And, as if the snuffing of the bike’s engine had started a new one in my heart, I felt free. I felt for the first time in a long time—in ever, if I was being honest with myself—genuinely excited at the idea of a man coming for me.
“Go on, now,” Candy smirked. “And don’t forget to have fun, girl.”
“I’ll…” I nodded and took a deep breath. “I’ll try. I really, really will. And don’t worry, I’ll meet you at the corner at—”
“Don’t you worry about the corner tonight,” she said with a smile. “I’ll cover for you.”
“What? Cover for… but what about T-Built?” I asked, shaking my head. “If he finds out that I wasn’t—”
“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘Thank you, Candy’ and ‘I’ll be sure to have a good time,’ I’m gonna smack you upside your head!” she scolded, actually raising her hand as though she would make true on that threat then and there.
I nodded and smiled warmly. “You are amazing, Candy,” I said.
“Damn right, I am,” she said with a smirk as she began to push me out the door. “You can make it up to me by making hunky-boy confess that he loves candy. After all, who doesn’t love candy?” she asked with a wink.
I blushed and nodded, accepting her guiding hand and starting out the door. As I stepped out of the comfort and familiarity of our apartment and into the hall, Candy’s hand fell away from me and a foolish part of me felt suddenly scared and abandoned—I was a little girl again, and Daddy had just taken his hands off the bicycle I was learning to ride.
“You’re flying solo now, sweetheart!”
I sucked in a deep, calming breath and thought Jace—thought of his eyes, his words, of him—and started for the stairs that would take me to the building’s entrance where he was waiting for me.
“No,” I whispered to nobody. “No, I’m not flying solo. Not anymore.”
The afternoon sun hit my eyes, and I had to blink a few times from just how bright it was. I felt a moment of utter shame as I realized that I was advertising to Jace and anyone else who cared to look that I wasn’t accustomed to sunlight.
I might as well have been wearing a sign that read, “VAMPIRE OR WHORE? YOU BE THE JUDGE!”
Then the glare died, my eyes adjusting faster than I would have expected, and my gaze fell on Jace. Suddenly I couldn’t begin to understand what I’d been so nervous about. There was no judgement in his gaze, no doubt or disdain; if anything he looked a great deal more relaxed than he had the last time I’d seen him. He’d respected my wishes and not tried to come up—he knew enough about me and my life without having to walk through it, and, knowing my luck, he would have come in during one of our hallway’s random “mystery smell” days—but he had made a note of climbing off of his motorcycle and waiting nearer to the door. While it was a small gesture, it made my heart flutter all the same. A phantom memory of another first date from long ago came and went: a boy, far from being a man (if the transition ever would happen for him), pulling up in a ratty station wagon, blapping out a few husky cries on the car’s horn, and then just waiting in his car for me to come out. He hadn’t even tried to open the door for me when I’d reached the car. Later that night, he’d asked me to pay for both of our meals, eaten all the candy at the movie, and then tried to shove his hand up my skirt. The moral of the story—one I obviously hadn’t taken to heart—was not to trust a man who couldn’t be bothered to commit to a small gesture of kindness.
Though it wasn’t a car and it had no doors that needed opening or in response to my approach, there’d been no blapping of a horn, no expectant waiting while he stayed perched in his seat, and this gave me even more hope for what was to come. He was, in fact, standing by the door. I realized this because, just as my eyesight adjusted, I realized that he was, in fact, already standing by me. I blinked at this, in part against the still tolling brightness, but mostly at how sudden and right him being there felt. My eyes fell on his face in time to see his lips pull up in a smile in response to me—something in knowing that my arrival had made him smile and that he hadn’t just already been smiling made my own smile curl that much more—and, in a graceful, shrugging motion, a pair of aviator sunglasses were held out before me. In an embarrassing and ironic reflex, I blinked at them, too. Jace chuckled, flipped open the glasses, and eased them onto me. His thumbs grazed my temples as he finished, the rims nestling in behind my ears, and I my entire body shivered.
“Sorry about that,” Jace said, and I knew that he meant it—wasn’t just saying the words out of some socially mandated reflex.
“N-no,” I stammered, still riding on the delicious chill his touch had delivered to my otherwise overheated senses. “It… it wasn’t a bad shiver,” I confessed, feeling myself blush and moving to adjust the lenses—curious if the dark lenses that were shielding my eyes just right from the sunlight might hide my burning cheeks, as well.
“Ah,” Jace responded, his grin returning and actually growing. “Well, then I’m not sorry.”
I couldn’t help but giggle at that.
He presented a hooked arm before me, and I saw for the first time that he was donned in a leather jacket the fit him perfectly. It held his form the same way that a suit that costs thousands of dollars holds the form of a snooty, snotty businessman, and something in the thought of all that attention to comfort and style being applied to such a rugged and rebellious symbol awed me. Here was a man with the money and focus of the crème de la crème with none of the pretentiousness and carbon-copy bullshit.
And this man, like the knights of old, rode in not on a chariot but upon a fiery, chrome stallion.
