Beneath the helmet

TURGUT (11)

Those green eyes again. My gaze moves instinctively from her eyes to her perfectly high-bridged nose and then down to her light red-tinted lips. God, they look like they're begging to be kissed. I bite back the urge to lick my lips and keep control.

Suddenly, her voice snaps me out of my thoughts, angry and sharp. "What? Now you want our meals too?"

I tilt my head slightly, slipping my hands into my jeans pockets. "Can't you have something of your own?" I take a small step closer. "I never asked for anything from you!"

She places her hands on her hips, frustration radiating off her. "But you stole my bike! And look at this!" She waves her hand in the air, pointing out her white shirt drenched in strawberry shake.

Before she can finish, I cut her off, stepping even closer. "What?" I look directly into her eyes, then down to her lips again. They're soft, tempting. I can't help but wonder what they'd feel like, what they'd taste like. Eyes and lips—a deadly combo. My chest tightens at the thought of how many have touched or kissed those lips. I step back quickly, frowning.

"And what will you do? Tell your daddy?" I smirk, tilting my head. "Or your brother?"

Her smile is instant, and her eyes gleam. "I see. So, you did your homework before stealing my bike. Impressive, Mr. Thief. Just return the bike, and we can both go our separate ways."

I arch a brow, my smirk growing wider. "Actually, I'm thinking of keeping it longer than I expected. So, it's a no. You can get a new one in the meantime. I'm sure that won't be a problem for you."

Before I can say anything more, she grabs the ketchup bottle from the table and squeezes it, splattering ketchup all over my white shirt.

I give her a cold, incredulous look. From someone like her, I would've expected a slap, but here she is, drenching me in ketchup. Emir comes up from behind and peers over my shoulder.

"Oh, hi, Miss Russo." His eyes move from the mess on the tray to the ketchup-covered shirt. He picks up some fries and uses my shirt to wipe off the ketchup. "Bro, I didn't know your chest could double as a plate!"

I facepalm, shoving him away. "Move."

Just then, Noa and Aslan return with our food. Aslan's expression hardens when he spots the situation, while Noa sidles up next to me, eyeing Sibel. He leans in and whispers, "She's hot. No wonder they kept her hidden."

I shoot him a murderous glare. If he wasn't my friend, I would've punched him right then and there. I grab him by the arm, muttering, "Let's go."

As we sit down at our table, my mind drifts back to her. Her black lace bra had been peeking out, and her chest—perfectly exposed because of the spilled shake—was still fresh in my memory. She was alone now, her friend nowhere in sight.

"Leaving so soon?" I ask when I see her.

Her tone is sharp and irritated. "Yes, because you—" she gestures at her shirt—"spilled shake on me. It's sticky and uncomfortable."

I grab my jacket from Noa and toss it to her. "Here. Take this, cover yourself."

Her smile stretches wide. "Oh, so you're a thief and a pervert now?"

I'm starting to lose patience. "Just wear this on your way back." I shove the jacket into her hands.

She hands it right back, stepping closer until we're only inches apart. "Or what?" she challenges.

Without warning, she starts unbuttoning her shirt, exposing her black lace bra and toned chest.

"You know what? I'll just go home like this, and you can't stop me!"

I grit my teeth, barely managing to keep calm. "Wear this. Now."

It's not her exposed chest that's making me angry—it's the fact that she's doing it in public. What if someone takes pictures? What if they end up online? The idea of everyone seeing her like this makes my blood boil.

She raises a brow, daring me. "What are you going to do, Mr. Pervert?"

She starts unbuttoning her shirt even more, revealing her abs.

I've had enough. My control snaps, and I step forward, throwing her over my shoulder. Everyone is staring, but I don't care. She kicks and protests, but I carry her into the nearest restroom, shutting the door with my foot. I place her on the counter, and she slaps me instantly.

I smile, locking the door behind me. "Go on, then. Do it now."

Her nostrils flare as she hops off the counter. "What?"

"You wanted to strip so badly. Do it here, where no one can take pictures."

Her smile turns dangerous. "Oh, so you want to take advantage of me as revenge?"

I step closer, pinning her back to the counter, grabbing her chin between my thumb and forefinger. "Expose yourself in public again, and you'll never get your bike back."

Her response is immediate, her finger tracing a line down my chest. "You can't stop me. I'll find it and break your bike into pieces."

I glance at her lips, her chest, and suddenly, I'm hard. Shit. I turn away, giving her my back.

"Go ahead. Every time you pull a stunt like that, your bike will get another scratch."

She grabs the jacket from the counter angrily and storms out, muttering "thief," "pervert," and probably a few other curses under her breath.

At least I know she won't try that again in public. But now I have a bigger problem. I glance down at my pants. Shit.