Welcome to Sugartown s-1 Page 2

  I sigh and give both him and my self-esteem an out, “I could just draw you a map, if you like?”

  “No. I want you to take me.” His brows knit together and the dimples pop out when he laughs at what he just said, but he doesn’t make any attempt to rectify it. In fact, the smile he gives me is downright cheeky and full of challenge. I smile back, thinking he has no idea what he just walked into.

  He thrusts a hand out in front of me and says, “Elijah Cade.”

  “Ana.” I take his proffered hand. It’s warm but not sweaty, calloused, and it engulfs mine completely.

  “You got a last name, Ana?”

  “Nope, just Ana.”

  His eyebrow quirks and the smile he pairs with it is as smug as smiles come. “Well, just Ana, you and I will be seeing a lot of each other from now on.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I’m gonna be working just across the street, and I’m gonna need a place to eat.” I know he’s provoking me, any idiot could see that, and yet the way his voice lowers and his dark eyes seem to hood over when he says the word “eat” makes me want to offer up myself as an all-night buffet.

  I hear Holly gasp and I know I’m in trouble. Holly’s very rarely shocked by anything. I don’t know if it’s what Elijah said, or the way I’m so obviously drooling over him, but the fact that she’s gasping is so not good. I look away from Melty Eyes, but I’m afraid I’ll need a cold shower before I can calm down enough to keep my inner hussy at bay.

  “Really? I wasn’t even aware that Big Bob was looking for another mechanic.”

  He looks surprised. Surprised and suddenly wary. “You know him?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Tell me then, what have I gotta do to impress him? I really need to hold down this job.”

  “Okay, here’s the thing. Big Bob’s really big on pretty boys, so make sure you smile. Don’t wear a shirt while you’re working, and he’s partially deaf so you’ll need to talk REALLY LOUD!”

  “You’re shitting me, right?”

  “Afraid not. Mr Boss Man is a partially deaf, raving homosexual. Still want the job?”

  Holly stares at me in horror from across the room and mouths, “What are you doing?”

  “Yeah, of course,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. He is clearly uncomfortable. “I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be stripping or anything.”

  “Just your shirt. But something tells me you’re used to people staring at your bare chest anyway.”

  His lips quirk into a slow smile and there’s a moment when I can tell we’re both thinking the same thing: Elijah without a shirt. Okay, well, I’m thinking of Elijah without a shirt and from the way he’s smirking at me, I’m pretty certain his mind is on missing articles of clothing too.

  “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.

  Chapter Two

  Elijah

  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, El
ijah 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.

  Chapter Three

  Ana

  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.

  I’d given Elijah a smug smile and he’d shoved his sunnies back into place and sped off in front of me, copying my fishtail manoeuvre to a tee. I was so not having that, and I’d let him know by overtaking him at every possible turn. Of course, we’d been speeding and we’d overshot the turn-off by about ten km, but it had been so nice just to drive and play that I couldn’t have cared less.

  An almighty crack of thunder had made me glance up at the storm clouds overhead, at which point I’d decided I didn’t want to get caught in the rain and I’d let Elijah zoom past me, only to turn around and head in the other direction when he thought he had me beat. It had been a good five minutes before I’d seen him slip in behind me again and maintain a steady speed. When we’d reached the river, or as close to the river as the road would take us, I’d walked him through the rocky, overgrown trail and down the steep sloping bank. From the obscurity of the trees, I pointed out “Big Gay Bob” and hightailed it out of there, before my dad or the dragon could see me.

  “You’re not gonna stay?” Elijah had said.

  “Nope.” I’d called over my shoulder.

  “What if I get lost?”

  I’d turned and walked backwards without any fear of falling or making a complete dork out of myself. I knew that terrain like the back of my hand. When I was younger the bikers would drag their kids along to those bonfires. I knew every twist, turn and protruding rock of that path. “Then you’ll have a really long trek back to your bike.”

  My reply had been rewarded with a flash of dimple. For a moment I’d forgotten just how dangerous Ole’ Melty Eyed Dimples was. “Thanks for the ride, Ana No Last Name.”

  “Welcome to Sugartown, Elijah Cade.”

  Now, as I lie in bed, I can’t stop thinking about him. I wanted to stop thinking about him, needed desperately to stop thinking about him if I was going to be any use at work tomorrow, but instead I found myself tiptoeing through the house, grabbing the keys to the shop and scurrying out into the rain in my singlet top and boy shorts to make pies in the industrial-sized kitchen until the sun came up.

  And that’s exactly where Holly found me at 9 am, with my head resting on the flour-covered bench and twenty Triple Chocolate Melted Fudge pies surrounding me.

  Holly casts suspicious eyes around the room and arcs her waxed-to-perfection brows. “Rough night?”

  “The roughest.”

  “Well, considering there’s not some tattooed motorcycle god half naked in this kitchen, I’ll take it as a sign your date didn’t go well.”

  “Pfff, he’s hardly a motorcycle god. Bespa” —yes, I named my bike, don’t judge me— “ran rings around that little tricycle of his. And it wasn’t a date.”

  “You sound like your dad.” Holly rolls her heavily made-up eyes and dips her equally manicured finger into the pie that I’d taste tested early this morning, “Mmmm, delicious. Wait, did you change the recipe for your surprise pie?”

  “No. This is something different.” I rise and stretch out all the aches and pains of spending the night in the kitchen, but not before I see her brow arch and a knowing smile slip across her lips. I busy myself wiping flour from the bench with a nearby rag.

  “Whatcha doin’?”

  “Cleaning.”

  “No I mean whatcha doing?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.�
�� I feign innocence but she sees right through it. I am so busted.

  “What’s it called, Ana?”

  “I haven’t named it yet.” I work real hard at scrubbing the imaginary stain on the bench.

  Holly lets out a gasp. It’s so loud, it has me jumping up on the chair, thinking she’s seen a bluetongue lizard in the kitchen, “You sneaky little slutsky! You totally made him a pie!”

  “I did not make him a pie!”

  “You dirty whore!” she shrieks as she picks up a nearby broom and starts prodding my butt with the handle.

  I swat at her with my floury dishrag. “Would you cut it out?”

  “Oh Elijah, won’t you try my pie? I made it just for you,” she taunts in a high-pitched, girly tone that sounds absolutely nothing like me. “What’s that, you wanna stick your fingers in my deliciously silky, warm pie?”

  I’m so focused on Holly’s taunting and the wickedly jabby broom handle currently tenderising my rump that I don’t hear the bell signal a customer. And this is how Elijah finds us as he stares through the serving window: me in my underwear, covered head to toe in chocolate and flour, standing on the chair I’d slept on and having my arse poked by a very dead best friend—or at least, she will be, once I get him to leave. For a minute we are frozen, all three of us just gawking at one another.

  “Mornin’.” Elijah grins. And there they are, both dimples popping out to say hello. And it’s not even ten am yet. The snide bastard makes no attempt to hide the fact he’s ogling me from head to toe.

  With a squeak, I drop the rag and attempt to cover myself, but in my haste the movement throws me off balance, which then causes my chair to tilt at an angle that’s not conducive to keeping me on my feet. I fall flat on my face and, to my absolute horror, while I’m down there acquainting myself with the checked lino and the dust bunnies, Elijah sidles right up to the window and starts up a conversation about our brand new pies. Like he didn’t just witness the single most humiliating moment of my life, and neither he nor Holly can see my half-naked arse sticking out from behind the island bench.