Did I almost crash it riding it to his garage after stealing it while the man was nodded out on the couch beside Dad? Yes, yes I did. Did I get second degree burns on my calf because the adrenaline rush blinded the agony the muffler caused? Also yes.
But we stayed in that apartment until I was packing my bags for college, and that was what mattered.
“Because I wanted to.” I rested my hands on his thighs and got comfortable against his back. “But no helmet?”
“If we wreck on a highway, we’re dead either way.” He found my hand and lifted it to his chest. As the engine rumbled to a start, the vibrations trembled my body. I tried not to gasp, but I wasn’t sure if I was grateful or embarrassed that I’d worn a dress. “But I guess you can teleport us off then, huh?”
“How about you try not to wreck?” I raised my voice over the roaring engine, closing my arms around his waist.
His laugh was almost inaudible as his hand fell to my knee and gave it a gentle squeeze.
* * *
I felt better.
Maybe it was the endorphins from the wind in my hair and its icy nip on my cheeks. It could’ve been the view of the city after sunset. Perhaps it was the vibrations pulsing from the bike up my legs, through my belly, and gathering beneath my panties.
But more than likely, it was the realization dinner had brought us to.
Declan and I would be connected on a profound, sensual, nearly spiritual level until death tore us apart.
I should’ve been scared. I should’ve had a pit in my stomach at the implications of all this, but for the first time in longer than I could remember, every muscle in my body was soothed.
My arms were looped around Declan’s chest, and my cheek rested against his back. He’d rest his hand on my knee for the straight stretches along the highway, and he’d squeeze it just before he let go to cut a bend. The streetlights illuminating our path were like strobes at the high speed, and the cautious, rational voice in my mind normally would’ve said to teleport home, curl into my blankets, and drink a cup of chamomile to meditate on everything I’d learned in the last few hours.
But that voice was silent.
There was nothing whispering in my ear that there was a threat with each bend, another with Declan’s palm on my knee instead of the handlebars, and again with each pebble he swerved.
For the first time—perhaps in my entire life—the part of me that feared getting hurt everywhere I looked had drizzled away.
That was me. Brooke Lewis pretended to fear nothing, but inside, there was nothing I didn’t.
I cuddled with blankets and warm mugs of tea and cocoa to feel the security I never had anywhere else. But I never realized I could feel even an ounce of that safety while cusping ninety on the freeway on the back of a motorcycle with a guy I’d only met a few days prior.
Here, in this moment, with my arms around Declan, that was all I felt. Safe.
Safe, and free from fear.
That sensation stayed as I guided Declan off the highway and into my neighborhood. It remained when he rolled to a slow stop before my house, and it stayed as I gripped his shoulder for stability to dismount.
“Cute little place.” He gave the house a once over as I shrugged off his jacket and ironed out my skirt. “I like the window boxes.”
I laughed, handing it over. “I’ll tell Ria you think so. She painted them.”
“Damn, really? They’re beautiful.”
“They are, aren’t they?” I smiled, propping my hands on my hips. “But thanks for the ride. I enjoyed that more than I thought I would.”
“I thought you might.” He smirked, eyes washing down my body. “Dresses aren’t the recommended attire, but I can see how it’d be nice.”
My cheeks warmed, and I shook my head at him.
The smile that rested across his lips as he settled back into his seat made my heart throb. I wasn’t sure if I was beginning to accept that we couldn’t fight the bond that tied us together, or if I just wanted to satisfy the yearn the bike ride had heightened within me.
But I didn’t want him to go.
He laughed, whooshing messy brown hair from his face. “Guess it’s late though. I should probably—”