Revved Up Soul

Chapter One - Jasmine

For a week straight now Jasmine Giuseppe had seen the mysterious and handsome stranger roaming the halls of St.Augustine; yet he was nowhere to be found this morning. Stop fantasizing, she thought, the guy is probably as bull headed as he looks.

She was sitting alone again today, unsure of how satisfied she should be with saving the life of two criminals – saving a gang member's life was hardly the same as rescuing a family man from the jaws of death. The hospital's lunch area was bustling with the usual chatter; complaining about the macaroni and cheese, eying fries and fawning over cheesecake.

Was she tempted? Absolutely, would she give in? Not today.

Jasmine lazily poked at her salad, which was laced in her favorite dressing of thousand islands. She didn't understand why she couldn't make any friends; did nobody like her at all? Connecting with people was never this hard. At least her mentor, Augustus Lark, would sit with her every once in a while.

Jasmine sighed and then ate a small helping of her salad. Too bad I didn't straighten my hair today. Jasmine curiously pushed around a few leafs of her salad. She had long, thick, curly ringlets of raven hair that when she stood up would hang to her ass. She'd learned over her years of residency that getting close to people was a dangerous thing. Patients die, friends of friends pass, Brothers— Jasmine's eyes stung then, welling up and threatening more. Stupid, she thought.

That was when a plastic brown tray of fries, practically a mountain of them, absolutely covered in cheese, crashed down to the other end of her table. What the hell was this?

A man sat down, dressed tightly in a black biker jacket with his jet hair swept into a small pony tail.

Jasmine eyed the man carefully, staring daggers into him – in hopes that he might openly bleed for the intrusion of her space. Fluttering, nervous little butterflies made her chest dance with excitement.

The devilishly handsome biker turned his chair and kicked his feet up onto the nearest seat; grabbing a cheese laden fry and popping it in his mouth. He had the most shit eating grin Jasmine had ever seen on a person's face, like he had just climbed a mountain and was ready to piss off its end. She noted the thick bronze ring on his finger, but could not make out its engraving.

"Can I help you?" She snapped in a whisper. Her heart tapped quicker against her breastbone. She'd never seen eyes such as his. One brown as tree bark, the other blue as a summer's sky. The blue in them reminded her of Mr. Prestly, oddly enough – she had hesitated that day.

Hesitation, it was the currency dealt by death. She shuddered, pulling herself from that moment.

The Biker popped another golden, crispy . . . Jasmine had to look away. Suddenly her salad didn't seem nearly as satisfying. She flicked her gaze back to the man, admiring his roguish and handsome face – he had just a bit of stubble, not too much, enough to give him a sexy and rugged look. He had a hooked nose and upturned eyes. Jasmine felt a tightness form in her core.

Ugh. Not a chance, steel cowboy.

Languidly, the man picked up another fry and brought his feet off of the chair, turning to face Jasmine and leaned forward. "Yeah, you can sit there and look pretty for me," he japed, "can have some fries too, if you want," his voice was much deeper than she had expected, given his childish demeanor.

Wow that's not grating at all. Jasmine raised her eyebrows, "Uh, no," she said. "I don't think so."

"Why?" The Biker teasingly brought the fry up and above his head, letting it slowly sink down to his mouth – not breaking eye contact.