Dragon's Burn Page 2

  "Thank you, young man. What's your name? I haven't seen you ‘round here before."

  I glare daggers at her, but she’s ignoring my death stare. I can’t believe she’s doing this!

  He has a name tag on, though I just now noticed it. This is not happening. My heart drops into my stomach and bounces around. My hands clam up, and I want nothing more than to crawl under this table and pretend I'm not here. Would it be wrong to kick her in the shin, gently of course, to grab her attention?

  “My name is Ryu, and you wouldn't have seen me before, I'm new to the area.”

  He gives Granny a tight smile like he’s hoping she won't press for more information. Interesting.

  “Well, welcome to the neighborhood. Granny, I'm sure Rickie wouldn't want him standing around talking to us when he’s got other guests.”

  She looks over at me, innocence plastered across her face; the twitch at the corner of her mouth gives her away, though. Granny's got a good poker face when she wants one.

  “Sorry, dear. I'm just an old nosey woman.” She waves her hand, then reaches for her glass of water, taking a sip. It’s equivalent to a shrug in her case.

  “It's nice to meet you, Ryu,” I say, looking into his beautiful eyes, getting lost in them all over again. I don’t know why, but the way his name rolls off my tongue feels—perfect.

  “Same.” He smirks again before walking away.

  I sink down into the booth, letting out an exasperated sigh. My heart is beating so fast you’d think I just ran a marathon, which is crazy because the only thing I'd run toward willingly is an amazing shoe sale. Speaking of which, I think there’s one today—somewhere. I try thinking about the shoe sale and where it’s at instead of Ryu, but it’s not working.

  How can I forget where the sale is?

  This has never happened before. I always know when and where I’ll be spending several hours getting the best deals on the hottest footwear. Stupid vagina and stupid hormones.

  “Granny.”

  “Hmm?”

  She's now fiddling with a small stack of napkins but looks at me like she hasn't a clue what I'm about to say. Who am I kidding? I can’t stay miffed at her.

  “I love you.” I chuckle, reaching across the table and grabbing her hand.

  “I love you, too.”

  Poppy

  We finish up lunch, and I do my best not to make too much eye contact with Ryu every time he comes to check on us. Last thing I need is to choke on my food because I forgot how to swallow. Plus, I didn't want to risk having him see me with food in my teeth. I want to hold onto this memory of our brief meeting as this spectacular swept-away moment and not have it ruined by things coming out of my mouth—words or food.

  I spend the entire drive home with my head in the clouds thinking about him and the mesmerizing orange flecks in his eyes. I bet in the right lighting, his eyes would be paralyzing. In my head, I change the storyline. Instead of him waiting on other people, he slides into the booth next to me where we talk for hours, never once pausing to figure out what to say next. His voice strumming through me, like a dark symphony seeping into my body and soul, filling the empty spaces with his dangerous tune. My daydream begins to feel so real that when we pull into our driveway, I’m half-convinced the scene in my head took place. But as I put the van in park and hear a door opening, I’m pulled back to reality, the daydream quickly fading.

  Granny is already out of the van and unlocking the front door before I drag myself in that direction. What started out as an amazing day, only turning dark briefly by the FaBs, ended up being even more wonderful. However, I’m starting to think I’m headed back toward the darkness as soon as my feet accept my full body weight. I wince at the pricks of pain in the balls of my feet from being in these shoes for longer than I anticipated. With each step I take, I suck in a breath of air and groan about how far away the front door is.

  Taking my shoes off occurs to me, but I’m not about to walk across the yard and get my feet dirty. The red clay dirt sticks to everything and stains your skin. Rule 1,002 when living in this area: don't walk barefoot. Not all parts of North Carolina have this type of soil—we’re some of the lucky ones that do.

  I get to the front door and step out of my shoes, biting the inside of my cheek as my feet adjust to being flat once again. The price women pay for wearing pretty shoes, and these even have memory foam in them.

