This Love ✔️

22: This Party

'I'm here, get your ass out side.'

I roll my eyes and start to think to myself that I'm an idiot. None the less I sneak out the front door, careful not to wake up my parents who are asleep upstairs. I told them I was heading over to Ella's later tonight to spend the night so they shouldn't expect too much.

When I see the bike in the middle of the road I can't help but laugh.

Bash is sitting on it impatiently of course with a scowl but as I get closer his lips part until his jaw is hanging loosely in the air.

At the moment I'm beginning to contemplate my outfit, gray ripped skinny jeans that I never have the confidence to wear because they form to legs perfectly and being the conservative girl I am, I felt like that was too much. Also a black formal looking crop top that was skin tight and pushed my breasts up well, and high heeled boots.

I'm contemplating it because one; the cold night air is hitting my bare arms and naked stomach and two; Bash won't stop looking at me.

"You're so cliché."

"What are you wearing?"

We say at the same time.

"What do you mean I'm cliché?" Bash asks, his irritation seeping back in and his focus no longer on my stomach.

I look down to his motorcycle and back up to his and his black leather jacket with a gray hoodie. "You're a bad boy riding a motorcycle, what's not cliché about that?"

I throw one leg over the back and get situated behind him.

Bash turns to look at my strangely.

"What?" I snap.

A smirk finds its way onto his lips. "Shouldn't you be freaking out?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I'm forcing you to ride a motorcycle?" He asks confused. "I expected you to be stubborn and refusing to get on while secretly you're imagining me naked on it. And somewhere in between your yelling and dirty thoughts you accuse me of being a bad boy and being too dangerous for your good little heart."

I raise an eye brow at him and slap his shoulder which makes him scowl at me. "You're a sexist pig, not every girl thinks that way or maybe I'm just not like the other girls. It's a motorcycle not a dinosaur. And also we're just friends so I don't care if you're bad or not, it won't affect me."

Bash looks a little taken back by my rant but instead of arguing he says, "Before we leave I want to know where the hell you get these clothes from?" His eyes look up and down my body. "I don't suppose you go shopping for them."

"They're my sister's, she's a fashion designer. Or well wants to be. She went through a punk rock phase in high school and left all her clothes behind. Now will you stop blabbering and start the damn bike so we can go already?"

Bash grunts but does as I tell him anyways.

As we drive down the streets of my home town the fingers in the wind pick up my hair, twirling the pieces through the locks. I smile at the feel of the cold hand pressed against my neck and press closer to Bash.

This ride reminds me of my Grandpa. Being the crazy old nut he and my Grandma were together, he bought a motorcycle after he retired. When I was little and visited him in Arizona for one summer, he took me out for a ride with him around his quiet neighborhood. Of course as I got older I would ride with him more often and other then him teaching me how to draw, the motorcycle rides we would take is my fondest memory of him.

Soon we arrive at our destination. A medium sized house, smaller than mine but still fairly big with music blaring from inside.

The front yard doesn't seem to look to bad with red cups. Actually it looks pretty clean. Not at all like what I expected a high school party to look like, but then again Bash isn't in high school anymore and his friends aren't like the jocks who host the parties at my school. The parties I never get invited too.