It was then that I realized that the form-fitted leather jacket wasn’t a thing like an expensive business suit, but like prized armor. The modest, fitted black tee peeking out from behind the open leather, the perfectly faded jeans, and the worn-down-but-heavily-loved boots—all of it didn’t just look good on him, it looked right on him.
Just like a knight’s armor, I thought again, remembering the conversation I’d just had with Candy.
Then I looked back up at him—realizing that I’d been ogling the muscles of his legs where I imagined he gripped the motorcycle’s siding—and saw that he was still holding his arm out to me. Over the past few months, I’d seen plenty of men raise their arms to me. In those circumstances, I knew I was either about to be slapped or that my head was about to be forcefully guided someplace that man thought it would serve a better purpose. Now, however, the arm that was held out to me was neither violent nor demanding. It was inviting. I blinked again, still stunned by just how surreal this all seemed, and forced myself to look up; forced myself to meet his eyes.
“Everyone acts like it’s impossible to read a John at a glance, but it can be the easiest thing in the world if you know to look past the promise of a dollar and consider the value of who’s holding the wallet.”
Though Candy had meant for the lesson to be applied to the job, I’d found it to reach much farther and apply to much more. Moreover, I’d come to find that, yes, it was the easiest thing in the world to read a person—to consider their value—if you could just learn to read their eyes. At that moment, with Jace seeming so perfect—too perfect!—I needed to know what could be read from his eyes…
And I saw Christmas.
A deep, profound green stared back at me; cold, but not uninviting. Like a forest of pines atop a snowcapped hill in December. Just like the forest of pines that my family used to visit on the first of December.
“To start the season off right,” my father would say, axe in hand and wearing a smile that was already festive and jolly.
Started off right, I thought.
“Hmm?” Jace hummed questioningly, and I realized that I’d spoken my thoughts aloud.
“O-oh! Oh my… I didn’t mean—” I groaned, mortified. “I was just thinking, and… it was just something that my…” I sighed, inhaled, and forced myself to calm down. “I’m just nervous, that’s all
.”
“You too?” he asked.
I stared at him, confused. “‘You… too’?” I repeated, the words seeming alien to me. Their meaning would have been clear if it weren’t for the person speaking them. It was like Bill Gates asking for spare change or Shaquille O’Neal asking you to reach the top shelf—the source just didn’t match the nature of the request. The idea that Jace—this absolutely certain and perfect man standing before me—should be nervous about anything, let alone the date I’d been wracking my brain over, seemed beyond absurd.
“Sure,” he said, actually giving a nervous-looking shrug with a single shoulder. On him, though, it looked so boyishly cute that it just worked that much against the claim. “I actually spent, like, close to forty minutes trying to get my hair right. Not that it made a difference,” he frowned and started fussing blindly with it, and I realized that the rugged, tussled look had been an unintentional effect from riding his motorcycle without a helmet. I watched his fingers glide through the thick, dark mess, gaping at the marvelous display and distantly surprised at how ignorant he seemed to be of just how perfect he appeared.
Seeing him acting so uncertain with no earthly reason to be gave me a boost of confidence, and it occurred to me that, if he could feel nervous and look like that, then maybe all my nerves were just in my head, too. Who knew? Maybe all his perfectly executed movements and gestures had seemed just as awkward and clunky to him as all of my own actions had seemed to me. Maybe—just maybe—all of this was even more perfect because of that.
“You know,” I chimed, deciding to roll with my newfound confidence, “it is illegal to be ride without a helmet. Especially since I’ve seen how you ride,” I added, taking his arm and joining him in strolling towards his motorcycle.
He offered a smirk in return and asked, “Are we really going to discuss legalities?”
I blushed, ignored it, and chuckled before giving a subtle shrug. “Fair enough. I guess I won’t tell if you won’t,” I said. “So, where are we going?”
He grinned at the question and moved to retrieve the only helmet.
I raised an eyebrow at the sight of it as he held it out to me. “So you do own one of these!” I mock-exclaimed, accepting it, amazing myself with how easy it was for me to slip into a comfortable banter with this man.
He shrugged. “It usually serves as a space holder for my parking spot back at home,” he explained. “But I figured it’d serve a greater purpose if I brought it with me today.”
I blushed at that, feeling strangely flattered. “I take it you don’t give many rides then?”
“Less than you’d think,” he admitted.
I grinned at that and chuckled, finally accepting the helmet. “So how many girls have ridden with you.”
“More than I’d like,” he said with a grimace. Then, seeming pleased with a sudden thought, he added, “But you’d be the first one to wear that helmet.”
I looked down at the helmet for a moment, confused. “I don’t understand,” I said.
Jace shrugged. “I never wanted a passenger before today,” he explained. “All the others were…” he sighed and shrugged again, “Well, let’s just say they were more for appearances than for anything else. You’re the first girl I’ve known would be riding—the first one I had plans to ride with—and, because of that, you’re the first girl I’ve brought the helmet for.”
I caught myself staring down at the helmet again, momentarily stunned by the symbol of the gesture.
Catching me staring, Jace asked, “Everything alright?”
Not wanting to be caught swooning, I said, “It’s just the first time a guy’s bothered to remind me about protection. It’s usually the other way around.”