  Granny’s house is an old Victorian style two-story home. She told me years ago that the owners before her had split the top and bottom in order to rent them out like apartments. That's the cool thing about this place—the upstairs is still set up like private living quarters with a kitchen, two bedrooms and a third room that I use as a living room.

  Downstairs, Granny has a similar setup with two bedrooms, living room, and large kitchen with walk-in pantry. The house sits inside city limits and has been grandfathered into the historical society. That’s fancy wording for we can’t do anything to the house without the historical board’s approval first. My idea for an expanded bathroom with jacuzzi tub was thrown out the window in a heartbeat.

  I toss my purse on the chair in the corner and fall face first on my bed. “Oh yeah,” I sigh, sinking deeper into the squishy comfort my bed offers.

  My toes tingle with relief at not having to do any more work. I lie there for a while, my eyes closing at the impending nap I'm about to take. Just as I’m about to fall headfirst into dreamland, a rapid-fire of dings has my eyes popping open.

  “Nooooo, I was almost asleep.”

  I damn to hell whoever is blowing up my phone with text messages. Plus, this means I have to touch my feet on the floor to grab it. Sliding off the bed, I pull my phone out of my purse. Six missed messages from Deb letting me know there is a huge party at Scott Tiller’s house tonight. Looks like she’s going, which translates into her wanting me to go as well.

  “She’s lost her mind. I can’t believe she would interrupt my nap for that.” I shoot back a text and tell her I’m passing on the party. She knows good and well I don't go to that type of shit. Wouldn't be caught dead at a gathering where the combined brain cell power equates to one whole person. Yeah, thanks, but no thanks.

  I pad back over to my bed and climb under the covers to continue my much-needed nap after all the strenuous activity I did today. Walking in heels is a workout on its own, and I deserve some extra beauty rest because I graduated today. That, in itself, is nap worthy. I find my comfortable lying position once again and feel myself drifting off to sleep.

  The song “Shoe Shopping” by Old Dominion begins to play; it’s my ringtone, and while normally I love the song for obvious reasons, right now I hate it.

  “Dammit, Deb.” I send the call straight to voicemail.

  I roll onto my side, hoping she gets the point, I don't want to talk. Closing my eyes yet again, I try relaxing—even though jolts of irritation slide through my veins, like a shot of espresso starting to kick in. It makes it take longer to calm down and relax.

  “Poppy, get your ass out of bed,” Debbie yells, stomping up the stairs.

  I pull the blanket over my bed and lie perfectly still, because in my mind if I don’t move, she can’t see me, and then maybe she’ll go away.

  “Poppy, I know you’re in bed sleeping.”

  “Go away,” I shout back when she throws the door open.

  “Not a chance. Get up. We’ve got stuff to do before tonight.”

  I hold on to the comforter tighter because next thing she’s going to do is try and pull it off me.

  “I’m not going to no stupid party. Why would you even ask me that?”

  “Listen to me—you listening?”

  “No.”

  She sighs. “You’re going with me to that party. It’s our last high school party, and you’ll regret it if you don’t, I know you. Bonus, after the party, you won't be seeing their faces anymore.”

  Well, bribing me with this is a good place for her to start at. The idea of going and
not having a care in the world about what I do or don’t do and having it get around school the next day is appealing, but I'm not sold yet. She knows she’ll have to sweet talk me more.

  “Also,” she yanks on the covers and manages to pull it half off me, “there’s a sale going on at Walk In Style. 35% off to celebrate the end of the school year.”

  That’s the shoe sale I couldn't remember earlier. I roll over and glare at her. “How dare you bribe me with a shoe sale. You’re an evil, evil person who should've started the conversation with that.”

  I hop out of bed and hiss when my sore feet touch the floor. I think I’ll wear sandals. Rummaging through my closet, I find my cute pair of white and black strappy sandals with black gems along the top.

  “So why do you want to go to this party anyway? You haven't wanted to go in a long time.” Freshman and sophomore year, we went to a few parties, but once the FaBs started ruling the school, and the parties, we decided to keep our distance.

