I pull up to the beach, and before stopping, do the “burnout”—use the throttle and the clutch while holding the front brake. The back tire starts sliding, pushing the bike to spin in circles with smoke rising around us.
When I finally stop and kill the engine, Kat exhales, “Wow! What wasthat?”
“Just some tricks.”
If I knew what kind of rider she was, I would’ve showed her the “front wheelie”—riding on the back tire only. But that requires a lot of trust in the partner.
For a moment, we are silent, staring at the big waves crashing into the shore.
I don’t want to lecture her. But I don’t want her to end up in a dangerous situation.
More than anything, it bothers me that she chooses to spend time with anyone but me. And some contractors, of all people.
Ah, fuck. Here it is. I’m irritated that this girl hasn’t gotten hung up on me like others before.
“You come here often?” she asks calmly. Her grip around me loosens.
Adrenalin—it’s a mediator.
Usually, her voice jerks me out of my comfort zone. Right now, it’s almost seductive.
Her body is pressed tightly against mine, her thighs hugging mine. That’s another best part about the sports bikes besides speed—when you have a girl behind you, she’ll eventually slide so tightly against your lower back that you become like conjoined twins. This should be sports bikes’ selling point—taking girls on rides for more friction.
“Sometimes,” I say.
“What do you do here?”
“Imagine that I’m not here.”
It’s a nice afternoon. One of hundreds during a year.
I am not even sure why I brought her here. This ismybeach. Bishop comes here to surf. I used to join him, but I haven’t done it in more than a year.
This used to be a surfer camp. There are still open cabanas and gazebos at the edge of the jungle, overgrown and half-down from the previous storm season.
The air is thick with moisture. It will rain soon. But I don’t care. It’s been a while since I let go. Being outside Ayana is liberating. In a different life, this could be a date.
Kat shifts and gets off the bike.
“Come on!” She motions as she starts stomping across the sand toward the water, then turns and walks backward, a smile on her face.
Her smile is beautiful when she is not faking it. Usually, when something surprises or amazes her.
The energy between us is strange, to say the least. One minute it’s a cat-and-mouse game. Another, it’s some awkward bonding as if we share something no one else knows about.
It’s unexplainable. Kat is here for a short while. But the more I see her, the more I want to get close to her, learn everything I can about her.
She wiggles her fingers at me at a distance. “Come!” She nods toward the water. “Let’s swim!”
She is wild. Like a fishing bobber when the fish is on the hook—constantly up and down. Anger and happiness. Cockiness and genuine amazement. I can’t figure her out. One minute, she is arrogant. The next, she laughs and smiles like we are friends.
I prop the bike, watching her pull her tank off and throw it on the sand.
There’s a black bra underneath it, and I freeze for a moment. I hope this is going where I think it’s going.
Go on, kitten…
She starts wiggling her hips, taking down her cargo pants—lacy blank panties underneath.