Carmen Jenner - Welcome to Sugartown

“Tell you what, Elijah Cade, why don’t you have a seat and I’ll bring you some pie on the house.”

“That’d be great.”

“Sweet or savoury?”

“Sweet,” he deadpans. “Definitely sweet.”

“Sweet it is.”

Shortly after Elijah sits down, Sammy sidles up beside him and they jump head first into a lengthy discussion about the bike Elijah rides. Sam’s quick to point out that his older model bike has nothing on a Fat Boy. He even folds his arms over his chest and frowns the way our dad would.

Holly pinches my arm while I’m preparing Elijah’s pie. I’ve really got to get a new best friend, one who’s against physical violence.

“Wanna tell me what that was about?” she whispers.

“Just having a little fun, is all.”

“A little fun? Ana, there’s fun and then there’s suicidal. You just told him your dad was gay and enjoyed seeing his employees prance around half-naked. That might work here; he did knock up the evil bitch stepmum, after all, but at the garage? Bob’s going to annihilate this kid.”

“I know, but think how fun it will be to watch him walking around shirtless and yelling at my dad all summer.”

“You are a bad, bad girl, Ana Belle,” she whispers conspiratorially.

“So they keeping telling me,” I answer back, but even I hear how the smile has left my voice.

I set the pie down before Elijah and Sam’s eyes go saucer wide. “No way. You gave him a thlice of Ana Cabana thuprithe pie?”

“Yep. If you pack up your things I’ll get you a slice and a milkshake.”

“Can Elijah have a milkthake too?”

“If Elijah wants a milkshake?”

“Oh, Elijah wants a milkshake.” He smiles and the dimples come out swinging. I just wanna sit down and admire the holy mother of hotness that is decrepit-bike-riding, tattoo-sleeved, dimple-popping, Elijah Cade.

He’s staring at me expectantly. It’s obvious he’s spoken and, in all my fan-girling, I’ve completely missed it.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Vanilla. The milkshake. Can you make it vanilla? It’s my favourite.” He winks and shovels more pie into his mouth.

Without another word I stalk back to the kitchen. My heart is in my throat, trying as best it can to abandon this sinking ship. What the hell was I thinking, flirting with a guy like that? He’s going to be working for my dad, which means I’ll see him every day. And probably sooner rather than later he’ll figure out that I tricked him. He’ll more than likely hear the rumours about me. Maybe he already has, and that’s why he’s coming on so strong. Elijah Cade is the last thing I need.

I can hear him and Sam talking out in the diner. The milkshake machine stops whirring and the noise of Holly slamming down the metal cups on the table in front of the boys reaches my ears.

“There’s your vanilla milkshake,” she snaps. Her footsteps pound toward me.

“Uh, thanks,” Elijah calls after her.

“My mumth a huthy,” Sammy pipes up and I cringe and curse Holly under my breath.

I don’t know what the hell happened back there. One minute Ana was giving as good as I gave and the next, she was flying out the back door. Maybe I came on too strong? Nah, fuck it. Life’s short. She’s hot and she might be just the thing I need to keep my nose clean while I’m in this crap-hole of a town. Not that I’ll be staying long. I never stay long.

After her psycho friend almost showered me with vanilla malted-milk Ana comes stalking out of the kitchen, grabs the kid by the arm and tells me to meet her round back in ten minutes.

I watch her usher the kid ahead of her through the kitchen door. She’s untying her apron as she goes, causing the blue dress to pull against her ass and ruck up a little higher. Holy shit, I’m headed into boner territory. I tilt my head to the side and admire the view before the swinging doors make it disappear completely. Next thing I know I’m staring at 5’3 of pissed off waitress.

Aaaaaand there goes my boner.

The friend, Hannah, or Hailey, or something, gives me the double finger point between her eyes and mine, universal code for “I’m watching you.”

Crap, did every girl within a 10 kilometre radius suddenly start PMSing the minute I walked through the door?

I’m trying real hard not to laugh, so when she vocalises what her hand gestures apparently didn’t convey I bite down on my cheek hard enough to taste blood. Chick’s like a shark, though. I swear her eyes narrow when she scents my blood in the air.

“Okay.” I say, ’cause I know she’s waiting for me to say something and, to be honest, that’s all I got.

“I’m glad we had this little talk.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Wait.

What the fuck?