  She shrugs. “I figure this is my last chance at a high school party before going off to college.” Her light green eyes look away from me as she says it. She’s hiding something.

  “Uh-huh. This wouldn't have anything to do with Bobby, would it?”

  Deb has been in love with Bobby Allen since fifth grade. He’s a loner, an outsider like us, but we run with different crowds; his being the band and chess club kids, ours being the school paper. I laugh when a noticeable blush creeps up her cheeks.

  “So, let me get this straight. You’re dragging my ass to a party so you can ogle Bobby from afar, or are you actually going to talk to him?

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves and just see what happens. He may not even show, and if he does, it’s not like he’d talk to me.” She ends the conversation by sliding off my bed and running out of my bedroom, her pale pink hair bouncing behind her.

  I’ll never understand the whole in love thing at our age. It's not that I don't believe that two people can fall for each other and develop a strong passion. What I don't get is how it can happen when we’re still children ourselves. Barely adults. High school sweethearts are rare; if these last four years have shown me anything, it’s kids my age don't make the best choices, and saying ‘I love you’ is as common a phrase as ‘I’ll have a Coke.’

  My parents had me at a young age, their futures forever changed because of the choices they made. So, if I sound a bit cynical, I am. That’s small-town life though, and more reason to get out while I can. Poor choices mean a higher risk of being stuck here and I'm not about to let that happen.

  I grab my purse and follow Deb.

  “Granny,” I call, rounding the corner.

  “In here.”

  The brown linoleum floors creak under my feet as I pass through the living room and into the kitchen. I hear movement to my right when I enter. The door to the walk-in pantry is half open. I push it open the rest of the way and see Granny standing on a small step stool digging around on a shelf.

  "Hey, Deb and I are going out for a bit."

  "Are you going to be home for dinner?" She hands me a couple cans of stewed tomatoes. Oh, I know what this is for.

  "Macaroni and tomatoes?"

  She smiles and reaches for a box of elbow pasta and hands that to me as well. "Today is a special day. Figured I would make one of your favorite dishes."

  I back out of the pantry but keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn't fall stepping off the stool. Once both her feet are firmly planted on the floor, I move to the kitchen table to set the items down. Macaroni and tomatoes is right up there next to the Poor Man's Spaghetti she makes. Nothing like cooking with bacon grease to really bring the flavors together.

  I've asked her for the recipe, but of course she doesn't have it written down anywhere. Typical. Everything is stored in her head, which makes it difficult to recreate on my own. I’ve tried, and it never seems to come out like hers. Googling hasn't been successful either. You get all types of recipes and nothing close to what she makes.

  "Well, then I’m definitely going to be home for dinner. There’s a shoe sale at Walk In Style that I don't want to miss."

  "You and your shoes," she laughs and shakes her head. "Well, I'll see you when you get back. Have fun."

  "Love you." I place a kiss on her cheek.

  "Love you, too."

  I slip out the front door and down the steps to where Deb's white Corolla is waiting on me. Hopping into the passenger seat, first thing I do is roll the window down.

  "Shoe sale, shoe sale!" I cheer, leaning out the window.

  Deb snorts. "After we hit that place up, I need your help picking out an outfit for tonight."

  My smile turns into a frown. "So, not only am I being forced to go to a party tonight, but you’re going to drag me around while you spend two hours going through clothes and complaining about each piece you put on, and in the end, we walk out with nothing?"

  "You got it."

  I curse under my breath. Bribing me with a shoe sale does not make up for clothes shopping with her. She is the worst when it comes to getting clothes for herself. Honestly, it’s like pure torture.

  I huff, with as much exaggeration as I can. "Fine, but you do realize that shoe shopping is only covering the party. I expect something else as payment for the pain I’ll endure watching you prance in and out of the dressing room."

  "Way ahead of you.”

