and asked herself the same question he’d posed to her…

Yeah, Silver… Why are you so damn mean?

“I’m not mean,” she began, unsure if that statement was for him or her. “I just don’t put up with bullshit. I’m a person who doesn’t waste time and I don’t have patience for people that do. If it comes off as mean…” She shrugged. “Well, that’s just a matter of perception.”

“Perception or Interpretation? I’m goin’ with interpretation. That’s when two or more people can see the same thing, but view it differently.” He turned away for a spell and picked up a Performance Gold Oil Filter. “This isn’t a matter of interpretation; it’s a matter of fact. You’re too beautiful to be so harsh and hard. There’s a time and place to be a storm. That night I first saw you wasn’t it. Not everyone deserves your wrath. I was tryna—”

“You were tryna pick me up, take me home and screw me. We’d already established that so don’t act like you’re innocent.” She huffed, growing rather perturbed.

“Yeah.” He nodded, his mouth drooped in a slight frown. “And what’s wrong with that? I was respectful towards you. I didn’t say anything wrong, nothin’ rude to you… nothing like that at all. We’re both adults, right? How old are you?”

She hesitated. “Thirty-one.”

“I just turned thirty. That’s far beyond the legal age. Look, I admitted I was tryna pick you up, but look at it from my point of view. When I looked out into the audience and saw you standing there, your eyes kinda dazed and holding that hookah… shit.” He lowered his gaze, bit into his lower lip, and flashed her a dazzling, seductive smile. “I felt like you were the most
beautiful
woman I’ve ever seen… and I fuckin’ mean that. You bad… and you know it. You can’t fault me for wanting to slide up close to perfection… touch it, kiss it… flow with it… Too bad you ain’t half as good lookin’ on the inside as you are on the outside. If you were,” he said with a shrug, “you’d be my goddamn kryptonite.”

He turned his back and began to walk away, but then stopped as though a sudden thought hit him. “A word of advice, take or leave it. Don’t get that filter.” He pointed at her hand that gripped the thing. “Get the Uni Air one. It’s better and will save you a few bucks, too.” And then he got on about his business. For a second or two, her middle finger twitched. She wanted to throw the damn thing up—no, both of them, a double dose of fuck-stevia, sweetened to perfection on ice, and to give him a ‘Silver Express Farewell.’ But then, she went with her gut instead, chased after something inside her that screamed,
‘This is your last chance! You may never see this bastard again!’

“Zenith!” He paused and glanced at her from over his shoulder.

“What?” He turned back towards her, tossed his hood off his head and glared at her… all attitude in his tone. Just that fast he’d written her off like a speeding ticket, but nothing was going fast right about now, minus her beating heart.

“Thank you… for the tip.” She slowly walked towards him, forcing her body to move in the direction her mind told her it should not. “And thank you… for the compliment. Fuck you regarding the insult, though.” She laughed lightly; thankfully, his expression relaxed and his smile returned. Her body warmed with embarrassment as she took note of the thin gold chain around his neck. Long strands of hair fell over one shoulder like black satin rope and his thick ebony eyelashes batted every now and again, giving his otherwise slightly unnerving expression, the borderline arrogance, a softer appeal. He smelled like emollient… warm solder dust and fresh rain.

“I want to apologize to you for how I acted the night we met. It may not have looked like it, but I wasn’t having a good night. You had nothing to do with that though.” She tamped down her pride and looked him in the eyes. “I could have been a bit nicer in how I blew you off, showed a bit more care in my delivery.”

He crossed his big arms over his chest, seemingly unmoved by her words. Sure, it was a sorry ass apology but it was the best she should muster right then.

“What do you do?” she asked, shifting her weight and feeling herself come a bit undone when she caught a whiff of his leather jacket once again mixing into the natural scent of his skin and hair, filling the air around them…