Did we even have a conversation? This chick’s messing with my head. She’s also kinda creeping me out, so rather than sit here and risk her boiling my bunny while I wait for Ana I grab my helmet and my jacket, throw a twenty on the table and head out to get my bike.

“See ya round.” I call as I’m exiting the pie shop.

“Not if I see you first, Elijah Cade.” She singsongs back and I repress the urge to run for my life.

A minute later I’m parked in front of her garage as Ana comes down the stairs wearing jeans that cling so tight to her legs and arse that I can clearly see all the places I want to put my mouth and hands. She’s also rockin’ a barely there singlet top that I have no doubt I could see right through if it got wet.

God, I hope it rains.

Holy mother of whoring nuns she’s hot. Fuck! I haven’t just crossed the border into boner territory, Mr Happy’s erected a tent from my jeans and is setting up camp there.

I clear my throat, shift in my seat and hope like hell she doesn’t notice the raging hard-on before she gets on the bike. Once she’s positioned behind me she won’t see a thing. Her hot little body will be pressed into my back, her legs wrapped around mine … shit. Wrong thing to think with a hot girl in front of me, and a boner the size of Everest. And no, that’s not an over exaggeration, my man meat is huge.

“You okay?” Ana asks. Shit. I hate it when I get so lost in my head I forget what’s going on around me.

“Yeah,” I say, glancing down at the gravel beneath my bike to keep from gawking at her. “Just tired. Been a really long day.”

“Right, well, let’s get you sorted so you can hit the hay.” She smiles, but it’s nothing like the look she was giving me inside. Did I offend her? Crap. Why the hell are chicks so hard to read? In an effort to make things right I add, “Your pie is awesome, by the way.”

Fuck. That sounded completely suggestive.

“That didn’t come out right.”

“It’s okay. My pie is awesome,” she says playfully as she backs away from me. Something in her expression makes me want to chase her.

“I have no doubt,” I whisper, and then loud enough so she can hear, “Are you getting on, or are we gonna play chasies all night, Ana no last name?”

“Oh, I have my own ride.” She lifts the roller door to the double garage where a beat up Holden, a Fat Boy on pits and a shiny yellow geriatric-looking Vespa sits. Ana dons a matching yellow helmet and buckles it beneath her chin.

“That’s your ride?” I’m having a hard time keeping the smugness from my smile.

“Uh-huh.”

“Alright, then,” I say, trying not to laugh. A massive grin breaks out on my face.

Ana’s scowling. “What?”

I hold up my hands to ward her off. “Nothing. Just, you do know I have to meet this guy tonight and not next week, right? Are you sure your little grandma bike is gonna cut it out there on the open road?”

“Hey! This ‘grandma’ bike could run rings around your decrepit little tricycle.”

“Tricycle?” I laugh at the righteous indignation on her face, the sheer determination in her gaze that says she’d like to hand me my arse on a plate. I kinda want to let her. I stroke my bike lovingly. “This is a precision instrument of speed and t—”

“Toy parts?” she asks as she hops on her scooter, kicks out the centre stand and revs the engine.

“Baby girl, nothing about me or my bike is childish.” I smile, but there’s an edge to it.

“We’ll see.” She edges the Vespa forward so she’s directly in front of me.

I rev my engine, pull on my helmet and slam my aviators into place.

“And I’m not your baby girl.”

Ana fishtails in front of me, kicking up a cloud of grey dust and gravel in my face. I shake my head and jet after her. I’m gonna have that girl naked beneath me before the week’s end.

I look at the clock once more. You know? Just in case someone miraculously invented a time machine and I find myself somewhere back in time before three am. The ceiling fan whirs overhead and the summer heat has sweat sticking my PJs to my body. I kick the covers to the end of my bed and resolve not to think about what it is I’m thinking about: Elijah Cade.

Although, if I have to think about Elijah, it’s kinda nice to remember the look on his face when he finally caught up to me last night.

“I take it back,” he’d shouted over the roar of our engines. “That’s sure as shit no grandma bike.”

The look on Elijah’s face when I left him in the dust was priceless. I mean, yeah, I drive a Vespa, but my dad custom builds and restores Harleys. If he couldn’t get me on a “real” bike he at least had to modify it so that I wouldn’t be a laughing stock. He souped-up the engine one night while I was asleep, a fact I was not too happy about as it voided my warranty, but I guess when your dad’s the best mechanic in the state little things like null and voided warranties never really come into play.