Curvy Girls Can't Date Bad Boys - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,21
to Ronan along with some plastic silverware.
“Thanks, man,” Ronan said.
“Any time.”
Ronan walked out the back door and held it open for me. His legs easily took the couple of steps down, and he sat on the bottom step, opening a container.
I sat beside him, deciding I didn’t care anymore what happened to my dress. What was it compared to all the other gowns in my closet?
He stuck a spoon into one of the boxes and handed it to me.
“Thanks,” I said.
He opened his own box and held it out. “Cheers.”
With a smile and a slight shake of my head, I tapped my box to his. “Cheers.”
Whether it was the late hour or the company, I had no idea, but it was the most delicious food I’d ever tasted. It melted in my mouth, flavor bursting with each bite. “Oh my gosh, this is so good.”
“Told you,” he said with a grin.
I turned the box and made a mental note of the restaurant’s name. “I’m never ordering food from anywhere else ever again.”
He laughed, and the sound warmed me from the inside out. Maybe because it seemed so at odds with his dark exterior or maybe because it seemed so pure. Either way, I had butterflies tickling the edges of my stomach and an easy smile on my lips.
My eyes caught sight of a tattoo surrounding his elbow as he lifted a bite to his mouth. I brushed my fingertips over his skin. “What does this one mean?”
He lifted his arm, examining the black lines and stars surrounding it. “It’s a compass.”
“I don’t see any directions.”
For a moment, he looked me over, dark eyes taking me in, and I felt like I had to be utterly still, waiting until he made his decision to tell me or not. “Everyone’s so focused on doing what they should, but they don’t realize they don’t know what they actually want until every other marker is gone.”
The meaning behind it caught me off guard. Maybe I hadn’t expected something so deep, but now he had me thinking. Did I only want to get away from my father’s plan because I didn’t like it or because it was my only option?
Ronan took another bite, and I did the same, using eating as an excuse to think some more.
“What about your other tattoos?” I asked. “Why did you start getting them?”
He paused, not moving.
“Sorry,” I said, averting my gaze. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
With quick, jerky movements, he shook his head. “It’s just...personal.”
That answer only made me want to know more, but we’d reached a line he wouldn’t cross and that had me thinking maybe I should draw one of my own.
Despite my curiosity, I simply nodded and busied myself with eating the rest of my food. It really was good.
Over the horizon of dingy shops and closed down storefronts, I could see the sky glowing with the lightening blue hue of twilight. Soon, the rest of the world, including my father, would know about my early exit from the party. I hadn’t seen any paparazzi, but there was always someone on the inside looking for dirt to paint the cover of the next day’s tabloid.
“I should get home,” I said. Before someone else has a chance to hit my dad with the news.
Ronan nodded. “Where do you live?”
I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should give him my real address or just grab a cab. Something told me I could trust him, though. He’d had hours to do something wrong, and he’d hardly even touched me.
“In Brentwood,” I answered. “Near Rolling Green.”
He nodded, but I didn’t miss the realization that flashed across his face at my mention of the neighborhood. I didn’t feel ashamed, though. My family was rich—I hadn’t chosen it any more than I’d chosen my skin color or the size of my feet.
He dropped his box in the dumpster, then reached out for mine so he could do the same with it. I handed it to him and walked to his motorcycle, getting the helmet from the back.
Ronan easily swung his leg over the bike and waited for me to get on behind. As he kicked the engine to life and I wrapped my arms around his waist, I couldn’t help the overwhelming sense of sadness that this evening was coming to an end.
He took me across town, only asking a few questions at intersections where I could be heard over the roar of his bike.