Chapter 4 The Jacket

The cheering dies down but the air still buzzes with the energy Foster created.

"Fuck!" My brother next to me quickly tucks his phone in his pocket and stares at me with his mouth locked in a deep frown.

"He won!" I say.

"He wasn't supposed to win."

"He did. He's amazing." Why the heck would Donnie care who won a secret underground fight?

"Let's go." His hand on my upper arm hurts a little, but I don't say anything and follow behind him as he works his way to the entrance.

Outside the firehouse, the smell of the Bronx hits me with the warm summer heat. It's not a pleasant smell but it's unique and earthy and tells you where you are. The smell says, you're in the Bronx on a hot summer night .

Donnie lets go of my arm and walks briskly toward the subway station.

"Yo! Donnie. Hold up!" A guy with a thick New York accent paces behind us .

Donnie picks up speed, leaving me behind in the street.

The guy dodges cars to run after him but comes back alone and winded. He's tall and scary looking with a square face and thick black eyebrows. His angry eyes focus on me. "Your brother's an asshole."

"Hey." How does this guy know me? He looks familiar.

"Tell him he owes Rocco Maretti twenty large."

Ah, yes. Rocco Maretti is the son of a New York real estate mogul. My father runs in the same circles with his father. "What?"

"Twenty thousand dollars." He speaks slowly like I'm stupid. I know what it means. "He said Foster would lose. He scammed me."

Donnie did that? I'd heard he was betting on football, but he wouldn't take bets on an underground fight. Who would bet twenty grand against the Unstoppable Foster Dunham?

"Are you saying my brother is some kind of bookie?"

His head tilts and his eyes look me up and down. I'm a little overdressed in a ruffled blouse and bootleg jeans, but nothing too revealing.

"You're not working with him?" He squints at me like I'm a bug pinned to a board.

"No," I reply, shocked by his question .

"He said you were."

"I'm not."

He stalks toward me and his hands land on my shoulders. Thick fingers dig into my skin. Pain shoots down my back as it hits the wall of the firehouse.

"Back off, Rocco." What a freaking jerk!

Puffs of stinky air from his breath hit me in the face. "How did a nut bag like him get a sister as pretty as you?"

My hands push against his chest, but he grins and doesn't budge.

Okay. I need a plan. Stay calm. Surely someone will come out of the abandoned firehouse soon.

Nope. I hear cheering. They're starting another fight. No one is coming out here. Darn. My plan is to kick him in the balls and run. I'm fast. He won't catch me even if I'm wearing a pair of three-inch heeled boots. "Let me go."

He smashes his lips to mine. I try to pull back but he has me pinned and my head smacks against the wall. He rips my blouse, exposing my bra. "You pay his debt."

"No!"

He grabs my boob and tries to kiss me again. I bite his lip, but that only deepens the determination in his eyes .

He reaches for my pants, but thank God I wore jeans and I'm able to move my hips enough to make it impossible for him to get the zipper down.

"You playing me, Milana? Saying no? I hear you screw Donnie's friends when he gets in a jam."

"Stop!" I'm pounding his shoulders like I just saw Foster do, but he's bulky and hard. My punches bounce off him like rubber. I'm trying to get in a position to knee him in the balls.

There's no way I'm letting this guy rape me.

I lean my head back and scream. "Help!"

A rough hand over my mouth muffles my cries.

Urgent footsteps run toward us, and the pressure of Rocco's filthy hand on my mouth disappears. The sound of fists cutting through air and connecting with flesh hits my ears.

A tall guy wearing boots, jeans, and a black denim jacket is fighting Rocco.

They rotate and Foster's face moves into the light.

Foster.

He's here. He's fighting off Rocco for me.

Relief floods me and I can breathe again.

Rocco takes a hard one to the face, and his eyes flash like he just realized who he's fighting .

He ducks and runs. Foster takes three steps toward him and stops. He looks back at me. He has a Band-Aid over his eye and the blood is gone from his face. His hair shines like it's wet. He's stunning with his chest heaving, his brow furrowed, in attack mode like he was inside. He looks back to where Rocco ran, relaxes his shoulders, and walks back toward me.

"I'll get him later," he mumbles to himself. When he's closer to me, he asks, "You all right?"

"I think so."

He frowns as he watches me pull my blouse over my bra. "He hurt you?"

"No. You stopped him before he could."

He nods but his eyes are flaming, his nostrils flared.

"Where's your brother?" he asks, his voice rough with anger as he looks up and down the street.

He knows Donnie? "He took off when he saw Rocco."

"And left you alone with him? You're brother is stupid as hell."

I can't argue with that. I love Donnie but he makes bad decisions sometimes. Lots of times.

Foster's eyes look me over and his anger shifts to concern. "You're trembling. "

"I am?"

Looking down, I see he's right. I'm shaking like it's cold, but it's definitely hot and muggy tonight.

Then the man who was just in two savage fights raises his arm and invites me to step in for a consoling hug.

I lean forward and take a step closer to him, subtly indicating it would be okay for him to hug me. When my head touches his torso, his arms encircle me in a warm cage. His chest is a flat, hard plane and he smells like soap and denim. He squeezes me subtly and his chin rests on the top of my head.

"If I didn't hear you call for help…" His voice rasps like he cares about me. I'm shocked to see the cold-hearted fighter I saw up on the stage showing such overwhelming compassion for a total stranger.

"I was going to kick him in the balls."

He chuckles. "I'll take you home." The low rumble of his voice brushes my hair.

