Free Confessions Of An Old Lady by Christina Morgan Page B

thoroughly enough that he would buy what I was selling. But I can’t say it was exactly the hardest thing I ever had to do.
    When we finally parted, but stayed very close to one another, he looked down at me and smiled. “There’s a run tomorrow. It’s a charity run for cancer research. It would mean a lot to me if you would ride with me. Will you come?”
    “Of course I’ll come. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there with bells on.” I squeezed him tighter to me, noticing how strong he was when he wrapped his arms around me. His chest felt like a solid sheet of rock and his arms were like two big tree limbs encircling my waist. He smelled good too. Not that I expected him to stink, but he smelled surprisingly like a combination of soap and some unidentified cologne. I typically didn’t like cologne on men, but whatever he was wearing smelled delicious.
    “It starts tomorrow in Louisville at noon. You can ride with me up there too. Then it ends right in the middle of downtown Nicholasville. Every year in Jessamine County they hold what’s called the Jessamine Jamboree. We usually ride into the middle of town around six or seven o’clock, then everyone heads to the festival at the church. It’s a lot of fun. Plus, it’s for charity.”
    Standing before me was the juxtaposition that was Sonny Jackson. On one hand, he was a hardened criminal who had committed God knows how many violent crimes. On the other hand, here he was, bragging about his work with a local charity and being kind and gentle with me. No matter what, though, I couldn’t forget why I was here and what he was really like underneath that charming grin.
    “I’ll take you home now, so you can get ready for tomorrow. ‘Course…” he continued. “You could always just stay at my place tonight…save me having to pick you up in the morning.” He threw a mischievous smile at me.
    “Not so fast there, big boy. Slow your roll. I told you before, I’m not that kind of girl. I’ll go to the run with you tomorrow, but you can pick me up at my house in the morning like a proper gentleman. Okay?”
    “Yes ma’am.” He mock-saluted me.
    “Oh, hush,” I teased.
     
    ***
     
    He dropped me off at the house and I curled up on the sofa to watch some television before I went to sleep. It was Friday night, so there wasn’t much on, but I found a rerun of Titanic . I always loved this movie, but it always frustrated me the way it ended. I hated sad endings. I always want to see the girl get the guy in the end and get to keep him, not lose him in a freezing-cold ocean in the middle of nowhere. And was it just me, or don’t you think Leo could have fit on that piece of wood too? Just saying.
    The next morning, I got up and started piddling around the house. Sonny was supposed to pick me up at noon, so we could drive to Louisville, where everyone was meeting to begin the run. I had almost gotten the house into pretty decent shape over the past couple of weeks. It was almost inhabitable. However, I left a bunch of boxes packed up around the perimeter of the living room, since my cover story was that I was cleaning out and packing up my dad’s house so I could possibly put it on the market and sell it for his estate.
    Once again, I heard the sound of Sonny’s bike pulling up into the driveway and once again, he was right on time. He was pretty punctual for a hardened criminal.
    I hopped on the bike and we headed toward Louisville. It was a nice ride, but quiet. That’s one of the things I was having trouble getting used to as far as motorcycles go. In my little red Jetta in college—I didn’t need a car in downtown Chicago—I was always listening to music. I never drove around without the radio or a CD blasting. My favorite was my Joni Mitchell CD. My mom always listened to her when I was growing up and I guess the old gal kinda grew on me. But on these bikes, all you could hear was the sound of the engine thrumming.
    We arrived in Louisville