Cam gave him a slow appraisal, her eyes resting on the fit of his T-shirt across his broad chest. “He doesn’t look like no one.”

“He’s my insurance.”

She gave me a look but, thankfully, didn’t push it.

Once we hit the parking lot, we all dispersed to our respective vehicles. Cam’s a Jeep Wrangler with mud caked into the tires. Allie skipped to one of those new little VW bugs. Powder blue. Figures. Even her car was adorable.

I unlocked my helmet and threw a leg over my bike.

“No.”

I turned to find Cal at my side, shaking his head.

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t let you ride that.”

“Hold up—you can’t let me?”

“You’re completely exposed. Not to mention how easily someone could stage an accident on something that flimsy.”

“My bike is not flimsy.”

“It’s the smallest bike I’ve ever seen. What’s it made of, plastic?”

I clenched my teeth. “I’m petite. I need a petite bike.”

“Not today you don’t.”

“Look, you—”

“No, look you,” he countered, taking a step forward. Suddenly his jaw clenched, his eyes going intent. His entire demeanor shifted into something hard and dangerous. I felt my breath back up in my throat, realizing just how good at his job he must be. “I was hired to keep you safe. Which I intend to do, whether you cooperate or not. You want to go to the courthouse? Fine. We do it my way.”

He gestured to his left, where a huge black Hummer sat at the curb. And not one of those new SUV-sized ones. This was an original tank.

“Seriously?” I asked. “A Hummer?”

“It’s safe.”

“It’s a tank. It probably guzzles more fuel than some small countries.”

He raised one dark eyebrow ever so slightly. “We could always go back inside?”

I looked across the parking lot at Allie, applying lip gloss as she pulled her Bug out into traffic. I clenched my teeth together. And swung my leg back over the bike, locking my helmet on to the handlebars again.

“Fine. But, you know what they say about big cars, right?” I asked as Cal opened his passenger side door for me.

“What’s that?”

“They’re compensating for something. The bigger the car, the smaller their…” I let my gaze fall to the crotch of his jeans. Then back up to give a long, meaningful look at the behemoth of a car he drove.

But instead of growling at me, the laughter returned to Rent-A-Goon’s eyes.

“Oh, yeah? And what do they say about girls who drive hot pink Hondas?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never met anyone ballsy enough to tell me.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Somehow, I believe that, Bender.”