I added an extra bit of oomph to the last part—driving the punchline home as best I could—and I watched as Jace’s eyes widened at the implication. I caught sight of a blush forming along the stubble of his jaw, and he seemed to be wrestling for something to say in response. No response came.
I giggled at the display.
“You said that just to get a rise out of me, didn’t you?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe,” I admitted.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he sighed.
“Kinda,” I grinned. “I’d apologize, but your response was… cute.”
He groaned at my choice of words and let his shoulders fall in defeat. “‘Cute.’ Just what every guy aspires to be,” he playfully whined.
“Well, if they don’t then maybe they should,” I countered, slipping the helmet on, buckling and adjusting the strap, and then moving to climb onto the bike behind him. “So, what’s the plan? You never told me where we’re going?”
“Guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” he said as he started the bike.
“Oh? Should I be nervous?” I asked, having to shout over the roar of the engine.
“Maybe,” he shouted back.
As he shifted the motorcycle into gear I moved my hands to his shoulders to hold on. Keeping a grip on the handbrake, he reached up with his free hand, cupping it over one of my own. The contact sent a flood of warmth through me, and I distantly wondered what had compelled him to pause just to hold my hand like that. Then he lifted my hand in his and started to guide it lower. My eyes widened, the heat growing in intensity as possibilities and instincts began to take hold. Then, setting the hand at his waist and nodding to the other that still rested on his shoulder, I realized he’d only been readjusting my grip on him. Blushing at myself, I wondered how I might have reacted if things had started to go the way I’d suspected.
I surprised myself by realizing I didn’t hate the idea.
“Hold on,” he said.
And then we were moving.
Though I felt like I already was “holding on,” the sudden jolt of motion—a sensation that something was trying to pull me off of the bike and away from him—motivated me to squeeze myself against him that much tighter. Leaning against the phantom pull, I nestled myself into his back, finding that I enjoyed the feel of him against me. His back was taut with muscles, and I couldn’t help but relish in the power I could feel in them as I held myself there. I felt his body tense and shift around each task as he piloted the machine through the streets; his shoulders rolling and tightening as he accelerated, steered, and worked the grips. His lower back tensed each time he shifted gears, and the slight tug of these muscles against my lower belly had me embarrassing myself with unintentional reactions. Between the sensation of his body working against mine and the vibrations rolling, rolling, rolling on, I realized with no small amount of concern that I was enjoying the ride more than I probably should have been.
He and the bike were thrumming with energy, and it was almost more than I could handle. The wind kicked up as he shifted gears again and sped past a yellow light that threatened to go red. A cry escaped my lips, one of pure exhilaration, and I felt his joyful laughter as it rippled through his back and against my face. We banked right, turning onto the freeway, and the bike jumped into high gear; the machine feeling almost like a living thing that Jace had finally let loose. As we sped up, the energy swelled around us like an aura, seeming to feed each of us while we, in turn, fed back into it.
It was a freedom I’d never known, one I’d never even thought possible, and it was mine.
At that moment, at least, it was mine!
I felt free.
In that instant, I could almost understand why Jace drove without a helmet. To feel this free, to live in this moment of exhilaration, was to hand oneself over to something almost beyond the realm of control. It was the act of running up the front steps of Suicide’s home, ringing the doorbell, and then fleeing like hell before it had a chance to catch you. Without a helmet, every detail and every bit of that delicious wind was his and his alone, filling his senses as he and his machine became one glorious entity and sped through the streets.
I envied the feeling, and a sort of dream-like trance came over me as I tri
ed to imagine what it was like to see as he saw, to feel as he felt. More and more I put myself where he was until…
Until I could almost feel my own hands around my waist; until I could almost feel…
I felt us begin to slow, that glorious, roaring freedom fading into something strange and familiar; something, I realized, called life. Blinking at the sudden shift—what felt like a very real change in the universe itself—I saw that we were turning into a parking garage. Looking over my shoulder, curious to see if I could identify any landmarks and get a hint of where Jace had taken us, I spotted the city library across the street. I gawked at the concrete building, realizing with some disappointment that I’d only ever seen the building from afar and never truly had the opportunity to appreciate just how massive it was. My time in the city had been short lived and, as a result, painfully limited before T-Built had tracked me down and forced my world to shrink to little more than my and Candy’s apartment and my and Candy’s corner. Even our bus route offered only a limited scope of the not-so-scenic downtown area.
My thoughts swirled as I realized that, in such a short time, this date had taken a rather Disney-esque twist—seeming to throw me above the clouds, offering new sensations and perspectives I’d never thought possible. As I wondered if there was a musical number in my foreseeable future, Jace pulled into an open parking spot. I felt myself whimper in protest as the motorcycle finally came to a stop and the rumbling engine died, but I didn’t have much time to mourn the end of our ride before Jace slipped off and held his hand out to me to follow. I took it, and with surprisingly little effort he helped me up—seeming to do most of the work. This, however, I was thankful for—my numbed legs weren’t, as it turned out, quite up to the task of lifting the rest of me on their own.
“That was… exhilarating!” I announced, feeling like I’d said the last word in a gasping, bark-like exclamation.
Running On Empty: Crows MC Page 20