Rika, the Cuban Flame

18. Study Me Instead

Rika

Driving in the city is complete and utter bullshit. There's too many cars and too many people randomly running into the street without using crosswalks like they should. Jaywalking is everywhere. Cars randomly brake check people and others swerve into the lane without checking blind spots. The brake checks target me more than anything. After all, what insurance company wouldn't gravel over being rear-ended by a supercar? That's an endless pile of money and one of many reasons my supercar has a dash cam, along with other cameras constantly recording my surroundings.

After messing with Lucas, I finally tell him to get back in his own seat and put his seatbelt on. I trust myself driving. I'm safe and know how to drive my fast as fuck car, but what I don't trust is other people driving, since, well, other people are nuts.

I park my supercar in a spot designated specifically for me. A barbed wire high fence surrounds the parking lot. There's a security post at the only entrance and exit, with a security guard always stationed inside. My supercar isn't the only one here. There are others, but mine is by far more superior. Everyone who lives in this tall high-rise has parking spots assigned to them. In the heart of the city, honestly any city, parking is horrible and will always be a problem. This complex takes the stress out of having to worry about it.

After I park, I turn and see Lucas still with his head buried in one of his textbooks, studying. I'm shocked that didn't give him motion sickness on the drive over here because it would for me if I tried reading small text in a moving car.

I exit the car and walk around, opening Lucas's passenger side door. He's still reading, and it's almost like I have to snap him out of whatever trance he's in. "Come on," I say.

"Oh, right," he says. He puts his book into his backpack and gets out of the car, ducking under the butterfly door. It shuts automatically behind him. He looks around at all the fancy cars and sighs. "Just how many rich people live here?"

I scratch my chin. "Quite a few."

Lucas looks at the building and then tilts his head all the way up. "Damn, and I assume you're at the top?"

"Good guess. Hey-" I grab his hand. "Do you mind? I didn't get my workout in this morning."

Lucas raises an eyebrow. "Do I mind what?"

"I want to carry you since I didn't get to go to the gym today," I say, but it sounds more like a demand.

"Carry me? Like I'm your weights at a gym?"

I nod. "Exactly."

Lucas moves his hand over his chest and gives a stunned expression, like he's been emotionally hurt. "Is that all I am to you? Fucking dumbbells?"

I shake my head, a grin slowly emerging on my face as I do. "Shut the hell up, Lucas. Can I or not?"

He moves his hand away from his chest and shrugs. "Oh, I don't care. You don't have to ask, anyway. Just go for it."

"Wear your backpack," I demand. "More weight."

Lucas puts his backpack on, both straps, instead of carrying it in his hand. I move behind him, kicking the inside of his foot to spread his legs, then squat down. My arms reach around him and I place my hands on the front of his thighs and duck my head between his legs. I hoist him up onto my shoulders and jump a bit when I stand, hearing him grunt just like when a couple plays the chicken game in the pool. Only... this time, instead of the woman on top, it's the man. "Jesus!" he screams out. "You want to carry me like this?!" I feel him lean over to look down at me. "I thought you'd just cradle me in your arms or something."