“You’re saying I’m a wet blanket.”
He laughs. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“A wet blanket literally puts out a fire.”
“Then okay,” he grips the handle bars, “maybe you are a wet blanket, but that’s not a bad thing, KK, we all need someone looking out for us. Look what happens when we don’t?”
He shifts forward and pats the seat behind him. I hesitate because there’s no way to sit on that bike without getting very, very, close to him. I don’t think Ezra likes me—not the way that Finn and Ozzy say they do, but there’s something between us. A spark. Something that, for once in my life, I don’t want to automatically douse.
Without looking at him, I walk over to the bike and lift my leg, unsure how to get on.
“I don’t bite, KK,” he says, knowing I have no choice but to hold on to him for balance. I reach out and touch him, secretly marveling at his strong and steady back. When my leg is all the way over I sit on the cushion, trying my hardest to keep my distance, but the leather is soft and smooth. We both settle ass to crotch. I’m just glad I’m behind him and he can’t see how red my cheeks are.
His feet are flat on the ground and he says, “Give me your hands.”
“You want me to what?”
“Give me your hands, silly.” His chuckles softly. A moment later he reaches back and grabs them both, then pulls them around his waist. I’m yanked forward, making my body flush against his. “If you won’t go on a real ride with me, we can go on a pretend one.”
Did Ezra Baxter just ask me to go on a pretend motorcycle ride in his garage? And none of it was a euphemism for sex?
“Relax,” he says. “If you’re too tense on the ride, you can’t really enjoy it. I know it feels intimate, but it’s okay, I can handle you feeling me up, if you can.”
I laugh, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, but it makes me ease my grip around his waist and settle against him, resting my cheek against the warmth of his back.
“You have to close your eyes.” I shut them. “Done?”
“Yes, done.”
“Okay, tell me where you want to go, up the coast or into the mountains.”
“Up the coast,” I say.
“Perfect, you’ll love it.”
That’s how I spend the night with Ezra, leaning into the warmth of his body, listening as he ‘drives’ us up the winding roads of the coast, pointing out landmarks and describing them in intricate detail. I’m lulled by the sound and vibration in his voice rattling through his back. Along the way, somewhere near a lighthouse with black and white stripes, my preconceived notions about Ezra Baxter are stripped away, but this time I’m not confused, just content.
29
Kenley
I stand on Alice’s doorstep partly out of the need to make amends and partly out of just need.
Alice has something I need to borrow.
I raise my hand and rap on the red painted door. Her dog, Felix, jumps to life, barking furiously at the narrow window by the door. I bend down and greet him.
“Hey buddy, how are you?”
He keeps barking like he’s never seen me before in his life.
The door swings open and I stand, while Felix rushes out to greet me. He stops barking once he catches my scent, then licks the top of my sneakers. I bend and scratch his ears.
“What are you doing here?” Alice asks, reaching down and picking up the small white dog. He starts licking her neck. She’s still in her pajamas—the Star Wars print faded and worn.
“I wanted to talk.”
“I thought I talked too much. Or too loudly. Or too whatever for you.”