Motorcycle Babe

Aftermath

Raven

I can’t explain why I did what I did. Usually, I let the world burn and just roast marshmallows over the flames, but seeing that sack of s**t towering over her and spitting that "lesbian w***e" name in her face... it pushed me over the edge. I don’t know what the hell we are to each other anymore, but I’ll be damned if I let a guy like Tyler Erickson talk to her like that.

Russell sat in his chair, staring at me like I was a puzzle he’d given up on years ago. Usually, he’d be screaming, threatening expulsion, or calling the cops. Instead, he just sighed.

"Raven," he started, "did you intend to do this, or was it an accident?"

"Depends on how much you like Tyler’s face," I said, leaning back and propping my boots up on his mahogany desk. "He was looking a little too symmetrical for my taste."

"Take your feet off, please. I just wiped that down," he said calmly.

I blinked, pulling my feet down. Now I was officially weirded out. "You okay, Russell? You’re acting like you’ve been drugged. Did someone put a Xanax in your morning donut?"

"No," he said, rubbing his temples. "I’m just confused as to why the hell someone like Gabriella Alvarez would come in here and beg me to go easy on you."

My heart did a stupid little somersault. She defended me? The "Good Girl" went to bat for the school’s favorite disaster?

"So, what are you going to do with me?" I asked, trying to sound like I didn’t give a f**k.

He shrugged. "Just go to class. And for the love of God, no more fights today. I'm exhausted."

"Yeah, whatever," I muttered, grabbing my bag. "Can I hit the nurse’s office first? My lip is starting to look like a botched Botox job, and I’ve got a reputation to uphold."

He nodded, and I bailed. I didn’t actually want to see the nurse—I wanted to hop on my bike and ride until I hit another state—but I needed an ice pack before my face became unrecognizable.

As I rounded the corner, I saw her.

Gabby was standing there, leaning against the wall. I figured she was waiting for Tyler—ready to forgive the "Golden Boy" for being a homophobic prick—but when she saw me, her eyes lit up. She actually walked toward me.

Great. Just great. I wasn't in the mood to be a hero, and I definitely wasn't in the mood to feel things.

We stopped about a foot apart. The silence was awkward as s**t. I felt like a stray dog that had accidentally done a trick and now she was supposed to give me a treat.

"What a good girl," I smirked. I was trying to play it tough, to keep that wall up, but looking at her was like looking at a sun I wasn't allowed to touch.

"Hey," she blushed, her face turning that pretty shade of pink I used to know so well. "Um, I wanted to thank you. For what you did."

I shrugged, looking down the hall. "Yeah, like I said. Don't spend that much on coffee again. It's bad for the economy or whatever."

She looked confused for a second. "This isn't about the coffee, Raven. It's about the fight."

Dumbass, I scolded myself. Focus. "Right. That," I grinned, trying to hide the fact that my hands were shaking. "Don't you have a class to be in? Good girls don't loiter in the halls."

"It’s not important right now," she smiled.

Now I was officially spiraling. She’s never talked to me like this. Not since... before. Girls are confusing as s**t, but she’s the final boss of confusion. Does she remember? Or is her body just reacting to me?

"Hanging with me can get you in a lot of trouble, Alvarez," I joked, shifting my weight.

"Oh, really?" she murmured. She took a step closer—close enough that I could smell her perfume. Before I could move, she reached out, her fingers softly stroking my hair, tucking a curl back.

I flinched and backed away so fast I almost hit the lockers. My skin felt like it was on fire. No girl touches my hair. Not unless we're mid-hookup and I've already shut my brain off. Her touch brought back a specific kind of memory—a warmth I’d spent two years trying to kill with leather and gasoline.

I adjusted my hair and slung my bag over my shoulder, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "I gotta go."

I started walking toward the exit, but I couldn't help it. I looked back.

She was still standing there, looking dazed, watching me go. I could’ve said something. I could’ve told her to come with me, to skip the rest of this hellhole and ride. But like I told myself before—we have to keep our distance, because no matter how much she forgets or how many times I try to walk away, the truth is that I still love her.