I break the hug. Even though I like being close to him, it feels indulgent and too intimate. Fate placed him here at the exact moment I needed someone, but stealing the chance to remain in the arms of the Unstoppable Foster Dunham feels like a crime. "I can call a taxi."

"No. I'll take you home." His hand rubs behind his neck and his chin tilts down, sparkling eyes still on me .

"I'm staying in the Hamptons right now for summer vacation." It's over an hour away.

"Then I'll take you to the Hamptons."

"I don't want to detour you like that. You need to tend to your face, put some ice on the swelling." His eye and cheek have gotten worse while we've been talking.

"That guy almost raped you. He had you alone out here in the street. And you're worried about some bruises on my face?" His eyes darken and focus on me, looking serious and intent. "I'll take you to the Hamptons."

"Really not necessary."

He grabs my hand and drags me around the side of the building where a black motorcycle is parked. The helmet he hands me is heavy like a bowling ball. "Put this on."

"Uh. I've never ridden on a motorcycle."

The bandage on his eye goes up with his eyebrow lift. "I've never had a girl on the back of my bike before."

"Oh."

In one glorious movement, he shrugs off his denim jacket, slides it down his arms, and holds it out to me. "Wear this."

He sounds unshakable, so I push the much-too-large helmet on my head. I take the jacket from him and slip it over my shoulders. It's warm and smells so good I could live in this jacket. I hold the collar up to my nose and take a sniff. He watches me and grins. He keeps smiling as he buckles the helmet straps tighter under my chin.

He throws a leg over and brings the bike up level. He stares forward like he's sure I'm getting on behind him.

Aww, who am I kidding? Of course I'm getting on.

I lift my leg and cautiously slide in behind him, keeping distance between our bodies. He peers over his shoulder at me, waiting for me to settle in deeper. With his hands on the handlebars, the arch of his shoulders seems endless, and I'm staring at an old rock tee shirt. I'm not even sure who it is, but it's worn thin and barely hides the muscles in his back.

In order to lift my feet, I'll have to hold onto him or I'll fall off. I slip my hands around his waist and lock them in the front by his navel. He doesn't stop looking back until I lean forward and press my body to his back. My feet find their place on the foot pegs. He closes his eyes and his head bows down. His chest expands with a sigh, he raises his head, and starts the engine.

Everything about him is hard and masculine. The rumble of his bike, the scent of soap and cotton coming off him, the way he sits comfortably in the seat, and the ease with which he turns the bike around and accelerates down the street. I hold on tight, pretending I'm not impressed with how hard his abs feel against my wrists and how perfectly my front fits to his back.

I like this. Too much .

I can never have it. My father and brother would never approve of Foster or me riding on his bike.

By the time we cross over the East River, and the stench of the city changes to the salty ocean air, I've forgotten to care what my dad or Donnie would think. I've forgotten Rocco's horrible attack. I love being on the back of Foster's bike, pressing my hands to his hard stomach and hugging him from behind, letting him guide the way, and enjoying the rough bite of the wind. This trip home from the Bronx will always be the most memorable experience of my life.

I'm not sure how he knows which way to go, but he chooses the right turn onto the Long Island Expressway. We pass under tree-lined canopies, and the moon guides the way into the quiet and secluded resort town of the Hamptons.

"It's in Bridgehampton." I speak to him for the first time on our ride. It was too loud and windy before, but he stops at a light and I break the silence. He nods and heads the correct direction again.

I tell him the last few turns to get to my family's summer home and he stops at the bottom of the driveway.

My legs ache and my heart is sad when I climb off the back of his bike. I hand him his helmet and he holds it under one arm. The hardest part is saying goodbye to his denim jacket. It's been like a friend, buffering me from the wind all the way home.

"Keep the jacket. "

"Oh no. I…"

"Keep it. Looks good on you." The corner of his mouth turns up in an adorable grin.

"Thank you."

"Welcome." He says it casually like it was no problem for him to fight a guy off me, drive me all the way out here, and give me his jacket.

I wish this wasn't goodbye. I want him to come inside and have something to eat and drink, but I can't do that without causing a scandal I'll never live down.

"I'm having a party." It came from my mouth before I could stop myself, but now that it's out there, I'm going with it. "Next weekend. You should come." I might completely lose my cool if he shows up, but it would be so exciting.

"I'm not exactly a party in the Hamptons kind of guy." He grins, but it's bittersweet. He's putting himself down, referring to the class difference between us.

It's so stupid that we can't make everyone feel welcome. Why do we have to have curated guest lists and strategic invitation timing? Why does money create such boundaries between people who want to be friends? In a brief moment of rebelliousness, I stick to my guns. "I'd really like you to come. Next Saturday. It's a pool party."

His eyes widen and his mouth turns down. He sits back on his seat and looks at me with eyes a thousand meters deep. " Pool parties in the Hamptons are on my avoid at all costs list."

I want to fight him, but he grabs his helmet roughly and jerks it on his head, creating a barrier between us.

Now I feel stupid. Of course the Unstoppable Foster Dunham wouldn't come to my elitist pool party in the Hamptons. He's much too good for that. He's too human. Too kind and much too gorgeous to be seen with the likes of my family's circles.

It was just an idea, a bad one, but something I thought might give me a chance to see him again.

"Okay. Well, thank you, Foster."

He nods and starts up his bike.

A ball of regret and sorrow collects in my throat as I watch him ride away. I didn't want him to leave angry.

I sigh and hike up the hill of the driveway.

Reality awaits.