  My brow furrows. It’s clear she came prepared, and it’s a little unsettling. The last time Deb came to me, armed and ready, was when she convinced me to go to homecoming sophomore year. Recalling that night sends a tremble down my spine, my hands balling into fists. Deb had shown up to homecoming in the same dress as Bethany from the FaBs. Those bitches waited until Deb was alone so they could corner her. That night started my hatred for Brittney and her pets.

  “I overheard Brittney talking about some guy she’s bringing to the party tonight."

  "Why would I care about who she’s hanging out with? You really have lost your shit today, haven't you?" Anyone who hangs out with Brittney isn’t worth my time. She is soul-sucking, like a hurricane—sweeps in, bringing nothing but chaos.

  "Hear me out before you complain.”

  “Fine.”

  “She was telling the FaBs and a few other people that her father is friends with this biker club in the next town over. I'm not sure why, but she’s bringing one of the guys with her tonight. Maybe she wants to parade him around in front of Scott to make him jealous."

  My ears perk up. Biker? "What angle are you playing at?"

  Deb giggles. "Don't tell me your bad boy biker fantasy is no longer a thing?"

  Oh, it's still a thing, but I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of a reaction I know she’s fishing for. The few memories I have of my father is him working on a motorcycle at the house we were staying in. Even at a young age, the sound of a bike engine was like music to my ears—soothing with a side of wonder. To this day, anytime I see a bike on the road or hear one off in the distance, I envision what it would be like to have my own or sitting on the back of one—my arms wrapped around a hot guy as we speed off into the night.

  "Ya, it's still your thing. Your eyes just glazed over. You're totally thinking about hot bikers and shiny chrome, aren't ya?"

  "Whatever." I bat my hand in the air. "I mean, why would he even want to come to a high school party? And how old is this guy?"

  "Don’t know. I'm assuming he’s close to our age. Brittney said he was young, and he may even bring a friend, though she claims to have her sights set on that one too."

  "Oh god, can you imagine Brittney bringing home a biker to meet her parents?" I snort.

  "What a shit show that would be. I can picture the look on her mother's face now."

  We both laugh, picturing the meet and greet. Brittney's mother is head of the school board, and her father owns the few mechanic shops in the area. When you live in a small town and play your cards right, you can essentially monopolize the
area. Her father is smart, the only mechanic shops within fifteen miles all belong to him. If you don't like it, then you have to drive to the next town over where there’s a bigger population and more options.

  Between her mother and father, Brittney's family is one of a handful that run the town, even though we have a mayor. Money gets you far if it finds its way into the right pockets. Of course, most of what I hear is gossip, but if there's anything I've learned from living in a small town, it’s that there are always half-truths found within the whispers.

  If Brittney’s bringing bikers with her tonight, then I'm definitely going, to witness the show. It's not every day a high school cheerleader walks into a party with guys who are in a motorcycle club. This is too good an opportunity to pass up. Something is bound to happen, and I want to be there to witness it.

  Ryu

  I open the throttle on my Suzuki GXSR 1000 as I race down the winding country roads. I searched for months for a decent priced bike, and I finally came across this. A feeling of freedom settles over me, working its way into my skin, lighting me up inside. This is my favorite thing—the open road with just me and my bike. There’s no one here to bitch or bark orders at me. I let my walls come down, relief floods through me and the pent-up tension in my muscles begin to relax. I enjoy it while I can because this peaceful moment will be short-lived.

  The wind whips around me, and I lean into the bike more to cut down on the drag. In ten seconds, a bend will come into view, so I ease back on the RPMs. I'm all about pushing my limits but not at the cost of wrecking my bike, or killing myself in the process.

  I lean with the bike, taking the turn, then open the throttle back up. I drive this road daily and know the layout like the back of my hand. But I don’t let the familiarity of it cause me to lose focus. Not even the beauty with the most stunning turquoise eyes I’ve ever seen. The kind of blue that makes you wish you were lying on a beach in the Caribbean.