𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐘

[41] Closed Off

c l o s e d  o f f 
CONRAD'S POV:

"How are we gonna get to school?" Covey asks, holding my hand as we step out of the elevator. She waddles next to me, walking funny. I fucked her good last night. Hell yeah, I did.

I squeeze her hand twice. "Here, let me show you."

We walk up to the front desk of the lobby where Troy is working. Covey smiles at him, waving. "Hey T," she says, "how's your morning so far?"

"Lovely now seeing you," he responds, politely. Don't you fucking dare, Troy.

I give him a nod, clenching my jaw. "Can you get valet to bring out my Harley?"

"On it," he says, giving me a knowing look. "You haven't pulled that baby out in a while."

"My car's in the shop," I grumble, shrugging. "It's whatever."

"Baby?" Covey asks, raising her voice.

I smirk. "Yes, mi amore?"

"Ugh, I wasn't calling you baby." She hits my stomach, sticking her tongue out at me. "You wish though, idiot."

"You know what I really like being called," I tell her, pulling her to my chest. "Don't you?" I add in a suggestive whisper.

"Totally, Coco Puff. Mr. Grumpy Grinch suits you perfectly." Offering me a toothy grin, she gets on her tippy toes and pecks my lips. "Oh, I guess Hot Stuff works too, yes?"

I glare down at her, digging my nails into her waist. "Sure, Cove. I love all those," my words come out in sarcasm.

Her hand grips my arms and she gasps. "Yes, daddy."
I fucking love you, kid.

Troy looks between the two of us, raising an eyebrow. "Are you two together? Because if not, what the actual fuck and where can I find one?" Does everyone have to ask that?

Covey laughs her intoxicating laugh. "Oh, c'mon. You've seen me pretty much everyday for the last month. But if you are somehow directionally challenged, you can find me on floor nine in suite B with the view outlooking downtown." That was... very specific?

I chuckle. "Covey, that's not what he meant—"

"Did you just laugh?" Troy asks, his eyes widening. "I've known this dude since high school and he's never just laughs. Did you come from heaven?" He looks at her, then at me. 

"No, but he takes me there," she blurts out before covering her face. Covey Jensen. "Wait, you weren't supposed to know that..."

"It's alright," he waves it off. "I already assumed. Anyways, your motorcycle is ready."

"Motorcycle?" Covey asks, her eyes bulging out of their sockets. "I can't—Conrad... Coco Puff."

"Shh," I whisper, pulling her closer to me. I flip Troy off before walking to the valet pick-up. "You'll be fine."

"Conrad," she protests, stopping in her tracks when she sees the bike. "No, no I can't. The death rate for getting in a motorcycle crash is greater than in a enclosed vehicle."

"Where did you hear that?" I grumble, rolling my eyes. My motorcycle is cool as fuck.

"Google," she replies, fishing her phone out of her pocket. She types something in the search bar before humming, holding the phone up to my face.

Motorcycle riders are 27 times more likely to die when they are in an accident than are drivers and riders in cars. People riding motorcycles are also 10 times more likely to be severely injured in a crash, compared to people in cars.