“
The sound of Alex revving his motorcycle brings my attention back to him. “Don’t be afraid of what they think.”
I take in the sight of him, from his ripped jeans and leather jacket to the red and black bandana he just tied on top of his head. His gang colors.
I should be terrified. Then I remember how he was with Shelley yesterday.
To hell with it.
I shift my book bag around to my back and straddle his motorcycle.
“Hold on tight,” he says, pulling my hands around his waist. The simple feel of his strong hands resting on top of mine is intensely intimate. I wonder if he’s feeling these emotions, too, but dismiss the thought. Alex Fuentes is a hard guy. Experienced. The mere touch of hands isn’t going to make his stomach flutter.
He deliberately brushes the tips of his fingers over mine before reaching for the handlebars. Oh. My. God. What am I getting myself into?
As we speed away from the school parking lot, I grab Alex’s rock-hard abs tighter. The sped of the motorcycle scares me. I feel light-headed, like I’m riding a roller coaster with no lap bar.
The motorcycle stops at a red light. I lean back.
I hear him chuckle when he guns the engine once more as the light turns green. I clutch his waist and bury my face in his back.
When he finally stops and puts the kickstand down, I survey my surroundings. I’ve never been on his street. The homes are so…small. Most are one level. A cat can’t fit in the space between them. As hard as I try to fight it, sorrow settles in the pit of my stomach.
My house is at least seven, maybe even eight or nine times Alex’s home’s size. I know this side of town is poor, but…
“This was a mistake,” Alex says. “I’ll take you home.”
“Why?”
“Among other things, the look of disgust on your face.”
“I’m not disgusted. I guess I feel sorry--”
“Don’t ever pity me,” he warns. “I’m poor, not homeless.”
“Then are you going to invite me in? The guys across the street are gawking at the white girl.”
“Actually, around here you’re a ‘snow girl.’”
“I hate snow,” I say.
His lips quirk up into a grin. “Not for the weather, querida. For your snow-white skin. Just follow me and don’t stare at the neighbors, even if they stare at you.
”
”