Living With The Bad Boy

Chapter 8 || Your Abs Get To Feel My Hands.

I fall against the brick wall fence, taking deep breaths to calm my panting. I'm really unfit, if you haven't already noticed. Fortunately for me, Blake's house isn't too far away from school walking-distance. It just means I'll be a little late and will probably get a detention. On the bright side, though, it's a beautiful day and I'll get some much needed exercise! Whoopee!

With this thought in mind, I smile to myself and begin my journey to school.

In a little less than a minute or so, the distant sound of a rumbling motorcycle grows louder and closer. I glance back to find Blake slowly driving up to me. I almost didn't recognise him with his helmet on.

"Hello," I shout over his motorcycle. Blake twists the ignition key and his motorcycle falls silent. He pulls off his helmet and smirks at me.

"Need a ride?"

I open my mouth to thank him though I hesitate. Does he really think I'm gonna fall for his prank again? "No thanks, I like walking," I smile, hoping my response was convincing enough.

Blake furrows his eyebrows confusedly, "You know what time it is, right? You won't get to school on time."

"I know," I smile, turning on my heel and walking off, "Thanks for offering though." I say over my shoulder, shooting a confused Blake a smile.

The sound of a motor roaring back to life follows moments later and I squeak in surprise when I find Blake and his motorcycle driving beside me.

"You know you want to.." He coos; tempting me to give in and hop on, but I didn't trust him. He's feeding me false hope.

I shake my head with a small laugh and he groans.

"Seriously? Do you not trust me or something?"

"Or something," I answer, turning to him with a big-ass smile that I hoped would convince him, "Just go on without me. I'll survive," I jokingly sigh.

Blake rolls his eyes, "Bronte. Get on the bike," he orders, "You can't be late for class."

I shake my head. This was a trick. He wasn't going to give me a ride.

"Bronte.." he grits out.

"Why do you suddenly care, Blake?" I snap. "Is this another mean trick of yours or is there something in it for you?"

Blake looks back at me in surprise and I flush red, quickly turning away and staring down at my feet. I don't like it when I snap. I hate losing my cool, because I'll end up saying hurtful things.

"I'm offering you a ride," he states, climbing off his bike and stepping towards me. His voice lowers, "I'm not tricking you, okay? I promise, and I never break a promise. My pride wouldn't take it."

I watch him hesitantly, "Why are you being civil with me?"

Blake snickers at me and shrugs, "I owe you one. I know you helped me last night and I'm making it up to you."

But why would he want to make it up to me?

I bite down onto my lip and watch him hesitantly; searching for any hint of a lie on his face. Nothing.

"Okay," I give in, a smile returning to my features. "Thanks, Blake."

He shrugs in response and unclips his own helmet, putting it on my head and clipping the buckle. A small smile tugs onto his face as he looks at me for a brief moment, though it disappears as quickly as it comes.

"But what about you? You won't be safe," I reply worriedly.

"Stop worrying, I've done this 1000 times," he climbs onto the bike and looks at the controls of the bike in front of him, "Now... which one's the ignition?" He hums to himself and I gape at him. He looks back at me and grins, "I'm kidding. Hop on. I promise you won't die."

I eventually give in and clamber onto the bike. Oh how I've always wanted to do this!

"Bronte," Blake says over his shoulder.

"Hm?" I reply absentmindedly.

"You have to wrap your hands around me." He says, and I see the corner of his mouth tipping upwards.

I laugh. "Ah, so that's what you're getting out of this," I nod in understanding. "For a second there I thought you were doing this out of the goodness of your heart." I fake a sad sniffle and grin proudly when I feel Blake shake with laughter.

"Shut up," he replies, but he was smiling, "And if anything, you're the one whose benefitting. You get to feel my abs."

"Your abs get to feel my hands," I argue, and Blake chuckles.

"Just do it."

"Fine," I give in, wrapping my hands around his torso and trying to ignore the feeling of his rock hard abs under my hands. This situation is awkward enough as it is.

The motorcycle roars to life, shaking beneath me violently. The vehicle jolts forward with one last, loud roar and we were off.

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