Right, But With Consequences From Mother Dearest.

The sight of me riding back to our house on a loud motorcycle, straddling the lap of a known criminal (in my mother's eyes at least), with a helmet, but minus my t-shirt, and with said criminal's pants soaked from my downstairs must have sent my mother reeling. Though she kept it to herself for now at least.

Without saying a word, Pitbull unlocked the door, my mother thanked him, and he went on his way, slapping my arse, retrieving his helmet, and flashing me a wink and smile before riding off on his hog. Still covering myself with my hands, I went to walk inside our house, where my mother stopped me at the door.

"You have some explaining to do..."